Vanessa Page

Vanessa Page Vanessa Page is a Cashmere-based poet who was born in Toowoomba, Queensland. She has published four collections of poetry, including Confessional Box (Walleah Press), which was the winner of the 2013 Anne Elder Award. Her latest collection Tourniquet (Walleah Press), was launched in Brisbane in October 2018. Vanessa’s poetry has been widely published in Australian journals and anthologies and she has performed her poetry at festivals and events both in Queensland and internationally.

Thursday night, 1979

My goldfish died the night Dad pushed the fridge over. The machine lay on its side, exposing lines of dusty metal coils that were somehow terrifying, – all those parts, not meant to be seen. It was the surprise of …

Posted in 91: MONSTER | Tagged


the sea offers up your name…the sea offers up your name the sea offers up your name…the sea offers up your name offers up your name, offers up your name, offers up your name… your name, your name, your name, …

Posted in 56.0: EXPLODE | Tagged

The Instinct of Sharks

Go back to the start, before the loneliness of this two a.m. mating season carried you home: watch the bruise on your thigh shrink and disappear from your skin starve the sideshow alley clowns, take back the deal with the …

Posted in 54.0: NO THEME V | Tagged


i There’s a complex certainty in coming home. It keeps on, something like faith – shakes the red dirt shoulders of the Maranoa and prickles up a spine of Ooline trees to the west. I have not travelled nine hours …

Posted in 53.0: THE END | Tagged


This spit-polished veneer has street appeal and is open for inspection. In these shutter-speed days her family portraits bear the least resemblance to anything real, paintbox-bright statements, all flourishes and filters – tumbling and spreading from the news feed’s mouth. …

Posted in 49.0: OBSOLETE | Tagged

The Torpey Spoon

for Evelyn, Elizabeth and Janet Home is the colour of sunlight through the kitchen window, a lemon-curd glow as day infuses thin air. I’m inside with my young daughter, crafting a version of love from cooling figs and a row …

Posted in 45.0: SILENCE | Tagged


Territory is suburbia is an atlas of orange-bricked battlelines. Where driveway mouths spit mortar like broken teeth and cold wars cauterise domestic skin. This is where I have mapped you.                                               mango pulp                                               bruise-lidded sky                                               a storm hymnal When the sky …

Posted in 39.1: GIBBERBIRD | Tagged