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Just this...a poem published in Meniscus Journal
Just this…
body, contract and release.
Just this heel palm to air, paint; spasm electric,
mark make in every direction; slide, drop,
weave across; you can’t keep up.
Just this sprung floor to peel off in all directions.
There on my to-do list: my friend is dying.
We cross the chasm in socks; six feet
on the ground; a funny bone that doesn’t laugh;
a grief cube I’ll never solve, but we fall,
laugh back to front, reel across. The transversal
marks my palm, or is that ash? Spin, bend back,
give in to mass: yield to dust.
Just a body airborne. She’s fading fast.
Just an irreparable corps in sau-té, pli-é, je-té;
eight, eight, four, four, two, two, one, one
and slump.
Just this
time of death.
Lisa Collyer & Nandi Chinna - writers in residence - Woodbridge, The National Trust of W.A.
Cordite Poetry Review
'She comes on too strong. Sacrifice
dear ones to placate the mephitic
breath of the goddess. Magnani1
idols offered-up to an animal pulse
hustling amongst the slave class.
I carusi 2 buckle under and wombs
bag-up hellfire. Bare bottomed mules
moil for brimstone, too cavernous
to keep in olives and bread.' (extract from Volcanic Fed)
Westerly writer's development cohort
Westerly Magazine
'We are locked down in masked isolation, so communication becomes virtually intimate. Online, sunsets bleed recurrently in a speculative dimension, while a bushfire burns on the ground. It is a familiar crisis. Friends share posts of cremains cloaking their suburbs like it’s extraordinary. I run to be free of the gag, and after thirty-eight years of waking up to the smell of smoke-filled hair, I write the next edit.'
extract from Poetics of Disturbia
Amelia Walker, Natalie Damjanovich Napoleon, Alan Fyfe & Lisa Collyer - Dangerous poetry - State Library of W.A.
Science Write Now
'They never went back. I return
to a Wanneroo Nursery to meet them.
It was meant as a slur. They claim
Neapolitan but we are hill people poor.
My uncle whose head is chestnut
wrought brands me a testa dura.[1]
I’m awed by her hubris & wish
I was so sure.' extract from An Appendage
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