Clint Malvern
The school yard’s dense with bodies BUT I CAN’T HEAR A THING. No need to shout, a corona’s hanging around her head. The silence of summer. Here we go, across the iron bridge and onto the sports oval. Grass whistle.…
The school yard’s dense with bodies BUT I CAN’T HEAR A THING. No need to shout, a corona’s hanging around her head. The silence of summer. Here we go, across the iron bridge and onto the sports oval. Grass whistle.…
Issue 22 of Stylus Poetry Journal is out now, featuring some kewl haiku plus poetry by Frances Raven, Justin Lowe, Barbara Archer, Julie Beveridge, Caroline Gilbo, Leanne Hills, Graham Nunn, Ynes Sanza, Jena Woodhouse, Caleb Puckett, Mandy Beaumont, Alison Eastley…
You know it’s just that every day this wave of International Roast it just hits me, in the common room, and I want to run. I see a pile of papers that may never get marked, handwritten notes, attendance rolls,…
By American Creek there’s a fig tree with someone’s name written on its trunk. I hesitate to say mine. Okay, yes. In some fit of adolescent vanity I carved the initials RM there one day, after school. Never have gone…
i. By American Creek there’s a fig tree that’s been chopped off at the waist. Nothing but a brown stump remains. it’s the reason for my suburb’s name. & as for mine, you ask? Ralph will do. Mr Malvern to…
William Gibson, Pattern Recognition Mark Davis, Gangland Dorothy Porter, What A Piece Of Work Anna Funder, Stasiland Mary Ellen Jordan, Balanda: My Year In Arnhem Land Peter Carey, Wrong About Japan Brett Dionysius, Universal Andalusia Luke Beesley, Lemon Shark Flannery…