Thursday, November 15, 2018

New Poetry by James Walton










an absence of Giotto

in the damper sand
a streamer of sea weed
like an arrow at the bullseye

spirals

curled as it is
by a one-way wind
its mystery of being

perfect

the odds beyond reckoning
a circle for employment
its circumference deep enough

overt 

until the tide reclaims
places beyond the living
of each day and night again


- James Walton 2018


James Walton lives in South Gippsland. He was a librarian, a farm labourer, a cattle breeder, and mostly a public sector union official. He is published in many newspapers, journals, and anthologies, and has been shortlisted for the ACU Prize, the MPU International Prize, the James Tate Prize, and Jupiter Artland. His books include The Leviathan's Apprentice  2015, Walking Through Fences 2018, and Unstill Mosaics (forthcoming). 

Wednesday, November 14, 2018

New Poetry by Ben Hession










Indigo

First, there’s the liminal, bluish hued depth
unwittingly inviting disputations concerning
your very existence, such is your colour:
scientists can never quite fix the frequencies.

Is there, rather, another knowing,
an intuitive wheel spinning within
an inner spectrum? Or, with light shining
on a blank CD, the yield of a delicate song,

its muted voice singing in one’s hand, resisting  
erasure, a meditation that’s played again and again?
See now, how this dye does not bleed, but it is
the bleeding, the flow of distinctiveness, always

re-asserting itself, always reborn, the riband river out;
the present fastens its own measurement, ‘pauses’ here.


- Ben Hession  2018


Ben Hession is a Wollongong based writer. His poetry has been published in Eureka Street, International Chinese Language Forum, Cordite Poetry Review, Verity La, Mascara Literary Review, Bluepepper, Marrickville Pause and the Live Poets anthology Can I Tell You A Secret? His poem ‘A Song of Numbers’ was shortlisted for the 2013 Australian Poetry Science Poetry Prize. He has reviewed poetry for Verity La and the Mascara Literary Review. He also writes music articles and is involved with community broadcasting.

Sunday, November 04, 2018

Wilfred Edward Salter Owen, MC (18 March 1893 – 4 November 1918)


While the rest of the world begins a week of solemn ceremonies and interminable platitudes to mark the 100th anniversary of the signing of the German Armistice in the West, Bluepepper feels it appropriate to mark the 100th anniversary today of the death of one of history's great soldier poets and one of the great prophetic voices of the Twentieth Century. Lieutenant Wilfred Owen MC was killed while attempting to cross the Sambre-Oise Canal in North-Eastern France and was promoted to Lieutenant posthumously. In one of those cruel ironies with which the war was replete, Owen's mother received the telegram informing her of her son's death while the bells tolled the signing of the Armistice across London. He was one of 20 million soldiers and civilians killed during the war across vast swathes of Africa, Europe, the Middle East and Persia. Those four years between 1914 and 1918 are perhaps the most tragic and costly example in human history of the cost that can be borne by people when their leaders fail to meet the demands of their office, scrambling for justifications for the damage when the damage has already been done. It should also be borne in mind while we are laying our wreathes next week that a further 70 million people perished in the ensuing two years from disease, famine, civil war and unrest, all as a direct result of the war and the poor decisions made in the northern summer of 1914. Lest we Forget.


 The Parable of the Old Man and the Young

 So Abram rose, and clave the wood, and went,
And took the fire with him, and a knife.
And as they sojourned both of them together,
Isaac the first-born spake and said, My Father,
Behold the preparations, fire and iron,
But where the lamb for this burnt-offering?
Then Abram bound the youth with belts and straps,
and builded parapets and trenches there,
And stretchèd forth the knife to slay his son.
When lo! an angel called him out of heaven,
Saying, Lay not thy hand upon the lad,
Neither do anything to him. Behold,
A ram, caught in a thicket by its horns;
Offer the Ram of Pride instead of him.

But the old man would not so, but slew his son,
And half the seed of Europe, one by one.


(Wilfred Owen, 1893 - 1918)

Thursday, November 01, 2018

New Poetry by Robert Verdon










Home-grown Utopia

Morning glory
as our windows
slant to take the sun.

So I reflect,
coming home
from Kate’s at five,

a cat sees a mouse
as many people
see a ham sandwich.

We cannot ‘address’
Horror and Holocaust, the best art
is to prevent its occurrence.

The kangaroos of dry Mt Ainslie
have left their homeless neighbours
and are once more on the lawn,

so I, again, awaking, say hello
and turn to home-grown utopia
— the real destination,

adding more life
than Coke (even Peruvian)
ever could.


- Robert Verdon 2018


Robert Verdon lives in Canberra and divides his attention between writing, academic work, and gardening. He is about to submit his PhD in poetry composition to the University of Canberra. Once he was a member of the scurrilous and numinous Aberrant Genotype Press. As well as many publications and the odd prize over the years, he has a large horde of unpublished poetry.


Wednesday, October 17, 2018

New Poetry by Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal










A Better Catch

The seventy-year-old house
has its charm, well, it doesn’t.
It is the only house I know
where I can find my space.

I have no idea how long I will
remain here. I surmise forever.
It’s hard to meet someone.  It
is far from confounding.  I know

I am not some great prize.
A thief or a fish is a better catch.

I lay in solitudes and I listen
to the train’s whistle late at night.
I never lose sleep in the old house.


