CONTRIBUTORS

Kevin Gillam

Kevin Gillam is a West Australian writer with three books of poetry published, "Other Gravities" (2003) and "Permitted to Fall" (2007), both by Sunline Press, and "Songs sul G" in 'Two Poets', by Fremantle Press in 2011. He works as Director of Music at Christ Church Grammar School in Perth, and is the 'cellist in the indy-pop group Miteyko.

chamber musings

(i) 43 days all on foot, drug ripe and addled, Tramadols and Endones puppeting mice in the peripherals, trekking lanes and limestone, withered grapes atop walls, to the West sky smeared peach, on the demolition site pink ribbons around the …

Posted in 92: NO THEME VIII | Tagged

lost art of pastels

you are invited to fish, cast a mind out for hope in five oceans, from one lush island just a hook, a line, one sinker, trawling through sly workings of turquoise and dream, you, invited, fishing under talc light from …

Posted in 82: LAND | Tagged

The Road

the road scars right, across the palm of land, tumbling, dwindling, a groove, a history, a way in, worn and healed slick the road, oil on linen, bitumen on peat, with all its gradations of shadow, bruise to smear to …

Posted in 57.1: EKPHRASTIC | Tagged

Cycles and Lines

sea breathing. started pulling in. staves loose on their tether. for those in berets, those in caps. to clap first. bruising chords. flute against the wall. moon up there, half a minim. chill of too few. entire sea. nine is …

Posted in 56.0: EXPLODE | Tagged

Propped

in the dia ry of clean be ginnings. gift of ponder? you make an entry. plas tic beneath sheet. listen to that a line about clouds. absent but near? dialect of cirrus. night nurse moth. how light goes sepi a …

Posted in 44.0: GONDWANALAND | Tagged

Dialect of Cirrus

a measure of the dead. suppose I should explain. hours spent sift- ing the light, no al- readys to drown. ‘a bagpipe sings for two – first for etch and shad- ow, second, the drone, in the dialect of cirrus, …

Posted in 39.0: JACKPOT! | Tagged

learnts

number of sips equals number of tastes cirrus is a smeared, silent language smother hides mother holds other more salve in horizons than creeds thinks spin but a moon librates we’re ants in the blind search for sweetness monks can …

Posted in 36: ELECTRONICA | Tagged

Watermelon

I’m about to bite into a slice when you’re there with juice dribbling down your chin and picking pips out with your fingers while I just eat and spit and we grin all wet but there is no we ‘cos …

Posted in 06: NEW POETRY | Tagged

Quarantine

cocooned, arthritic bunk soft as chipboard. breathing in cruel air. like a moth, caught between curtain and addiction. tossing. how many lurgies have starved here? walls too thick with undercoat to talk. voices muzzy. welcoming the slow syringe of sleep …

Posted in 06: NEW POETRY | Tagged