TEXT poetry


Les Wicks

Jewfish Bay


The river is filthy –
slurried shawl of gasoline
life-cluttered mud then
that pelican dropped a big one.
Today’s dramatic dropping is floating amongst the rainbows of men
like a territory, a final bets gentlemen.

Seven-year-old Toby in his Sawyer hat,
thinks it’s kinda gross.
But dad reckons no worries
as jet ski lesions bleed out the horizon.

In momentary carelessness
fall to the hum.
On this estuary
we all write in white



Tom Collins


I fall beneath my cart of names
leave colour in the wound.
There is consequence in each unanswered call
silence beyond glance.

So, leave colour to the wound up
Eat feathers in the shade
silence any glance
open up this clever fade.

I eat feathers into shade.
Among birds I am a dog,
silence any chance.
We rut beneath applause.

Among birds I am a god
but children mock my graves.
We cut beneath plausibility
to deliver only ether.

But children are only grapes
we harvest their despair
delighted under ether, a stumpy photograph offered
to the gyprock lusts of life.

We divest their despair
then lose our hair
before their gimpy loves of looting
we are the kings, tossed out of town.

We lost our air
nobody is there
we were the kings, lost in brown
claim nothing just here.

We all fall beneath our cart of names…
consequence assured.




Les Wicks has toured widely and seen publication in over 250 different magazines, anthologies & newspapers across 15 countries in 9 languages. His 8th, most recent book of poetry is The Ambrosiacs (Island, 2009). His poetry workshops have been conducted across Australia.


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Vol 16 No 1 April 2012
Editors: Nigel Krauth & Enza Gandolfo