Saturday, January 24, 2009

Untitled - Brooke Linford


After a long time
of being still
he begins to crackle

I can hear
his mind tick
see him kneel
in his robe

he can call off the search.

Brooke Linford

Sunday, January 18, 2009

In Translation - Amelia Walker

In Translation

This language is a borrowed dress
I put on,
but never truly wear.
It is functional enough:
hides what must be hidden,
enables me to blend into streets and supermarket aisles.
Still I know -perhaps others can tell-
it is not mine.
It hangs baggily in some places,
affords no movement in others;
is patched mismatching colours -legacy
of countless past wearers.
It has been taken in,
taken out, torn and soiled,
sewn up and let down.
No matter how much I wash it
the fabric is flavoured with moments that are not mine:
spilled drinks and cigarettes,
perfume and sweat,
a million mixed meanings,
minefields for misinterpretation.
Still I walk around, wrapped in this language:
foreign as it is, I know no other.
Secretly, though, I pick at its frays,
trying to imagine what could be
if this language and I were to unravel
into nakedness,
into silence.
Without words there are no rule books,
without words there are no lies.

Amelia Walker
(first appeared in The Mollusca Chain)

Friday, January 2, 2009

Tourist Strip Poems - Graham Nunn

Tourist Strip Poems

1. The same old people
walking along the
same old skyline

2. A shell in the window
listening to the waves

3. Ghosts of the Yugambeh
people selling artefacts
in the avenue

4. Tomorrow's sand
waiting in the bilges

5. A seagull deafened
by concrete
on all sides

6. Clouds of sandflies
rise to neon calligraphy

7. The night sky's excesses
pour into

8. Streets of homeless;
suburbs of living dead

Graham Nunn