Category: Issue Thirteen Poetry
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Issue Thirteen Poetry
Orbs & the Mountain Every Single Day Balms Garry Gets a Gun Boathouse Facing North Well Rounded Always, a River Day Ebbs Leigh Sales is “Totally Fine” The Sea Then and Now Tandem venit amor, and others. At Old Epidaurus Rabbits Running Complication We are all Wildflowers Pressed Between Transparencies
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At Old Epidaurus, and others.
by Jena Woodhouse. Perhaps you remember that brilliant morning at Old Epidaurus, nine summers ago: the cobalt Aegean, the shock of its waters on flesh warmed by passion, after the show. The cold marble tiers of the previous evening: moonlight captured and frozen in moulds; the silver horse hitched to a mulberry tree…
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Tandem venit amor, and others.
Translated by Jena Woodhouse. Tandem venit amor… Sulpicia, 1st century AD Now love has finally come, it would be the better part of valour to keep it obscure, veiling the heart in pudency, confiding in no-one. Cythera has conspired with the Muses to endow our ardent embrace; Venus has honoured all her promises.…
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Every Single Day
By Les Wicks. It takes a certain bravery or blindness perhaps. I gave so much away but still the clutter. When I said there was this fear my lover listened. Growth grows on one. On an empty day with storm & vehemence I had plenty. But wanted so much more…
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Boathouse
By Jan Wiezorek I see now that mystery chops at water. I see now those fractal oars in the sky. I cannot see fear on my face, but I feel flint move like slow motion. I could skip along this path of stones and trip right into a rite of terror—slipping off the pier into…
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Then and Now
by Wendy J. Dunn JOAN OF ARC (Written at sixteen). Today I die Today I die I remember when I first heard them in the green meadows of my home, St Catherine beckoned me, Saint Michael and Saint Margaret told me, ‘Drive the English out, drive them out from France.’ They said…
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Fly or Swim
By Jane Frank. A three-quarter moon is already hanging over the old aerodrome and horse paddocks but my head is crammed with the sea— it’s sheen—mosaic edge against the island, though I suppose these lilac-green grasses are their own ocean and clouds of pink- chested birds are gathering in the concave…
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Complication
By Jane Frank.
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Garry Gets a Gun
By Les Wicks
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We are all wildflowers pressed between transparencies
By Jane Frank. Previously published in Wide River (Calanthe Press, 2020).
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Day Ebbs
by Wendy J. Dunn
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THE SEA
by Wendy J. Dunn The cold wind blows waves crash their might against rocks I am one with this place. The sea roars darkness falls as storm clouds shield the sun. I am one with this place. A seagull caws over my head My clothes slap against skin …
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Balms
by Les Wicks.
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LEIGH SALES IS ‘TOTALLY FINE’.
by Wendy J. Dunn Sex Birth Leigh Sales is “totally fine”. Sex Birth Come close to death Yoghurt hits the stage He said she was a bit over the top about this business of giving birth She’s no reason to complain So why not mansplain the point home By missing her with…
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Orbs & the Mountain
By Les Wicks
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Always, a River
By Jan Wiezorek. The eastern branch of the trail ends near the mouth of the creek, running a bow yoke to the river, and the best walks bring me here, facing south, as the sandhill crane flies above Walton bridge— fishing with father, a walk here with mother—dramatic in light, signets, beech, longing—space to…
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Well Rounded
By Jan Wiezorek The Grand Tetons, Thomas Hart Benton, 1955-60, Grand Rapids Art Museum Brother, who knows birds by sight and sound, has such a well-rounded mind that far aspens model themselves as near-spheres, bushes twist into circles, foothills become mounds, and Tetons shape themselves as curvilinear—when he took a covered wagon out west,…
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Rabbits Running
by Jane Frank The hills are large, round animals, smooth-skinned in the fading light. I am pushing the boundaries, coming out of the clouds. A whole continent of them run beside the car, like improbable guides. Stone walls scribble their way ahead across moorland, broad slopes teeming, edged with a fuzz …
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Facing North
By Jan Wiezorek, A dead tree is a limb in waiting, becoming food for fungus, lounging itself at a feast where it is host—so I know death when I see it—and this man in bib overalls, with his long, saintly brown curls, knows how to rage all hell out of the woods growing in…
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Issue Twelve: Podcast Three
CONTENT: Jacob Pilkington short story Flight of Fancy Jena Woodhouse short story A Brief Memoir of Raven Street Jane Frank poems (Fugue; Hobart Reset; Sketch: Creek Lane Maryborough, 1978) Katya de Decerra interview on When Ghosts Call Us Home Wendy J Dunn poem (Hope) PODCAST THREE