after we are dead nobody will remember the way you looked at me this afternoon or the way your hand / grazed by sunlight perfectly described the arc of a bird’s flight someone else will walk along this road / and see that same tree / older now and bent … Continue reading
For the past few weeks I’ve been in Melbourne, on research leave, working on two novels (the endgame of one, the beginnings of another), attending conferences and so on. One of the most excellent things I’ve been doing is messing about in the Monash University’s Rare Books Collection, most specifically … Continue reading
The girl in this poem does not love you She’s just a girl, after all one syllable, four letters barely a phoneme, she’s just a noun, common as a lettuce or a paperclip. The woman who wrote it on the other hand is a wreath of bones and blood wrapped round … Continue reading
While I was visiting the Brontë Parsonage Museum, I picked up a flyer for a wonderful competition you might like to enter. The competition includes two categories: a poem on the theme of NOISE (up to 40 lines) an essay on the work and lives of the Romantics and their circle … Continue reading