Thursday, January 19, 2006

New Poetry by Karen Knight

Draw a Person in the Rain (P-I-R) Test

Who is this person?
Gene Kelly.

How old is he?
At the third stroke, he'll be 42.

What's his favourite thing to do?
To sing in the rain with a broken umbrella.

What's something he does not like?
The sun's electrodes on his head.

Who looks out for him?
The clouds.

Has anyone tried to hurt him?
Only you.

In the Carpark with the doctor's Rolls Royce

I'm delicately poised
on the hood of a Silver Ghost

My Charleston dress
strokes the sharp line
of the hood

the bird in my beading

my injured wings fold
back into my sides

I'm balancing
on this

I'm a spring loaded mascot.

For a Miracle

I'm waiting
for a bower-bird
to beak-roll
a rough stone

For dancing bees
to pollinate
the red
Tarantino flowers.

The eurythmic sun
to give its light
to the seasonal

For a baby lyre-bird
to mimic
mother tunes
for me.

For the Mormons
to take me
to their ballet
of Christ.

To rap-gargle
while trying
to swallow.

For my ill-fitting gown
to tango me
out of here.

- Karen Knight 2006



Karen Knight's poetry continues to be published in Australian anthologies, newspapers and literary journals, including Blue Dog, Island and The Best Australian Poems 2005 edited by Les Murray.

Her collections include Singing in the Grain (Walleah Press, 2001) My Mother Has Become (Picaro Press, 2003) and Under the One Granite Roof- poems for Walt Whitman (Pardalote Press, 2004).

Friday, January 13, 2006

Poetry by Jane Williams


some will say they have waited an eternity
get out the good silver polished daily
their hope chests spilling over with...
well...well with hope
the word chosen tempting them like never before
others will say it was the last thing they expected
from life
and rising to the occasion like born agains
be the first to admit they always left room
for an each way bet
others will take it in their stride
adapting like a sixth toe
not noticing anything different at all
until someone calls their name
in a mother tongue they never knew was theirs
and suddenly they are running then flying
all the way home
shedding skin after skin as they go

- Jane Williams 2006

Thursday, January 12, 2006

Poetry by Wayne HW Wolfson

Chinese New Year

Tonight I want to hear heartache.

I am out of synch, I know. It still may come though. Ah, say something nice. Just for tonight, let the music swell, let me see her.

It still may come.

I buy cigarettes. The sad eyed girl on the corner. When it is not busy she rests, chin in hand. Little melancholy hymns. Only I can appreciate them, but she keeps them all the same.

A series of percussive snaps. Paper mache dragons vomit fireworks onto the crowded street.


We got drunk and made fun of the singer. A jungle of whiskey heated limbs, we fall asleep forming our own constellation.

Saturday night, the valentine you mean to send, but time weighs it down in your hand.

- Wayne HW Wolfson 2006

Monday, January 09, 2006

Calling all Poets

Come on guys, where are you? The blog is receiving its fair share of visitors, but nary a submission since last year. If you don't start sending me something soon, I'll start posting large segments of my new verse novel. I'm not kidding.......