Issue Five • Issue Five Poetry • Poetry
June 8, 2018
By Michelle Cahill City of seven islands, guarded by eight-armed Mumbadevi, of the Dravidians, Marathis and Gujaratis, your name alludes to...
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By Eileen Chong I Born a girl. By my father’s word, plate of ash untouched— Needle and silk: opaline peacocks, burning...
By Chelsea Dingman I open the windows to the house—humid air like a deer’s breaths in the spring rain. Streetlights flit...
By Lizz Murphy From Aleppo – Rivers of blood women and children… viewed December 2016. From People smuggling – Turkey, Greece...
By Lizz Murphy I CAN TELL YOU WHAT IT’S LIKE I can tell you what it’s like ears and eyes out on stalks neck cricking...
By Moya Pacey His right hand grips the pen dips in and out of the ink-pot – marks the sheet of white paper bold with black...
By Ali Whitelock in the cafe with coffee cups for lampshades and the sign that says please do not pee in the sink we take an outside...
By Ramon Loyola Twenty years in the forest in the faces and breaths, not in the last century or in the now of times, my...
By Anita Patel How many borders will you cross to reach this land? How many doors will you close – forever? How many...
By Jenny Blackford Our handyman, friend of an old friend, was life support for many years to our decaying inner-city house. One day,...
By Jenny Blackford The flowers in the garden of the inner-city Muslim school are kangaroo paws just like mine at home- ...
By Sandra Renew she still remembers the brass teapot trampled under soldiers’ boots but then retrieved dusted off and...
By Nessa O’Mahony His regular spot; curled foetus-tight, back to the wall at the end of the canal, near the bridge at Baggot...
By Ellen Shelley On an ordinary day the water stills the air waves fall silent birds on parachute wings spiral to gorund...
by Richard James Allen Only weeks, months, at the most a year or so, before Gough Whitlam’s ‘It’s Time’ changed everything, for a...
By Geoff Budden The tides and capes of Bonavista now safely astern, Newfoundland below the western horizon they sailed into the new...
By Bill Cotter It is a travesty of dawn, this dank And oily semi light, oozing through The alleys, the shattered windows and...
By Jeremy C. North This evening, intrepid plans are forged. A familiar tune of starry-eyed wanderlust that emanates from share flat...
By Duncan Richardson they knew it was him though the fish had scribed their own verses on his skin they knew it was him from...
