Today’s choice
Previous poems
Nathan Curnow
A Survey of Radial Velocities in the Zodiacal Dust Cloud
-the PhD title of Brian May from Queen
I like to think it’s a story about himself and Einstein
floating in zero gravity, Albert sailing through the capsule
toward his drifting pipe, Brian playing We Will Rock You—
two wild-haired sons on a one-way mission
live-streamed back to Earth, voyaging into Sagittarius A
for the black hole’s ancient thoughts.
Albert’s all a-giggle, barrel-rolling like a seal,
while Brian traces Gemini with the neck of his guitar.
Conversations loop back to Freddie and the stage
of Austria, how destiny, chaos, science and dust
landed them here and there, which is far behind already,
the calm wanderers sailing on, delivering lessons
about the multiverse and the mysteries of stadium rock.
A riff generates a reaction, sets fire to sails in the bay.
An equation must be neat, hum with horror until
our Saviour wakes to the lowing of cattle.
The broadcast breaks. Our pioneers lost in data and debris
arrive at new Bethlehems birthing, being
torn from those that failed. Brian and Albert shatter,
their thesis considered, renewed—
a story of stars chewing story, earworms
creating the devouring hole.
Nathan Curnow is based in Ballarat, Australia. His poems have appeared in The Rialto and the New Nottingham Journal and his latest collection is A Hill to Die On.
Note: The phrases ‘two wild-haired sons’ and ‘the calm wanderers’ are taken from the poem Naming the Stars by Australian poet Judith Wright, first published in 1963.
Jena Woodhouse
Language reinvents itself,
coruscates in signs on walls;
falls silent, mute as clay and stone
on tablets that enshrine its form.
Martin Rieser
The river is an old demon
& my heart is an infirm creature
The river is sure of its way
& my heart is capable of lies.
Sreeja Naskar
glass-tooth morning.
salt mouth.
i left the stove on just to feel wanted.
Gordan Struić
Still —
I kept
writing.
Sometimes
just:
“Hi.”
Margaret Poynor-Clark
Inside my bedroom I take a fresh blade
pull off my jumper, examine the ladder
in front of the mirror cut through my laces
rung by rung
Jenny Hockey
That’s when she went to ground,
after she disobeyed, painted her plastic tea set
red, hidden away in the playhouse they built
down where bindweed draped
Sue Proffitt
You and I have had many talks since you died.
Nick Cooke
If when you go to the barber today
He asks if you’d like him to ‘tidy up your ears’,
Think of all the wildest sprawling vegetation
That will never be tidied, or trimmed, by clippers or shears,
Edward Alport
High up, out of reach,
on a branch, no, more a twig,
a little wizened, shrunken face leers down.