David Wood reflects on Brahms in new poetry
Rawshock by Toby Fitch
Poetry by Alex Skovron
The night proceeds when I call for it. The banksia corrugates its limbs at the grasp of my claws. The moon comes and bows in the mirror of my eye. The forest stands to attention and mice scuttle in dry litter to feed my young. Sometimes when I multiply myself into the night’s sound, humans like pink ghosts look from their house window. Potted in brick, behind glass they are safe from my wizardry. They know that wherever my glance falls the valley burns. They bought the block to save my tree; so I can sit here night after night, […]
The whisky I’d been reviewing
the night before had thinned my blood.
Poetry from Kirsty Sangster
This dog fox has been out all night leaving its scent on tree bark loping its way across the golf course into the grounds and the infra-red lights in the fine morning mizzle its killing face angular lean wary legs too long and thin for its body the powerhouse of the eyes taking in everything tired of hotel rooms and wheelie bins fast-food dinners the raucous mating in beer-vomit dodging the wheels of intercontinental lorries a migrant from the riverbank copses urbanised by stinking hunger by easy hunger in back yards, industrial estates, parks here by […]
When I first get the car, I pull all the fabric of the city towards me, race it through like cloth beneath the presser foot. Come here, Geelong! And it does: a satin bolt of sky unrolls, the road a seatbelt speeding on its reel. You see so much of the sky driving: you’re an eel darting upwards in a limpid bowl of glass, trailing the road like a tail. So much of trees, too: abstracted and distilled by speed into essence. When you walk there is only one tree, and your beetling body labouring below. At speed you […]
Man is not the art he makes
Step off the pier and into the unknown
Still, I continue
to strive to thicken my knowledge.
a desperate ‘come here’.