Luis Cuauhtémoc Berriozábal 2018


Luis, born in Mexico, lives in California and works in the mental health field in Los Angeles. His first book of poems, Raw Materials, was published by Pygmy Forest Press. His latest chapbook, Make the Light Mine, was published by Kendra Steiner Editions. His poetry has appeared or is forthcoming from Ink Sweat & Tears, Poppy Road Review, and The Stray Branch.

Sunday, October 14, 2018

New Poetry by Laurinda Lind










En Plein Air

I've taken my class outside
so they can write paragraphs
about any damn thing instead
of staying squeezed between walls
which they will do soon enough
once snow starts. Up north here
when the freeze falls we don't 
get up from under it for weeks 
and months of our lives in our 
winter suits that look like us but 

are our cold-weather aunties 
and uncles. Now, while they 
are still their own nieces and 
nephews, they hand me their essays
instead of waiting till Tuesday

since they were so happy out 
in the air. Fifteen minutes we 
were alive in the breeze and sun. 
Five days from now we'll all be 
dead, but the dead are different 
relatives, just our DNA gone 
underground a while or for 
the weekend, which is exactly 
the way we will play it
tied inside on Tuesday.



- Laurinda Lind 2018


Laurinda Lind lives in New York's North Country, near Canada. Some poetry acceptances/ publications have been in Another Chicago Magazine, Antiphon, Antithesis, Comstock Review, Paterson Literary Review, Sonic Boom, and Stand; also anthologies Visiting Bob: Poems Inspired by the Life and Work of Bob Dylan (New Rivers Press) and AFTERMATH: Expressions of Loss and Grief (Radix Media). In 2018, she won first-place awards for the Keats-Shelley Prize for adult poetry and the New York State poetry competition. 



Friday, September 28, 2018

New Poetry by Peter Donnelly










Slip Rates

I

Big economy of mind and spirit.

The world economy's figurations bottom
Out of themselves;

The ripple-effects in the markets
Undulate
Through display units;

Exchange rates 
Slip like tectonic plates. 


II

Forecast

In the oracular opening in Greenspan's vision,
Access to the touchstone,
His touch sibylline or golden.

Tenuous stagflation welters in the ether; 
Bespoke oblations to figures.


III

Big economy of mind and spirit,
A god that feeds off belief, and aggresses that feeding:
The money is digesting itself.

Communications trade,
Commodity of metaphor. 


- Peter Donnelly 2018


Born in Dublin in 1988, Peter Donnelly’s first collection, Photons, was published by Appello Press in 2014. Following its publication, playwright Frank McGuinness commented that "Peter Donnelly already shows he has a strong imagination; indeed, a savage one presents itself on occasion when the beautiful and brutal confront and confound each other." 

His second collection will be published by Smokestack Books.



Thursday, September 27, 2018

New Poetry by Linda Stevenson










More About the War Years

1. Black Swans

irritation/nothing disastrous
only lies and offal/sandpapers
worry to death/scratching/
pat all smooth to a swansdown/song
( I’ve studied worse contraptions )
my bed crashed lopsided more than once/
accidents on purpose/meant
I’m hiding/pretending not to have soldiered on
in toddler’s uniform/snorting derision/
after tea the oranges/sour green grapes
settling in glass/mute resonance/
sepia of absent Daddy/we throw crust
into our lake/gobbled up/
we didn’t know it wasn’t good for the ducks.

2. Pineapple

the words under the words
key words waiting/wardrobes/
is it ok to put my poem into yours?
I’ve bent over backwards to enunciate
phrases with due emphasis/
help me here Mum or anyone/it seems
like only yesterday/and I’m still coughing
something up/swollen because
allergy to pineapples/trucked
down from Queensland/never seen
before/and after Hiroshima/
they’ve done it they’ve dropped
the bomb/in our kitchen/
stained golden fruit/and blooded.

3. He and She

she told me she brandished a gun/
challenged on my behalf/ and you know
what...i believe her/we may well be
of a bloodline on trial/and what now...
if I follow down to my own death
can I bleed out phials of liquid love
for a larger purpose? nothing new/
nothing to see here/it only hurts
when I breathe/at least back then
the headline spat in your eye/
column by column of dark cuneiform/
high significance/so he taught me
how to decipher at a young age/
front page said the war was won.


- Linda Stevenson 2018


A founding member of Melbourne Poets Union, facilitator of poetry groups in gaols and community centres, contributor to anthologies, recently published in various literary magazines. Chapbook "The Tipping Point" published in 2015, active as a poet within the online poetry sector.





Sunday, September 23, 2018

New Poetry by Angelene Karas










Hyperion’s arms

Old myths have dominion over life choices.

darkness can be overcome
with the stealth of light 
but healing forces abandon me.

cascading from the darkness of the past.
I fall into Hyperion’s arms
reciting an incantation for another God.

Charon greets me in the next life.
I flick the coin rested upon
lifeless eyes in his direction.


- Angelene Karas 2018


Angelene Karas is a Greek-Australian poet who also teaches. Words can lie dormant in her mind, but when they are ready to come forth, they are explosive. Her work has been previously published in the WSUP, The Wild Goose e-Literary Magazine, Verity La and The Disappearing. She was a runner up prize recipient for the Roaming Rainbow Writing Competition in 2017.

Monday, September 17, 2018

New Images by Wayne H. W Wolfson



- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2018




- Wayne H. W Wolfson 2018


Just click here to visit Wayne's site