T.S. Eliot's couchThere was once a couch in the Grolier Poetry Bookshopin Cambridge where T.S. Eliot snoozed.
Send out scouts to track it down and when they do,stand two strong men, one at each end.Let them count and on the shout of three
lift it from the place where it has lainall these years and, with a small boyto clear its course, carry it to the truck.
Let them secure it with silke ... (read more)
Louise Nicholas
Louise Nicholas is a semi-retired teacher and long-term member of the Adelaide poetry community. WomanSpeak, co-written with Jude Aquilina, was published by Wakefield Press in 2009, and a chapbook, Large, by Garron Press in 2013. Her collection, The List of Last Remaining, was shortlisted for the Adelaide Festival Unpublished Manuscript award and was subsequently published by Five Islands Press in 2016. A collection that incorporates her own and her mother’s writing is due for publication in April 2018.
One minute the bird is cutting a curve – bluein two, the swift repair of air – the next,it’s glottal-stopped in the throat of a dog.Beyond lies the dog’s muscled tongue-hugforcing the bird in a slavered-leatherslide past the pharynx, down the gulletinto the gunge and gore of a slaughterhouse floor.
From their front row seats in the corporate box,the Fates look up from cotton, cloth, and s ... (read more)
Peter Roget suffered from depression, disconsolation,gloom, melancholia, pessimism ...
He lived a life of bitterness, desolation, grief, irritation,lamentation, misery, pain ...
Not that there weren’t periods of bliss, exuberance,happiness, joy, light-heartedness ...
Not that he wasn’t awake to the wonders of the world,to its beauty, brilliance, grace, loveliness, magnificence ...
After a ... (read more)
After Karin Gottshall
Sometimes I say I’m going to meet my mother just becauseI like saying it. I like it for its mouth feel and pleasure:... meet my mother.
It was a phone call at 3 am drove those words away.Three years later, with no conscious effort on my part,they followed an overgrown but still navigable path
all the way to my mouth that they might line upand spill from it just as they u ... (read more)
London 2016
At the National Gallery I pay sixteen outraged poundsto view the Beyond Caravaggio exhibition. No chiaroto speak of, only scuro, each canvas caked in mud-brownand bad-blood red on a background of black black black.I dodge the ladies of the U3A religious art class, decline
the complimentary depressive illness, and in a quick scan,meet the resentful eyes of a carping King of the Jews.H ... (read more)