Australian Poetry
Poetry is song, every word in every line must work, each word transcribed like a note, each line connected to a breath. Fine prose is song, too; each word in the sentence must earn its existence. Thought is both a god and a devil to the line’s ability to sing.
... (read more)Feel it even now: such stillness
and yet – there
they are, again:
lights in blue
air, daylight
The pots are still dropped and pulled at 4 am,
but no-one fishes near seal rock for weeks, out where the shadows
of sharks and seals are interchangeable.
in the presence of a photo of
your mother, aged twenty three
her hands folded and covered in glitter
her hair long and black