Mark O'Flynn

Mark O'Flynn's fourth collection of poetry, Untested Cures, was published recently by Picaro Press. The Forgotten World, his third novel, was published by Harper Collins in 2013.

On the Shoalhaven

Across the lacquered varnish of the river, rain comes dimpling the surface with a sibilant hiss like the sound of fat sizzling. Old boulders have come down hill to examine their own unshaven reflections in the mirror, come down from …

Posted in 96: NO THEME IX | Tagged


Either nothing happens or the landscape happens. Passports record experience though not what has been learned from it. A conductor examines your ticket with opprobrium. That must have been something, not nothing. A busker extracts strange coins of limited value, …

Posted in 68: NO THEME IV | Tagged

Quote for Service

Investigated electric oven tripping circuit breaker. Found two mice lodged in thermostat wiring perished as result of electrocution causing circuit breaker to trip. Replaced fuse with plug in 32A circuit breaker. – Simon, Energy Safe Victoria invoice. My mother does …

Posted in 66: OBSOLETE | Tagged


A man stands on the corner of Swanston and Bourke plying his trade which is not immediately clear to the observer. Perhaps he’s selling something nobody knows they need yet. The observer wishes to verify his or her own presentiments …

Posted in 62: MELBOURNE | Tagged

The Channel-billed Cuckoo

In competition with the music belting from the party next door the channel-billed cuckoo falls, uncharacteristically, silent. Its red eyes glint from the tree tops like holly berries. The channel-billed cuckoo is the enemy of sleep. A brood parasite, normally …

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Hank’s House

He lives in the last house where every stone in the street has been thrown through a window at least twice once to come in and once when he throws it back out some of them have specks of blood …

Posted in 52: INTERLOCUTOR | Tagged

Postcards from the Bottom of the Well

6 No water here where dust is thick and even patented. Her lepidopterist’s eyes quivering behind brambles of jewelry like an aphrodisiac for the terminally numb. She listens to the whimpers of broken-necked birds and thinks of Latin names pinned …

Posted in 01: UNTHEMED | Tagged