CONTRIBUTORS

Todd Turner

Todd Turner is an Australian poet who lives and works in Sydney. His poems have been widely published. His first collection of poetry Woodsmoke was published by Black Pepper Publishing in 2014. His second collection Thorn was published by Puncher and Wattman in 2020. He is currently working on his third collection.

This Be The Chorus

after Philip Larkin Like mine and yours before, Theirs, and my own to come, Our flow-on of flaws is more Or less the root of the sum. When faults are handed down, Where can you lay the blame? You end …

Posted in 112: TREAT | Tagged

Tale of Monastic Life

My Imagination is a Monastery and I am its Monk —John Keats Wintering in golden years, Keats ditched the pen and donned the cloth. He made good use of his time on this planet, singing the co-ordinates of the sublime: …

Posted in 108: DEDICATION | Tagged

The Fall

for Ella I can tell you, when your horse began to slip she tried to pull you and herself back up. But once she slid and lost her footing, you both fell into the law of gravity and came down …

Posted in 80: NO THEME VI | Tagged

Villanelle for a Calf

I can still remember the sound. The calf fell in, the gates shut hard. I turned my eyes toward the ground. He could hardly move or turn around and was woken to truth there in the yard. I can still …

Posted in 71: TOIL | Tagged

Feature Poem with Judith Beveridge: At Willabah

I forget who it was who said that the writer needs to be ‘holy in small things’, but I think there is a great deal of truth in that. That’s one reason why I’m attracted by Todd Turner’s poem ‘At Willabah’. Here, the poet guides us through the details of the landscape in a not dissimilar way to the deep engagement with particulars in such poems as Seamus Heaney’s ‘Death of a Naturalist’ or Elizabeth Bishop’s ‘At the Fishhouses’.

Posted in GUNCOTTON | Tagged ,

A Field of Wild Grass

It was a field of wild grass between two stations on the western line; a dusky acreage where the barn owl plucked the field- mouse from its ditches. There was a lone tree on the far side of the field …

Posted in 47: NO THEME! | Tagged