your skateboard is

.

a suitcase-seat

spare legs, the only teacher

you didn’t answer back

.

hold it like a travelling guitar

drop-in to forget

this morning’s words

grind across steel coping

.

fly

.

let it land you

always in the middle

of now

.

friar bird (haiku)

.

a friar bird in the banksia
on her phone again

.

.

.

.

For those not familiar with the friar bird’s chatter here ’tis:

review of ‘That Zero Year’

Phillip Ellis recently posted a review of ‘That Zero Year‘. Click on over if you have a few minutes. This is my first publication and therefore my first review so I’m pretty stoked Phillip has sat with our poems long enough to write about the collection and collaboration.  Here’s a bit from his review:

—

The nature of this language is uniform between both poets. It can be seen clearly via quotation; the following comes from the final half of “Routine in Grief”:

I sit and wait
for the spoon to drop

try to work out my answer
to the question
that will follow

The language of this poem (and the others) is a pared-back, quiet language. It makes no stylistic flourishes but, rather, sets out its narrative and situation with a minimum of ideolectical qualities. This language is simple, yet not simplistic, emotive yet not emoting, and the poems are all the stronger for this plain-speaking quality.

—

If you would like to buy a copy of your own. Please send me an email to: piedhilllprawns (at) gmail.com and I’ll send one to you. They’re a great gift for new mum’s and dad’s and for $10 super-affordable too.

I’ve broken

ground and a roof tile
promises fishing line knee-skin

a vow into conversations those plastic outdoor
chairs that squash like baby giraffe legs a surfboard

wind curfew a heart
or two perhaps my wife’s favourite wine glass

and now at thirty-four bone
for the first time – it sounded like a twig and now
my left toe is sideways

it’s been ages

i
took my board
out yesterday. she said
You’re fat.

Well you’re dusty
let’s do this anyway.

ii
paddlepaddlepaddledive
paddlepaddledivepaddle
paddledivegulppaddle

iii
survival is on the success spectrum
by default
unmarked

iv
this morning as we walked
back up the beach
she mutters, I’m not
dusty anymore.

Christmas glitter

 

Two weeks out
and the table
is a night sky -

galaxy over there
in the pva glue.

I pick up a star, hold
it on my finger
then place it right on the border

between stone and timber
in the middle of the
eastern end of the table.

If you can read this

 

that’s great. Good
for you. Check out: Hands Up for Indigenous Literacy 

You’ll help children read    and    fetch
yourself some amazing poetry in time  for Christmas. Go on 

do it.

Click here.

or here

or here 

Wagtails

 

build a nest out of 2am humidity. She’s pulled all the sleep across to her side. Why should I give a toss, I’ll only kick it off anyway. Burned-out mozzie coil on the sill lets in a dozen thoughts. They scream in my ear till I give up, give them a pencil, then step outside. The street is lit with steel light, all the driveways tucked in and snoring. 

 

 

dO yOU WanT woRds?

Stop looking at me funny. This Sunday is the final Speedpoets (open-mic Championship-Of-The-Worl… perhaps Brew bar in brisbane) for the year of 2012. If you’re around bris and want wOrdS then head into Brew (Lower Burnett Lane) from 2:30.

Check out this write-up and poem of mine ‘moment, for a currawong’ - Andrew Phillips over at Another Lost Shark.

Also check out these great poets Marisa Allen , Chloë Callistemon , Carmen Leigh Keates , Nicola Scholes , Cameron Logan , Jo Brooks , and Michael Cohen (where’s Michael???) who are all actually friends but open mic is such a blood sport. There’ll be plenty of other poetry, music, zines, words wordS worDS woRDS wORDS WORDS so I hope to see YOU there. bye

 

 

The First 30

Right place – right time. I managed to get my hands on an early copy of ‘The First 30‘ from Graham Nunn. The first thing you notice is the texture and image. The collection is hugged by the cover art (check it out below – if feels even better in your hands), raising expectation as you open pages into Nunn’s world of Brisbane streets, Tweed coastline and the anticipation of baby. Then, Graham lets the reader into hospital space, the family home and much loved and experienced suburban streets.  These are images that remain with you and bring you back asking for more.

