Today’s choice
Previous poems
Jane Frank
Wake
The leaves are a colour you’ve never seen
but that I will learn to expect
and there’s a fracas-induced full moon,
clouds beneath like soot
from giant candles.
I woke up and the time ahead was missing
like Notre Dame’s gothic power
and the spots gone from a baby giraffe
born in a zoo in Tennessee.
Today I walked into a gelato-coloured
building and talked about search
engine optimisation, unfamiliar syntax
and the fact that Marcel Proust
wrote a 601-word-long run-on
sentence in In Search of Lost Time
and now I am squeezing the moon like
a stress ball in my fingers as stars fly.
There’s a person-shaped hole
in the centre of me where you ran through,
strings of words like a wake behind you.
Jane Frank is a prize-winning Australian poet, editor and academic. Her most recent collection is Gardening on Mars (Shearsman Books, 2025) and two earlier collections were published by Calanthe Press. Read more of her work at https://www.facebook.com/JaneFrankPoet/
Marcelo Coelho
Hauntings 1 After the funeral, the coughs continued. 2 Care homes regain life at night. 3 Wait. The morgue will reopen soon. 4 They came asking for more starch. 5 For them, lockdown has just begun. 6 He came back. “Forgot the mask”. 7 Sorry for...
Andrew Williams
Rehoboth Bay after Jane Kenyon I was walking on the dock— the kind of activity I go out of town to do— where waterfowl float below with their young. My wife and I fell behind the laughter barreling toward the shore end and at that moment, we heard...
Jenny Hockey
Snow Fall Post operatively he is unable to drive when suddenly snow fills the street. It’s only ten minutes to walk back home. ‘Not in these shoes,’ he says, ‘not in this jacket.’ Why I agree I don’t know for the snow makes a toy of the wheel in...
Laura McKee
the hard animal of her body the woman next to me shows me her bones she delves into her bag and pulls them out to show me the strongest and how it was broken you know like a tree she says when they cut it like this and she lifts her hand at the...
Trelawney
Religious Tack When you turned to God I turned away and in some sort of protest, a double-edged olive branch, I started a collection. Small at first: statues from catholic shrines, rude pewter pilgrims’ badges light-up Madonnas. A dome of the rock...
Molly Wolfe
Daddy’s Issues It’s Monday and screwed-up bits of paper hit her like rocks and bruise her inside and her wine (he said was his) paints the walls and burns like acid, droplets streaming ravines down her cheeks and a demon screams get out of my...
Geoff Sawers
Cage the ocean in a room sloshing against the walls a bee in your closed fist feel the fury of her tiny heart a mouth in a cage forced to speak a second language a rope of sand spun on a wide bleak strand press your ear to the cold wet ground hear...
Rosie Miles after Gillian Lever
Shine After Gillian Lever “What is orange? Why, an orange, Just an orange!” -- Christina Rossetti, from Sing-Song (1873) Sweet naranja, common, in-your-face cadmium, chrome, atomic tangerine. # FF7F00: traffic cone of all colours warning...
Grant Tarbard
Giblet after Claudia Emerson’s on leaving my body to science Pack the forests away in this dyed night, I won’t need them anymore, hair of thin cigarette smoke, trunk of posed opium. I is a liminal state....
