Zenobia Frost

Zenobia Frost is a writer based in Brisbane. Her most recent poetry collection, After the Demolition (Cordite Books), won the 2020 Wesley Michel Wright Award and was shortlisted for the NSW Premier’s Literary Awards. In 2020, she edited Art Starts Here, a book on the history of Metro Arts theatre and, in 2021, debuted an interactive installation at Dots+Loops Festival with Timothy Tate.

POP! Editorial

Welcome to the POP! edition of Cordite Poetry Review, in which Gatsby’s green light hovers over this text to tell you we are °º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø σηℓιηє °º¤ø,¸¸,ø¤º°`°º¤ø, baybee.

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2023 Queensland Poetry Val Vallis Award Winners

Without prior consultation, this poem rose to the top of each of our shortlists; it was unquestionably our winner.

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Submission to Cordite 110: POP!

We want poems that POP! Think pop culture, pop art, pop music, popcorn, pop rocks. Poems in the shape of a soup can. Ghazals with Bieber Fever. Sonnets with square eyes. Give us bubblegum poems. Channel-surfing poems.

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Meditation on the Body

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Chewing on a Ruby Passport

2020 Arts Queensland (Digital) Poets in Residence: Featuring Amina Atiq (UK), Ivan Coyote (Canada), Kate Durbin (USA), Nick Makoha (UK) and Jackie Ryan (AUS).

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Severe Thunderstorm Warning for Heavy Rainfall and Damaging Winds

it’s dog hour UV finally set to rare getting in walkies before the Bureau sends in the BOM squad earlier sun by the kilo off the back of a truck buy one get one sun free glare neon-tips the flame …

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Introduction to Zenobia Frost’s After the Demolition

BUY YOUR COPY HERE Philosophical questions of reality and duality underpin many of the poems in Zenobia Frost’s After the Demolition, leading to a sense of rebuilding and remembrance in the aftermath of abodes. The potency of houses is a …

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Chivalry’s Not Dead (It’s Just Been Criminalised)

Text sourced from Miranda Devine’s Daily Telegraph column of the same name (16/12/2017), and its comment thread. Whole poems used to be written in praise of Miranda Devine. But feminism changed all that. Chivalry isn’t dead, it’s just late to …

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Reality On-demand

1. Demo Day Jo Gaines walks right into me and takes stock. Good bones, y’all – I love this one. So much potential. Knuckle through a wall or two and fill me up with light, hem back the big trees …

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Blueprint No. 1: Siemon St.

The only place I ever lived alone, but slept myself out of the memory. My room crammed with king-frame more manspread than bed- spread – creamy linen sheets but no quilt. The bed clothed entirely in light. The window doubled …

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Stations and a Crossing

No one checks your ticket. Outside the train, whales arch across noise and blue static. Take off sodden sneakers, socks. Get comfy. You didn’t bring a book. Watch your window. Split lightning flashes / clouds seeded with bats over slurred …

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Nana’s ghosts gnawed through her walls. Mum and aunts scale bow-legged ladders, scrape paper, bury leaves of it in pilling carpet. Autumnal crunch. Mum makes Nana reinscribe her living room with colours Grandad never would have chosen. We scrawl on …

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Arc 75: The Arc-Cordite Poetry Special Issue

Cover art by Ian Friend My plumbing? Not exactly. But, well, after 14 months in the planning, making, mulling, and editing, it’s finally here: Arc Poetry Magazine 75: The Arc-Cordite Poetry Special Issue. Shane Rhodes and I (Kent MacCarter) co-wrote …

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1. In a mythical demountable we are students of the sword, cotton-gloved rabbits, a few aeons late to taste the blade’s full thrust. Creeping green curdles bronze, suckles the edges off. It sleeps in its labelled, cardboard coffin – one …

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An Ode

A friend requests an ode to her vulva, less half-serious than the organ itself, insistent in humour insistent distress in a hothouse summer of self-fulfilled prophecy. It is the friend-of-a-friend you discuss and never meet – a troubled loveliness, no …

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In Whiskey Gully

Miromiro speaks he sounds her out scoutishly—a collector           Do    you    speak  Tomtit? an unremembered house shingled—crisscrossing green           it could rain and take a year for the forest to sup to its roots from the flat ramble up whiskey-reeling paths Miromiro circles she does …

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never believe the stone angels listen closely to raven and possum at night, ask the moon for permission walk backwards past ivy-grown plots do not cross running water do not dig in the early hours do not stand atop gravestones …

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