.

I’m ecstatic to announce the launch happening next Sunday afternoon and still pinching myself that Graham is allowing me to be a part of the celebration. I hope to see you there.

Another Lost Shark Publications

invites you to the launch of
The First 30 and other poems
by Graham Nunn 

To be launched by multi-award winning poet Nathan Shepherdson

Date: Sunday October 21

Time: 3pm – 5pm
Where: QLD Writers Centre (Level 2, State Library of QLD)
Entry: Free

RSVP: email Graham

at geenunn@yahoo.com.au 

by Wednesday October 17

.

With his enriching sequence The First 30 Graham Nunn continues to mould a place for his own form of optimism. In contemporary poetry the big ticket trio of family, love and innocence have become surprisingly difficult terrain in an ever-knowingworld. Harvesting the thoughts around his firstborn, Nunn approaches this ‘trio’ with natural sincerity underpinned with a hint of undamaged irony – mixing gravity and amazement in the right measure. He builds a shelter of words around the central hearts in his life; leaving enough space to welcome the reader as an intimate witness.

Nathan Shepherdson

.

.

To help celebrate the launch of The First 30 and other poems, Graham will be joined by local poets Andrew Phillips (That Zero Year) and  Julie Beveridge (home{sic}).

We look forward to seeing you there!

The First 30 and other poems is now available from the Another Lost Shark Store

Peter Bakowski – Beneath our Armour

I’m thrilled to let you know about this Avid Reader event on Monday night (8th October) where Peter Bakowski will speak about his new collection Beneath our Armour. Three local poets will also be reading their work and I’m lucky enough to be one of them, along with good friends Trudie Murrell and John Koenig. If you’re keen to come along let me know and I might be able to swing you some free tickets. Here are the details:

 

Join this special salon event to hear Peter speak about Beneath our Armour and hear new poetry from talented emerging Brisbane poets, Andrew Phillips, Trudie Murrell & John Koenig.

Poet Peter Bakowski’s sixth and most recent collection is Beneath our Armour, a book of poems made up of portraits of real people such as Sylvia Plath and Diego Rivera, portraits of imaginary people, and of places and things, such as ‘Portrait of blood’ or ‘Portrait of the colour black’.

Peter Bakowski has been writing poetry for over 25 years and is the author of five books of poetry, most recently Beneath Our Armour. His poems have been translated into Arabic, Bahasa-Indonesian, Bengali, French, German, Italian, Japanese, Mandarin, and Polish. He has been writer-in-residence in Rome, Paris, Macau, and Suzhou, and at Greenmount (Western Australia), Battery Point (Tasmania), Broken Hill (New SouthWales) and at the Arthur Boyd estate Bundanon (New SouthWales).

Peter’s aim as a poet is to write clear and accessible poems, to use ordinary words to say extraordinary things. His first book, In the Human Night, won the Victorian Premier’s Award for Poetry in 1996 and, most recently, Beneath Our Armour was shortlisted for the Victorian Premier’s Award for Poetry in 2010.

Peter tours relentlessly, giving public and private readings to audiences around Australia. In 2009 he gave over fifty public performances of his poetry. He is a frequent contributor to arts media, including ABC Radio National. He lives with his family in Richmond, Melbourne.

Date: Monday October 8
Where: Avid Reader (193 Boundary St West End, Brisbane QLD)
When: 6pm for a 6:30pm start
Entry: $5
Booking: Avid reader

At grandpa’s (with my tubby cousin)

for chris 

Yellow-brown stain across white
ceiling; grandpa in leather chair 

would raise his 
pipe to say g’day

we run out to play cricket 
at the front. Like tradition 
he’d follow and sit, second step 

elbows as wide as knees 
tap out each change 

of bowler, pack fresh leaves and light up 
at the crack of a good shot.  

Could he see
a future test captain  
through those glasses; silent 

as the glass 
of a commentary box. 

 

Rearview mirror

There’s a black suburu parked on the left hand verge
of the highway.  Two of them

walk from the galvanised pole -
taped orange flowers.

He watches her,
too far apart for hands

her face searches
the ground

picks up something
in the grass.

That zero year

That zero year is the publication of work Tiggy and I have collaborated on over the past year. It deals with all things parenting and kids, hits raw nerves in places and I’m stoked to be placing it out there for readers to enjoy. I love what these three brilliant poets have to say and feel truly blessed to have their words donning the back cover: 

From the sudden weight of Thirteen weeks to the biting complaints of Fishing, That zero year screams with joy. These poems form a dialogue of love and loss; unpicking stitches in the family weave to welcome us to the bedside table of these most private moments. Here, we witness breath-taking devastation – the missing knee in the chest, the remembered rub of a belly – and wide-eyed wonder – a smile wriggled through to the toes. That zero year is an unflinching celebration of breath and blood. Phillips and Johnson know what it is to be alive and we are richer for it.

Graham Nunn

This collection is like an unsuspecting orientation manual, uniting what appears to be uncomplicated materials, recognisable motifs, familiar situations and mapped out structures but, in all reality, holds the weight of ten sinking cities and leads me back to that Talking Heads lyric, ‘how did I get here?’

Pascalle Burton

As reflections on domestic life and the intimacy of family, these are fine poems. But as portraits of loss, love, and grief, and of what happens in the months and years that follow tragedy, they are vivid, unflinching, and beautiful.

Michelle Dicinoski

The book will be available for purchase at the QPF bookshop this weekend. We will be performing our set on Sunday morning so if you’re around Brisbane, we would love to see you there – 11am at Judith Wright Centre and here’s a taste of what you’ll get if you pick up a copy of That zero year.

The home midwife

She pulls up in a hatchback,
carries her leather case swollen
with years in and out of waters

a little vial of rose oil
and herbs transferred through bellyskin
to help the body yawn.

She walks down a hallway
to brew a pot of raspberry leaf,
fennel, singing nettle

and chats between the heavy breaths,
makes a joke about stir frying the placenta
but doesn’t laugh.

No phone code or knife sharpening
for spine on spine, head up bottom down
or umbilical wrapped around the neck

she has whispering hands;
chinese point massage to coach
an aquatic half somersault
and unfurl the ribbon.

She reads faces too
guides a father’s hands
to be in on the magic of catching skin
slippery as water

it’s a black art
to let a baby happen
in your living room.

We are here to witness

his deep breaths, shifting
feet, light chatter with the boys.
While we wait 
for her 

they play 
a documentary-peek through each other’s eyes;

the first date dark sunglasses 
her laugh (no one ever sees) 
proposal in the west end 
studio – curtain 
into narnia, he stands

waiting among conifers in december snow
blowers, a single rose, bent
knee.  She said… 

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, please be up…’

standing
beside my beloved 
five rows back. Thank God 
I’m on this side
of proposal.

Queensland Poetry Festival 2012 ‘Spoken in one strange word’

I’m stoked to announce the Queensland Poetry Festival 2012 is launched and rolling. It is looking to be a cracker event and among the incredible line up of international and local poets performing, this Piedhillprawn will be a part of the event for the first time. 

On Sunday 26th August 11am, I’ll be performing with Tiggy Johnson in the ‘Storm and Honey’ session in the Shopfront Space. This is a collaborative project we’ve been working on over the past year. Don’t miss it. The session also includes the set ‘MC Lady Lazarus vs. DJ Thought Fox’ which is certain to be explosive. Yep, page poets and stage poets for the full experience in the shopfront space. 

A Million Bright Things is the showcase on Saturday night 8pm where Queensland Poet in Residence a.rawlings launches the Queensland focussed component of her series Sound Poetry and Visual Poetry.  This will be followed by a short set from every performer on the program. Not to be missed. 

Also performing at QPF this year is Robert Adamson, who ‘has fished the Hawkesbury River for poems for more than four decades’. I love Adamson’s work and am super excited to be able to see several performances from him. There are so many more so go and check out the program for yourself. See you there.

Beach camping

 

A gust antagonises
the tarp and flaps me
from the mattress

to inspect galvanized guards.
An all night stand
after three months rest in the base 

of the trailer. Pegs grip
earth and guy rope.  

Twang!

Taut enough. Satisfied
to return to bed and no need to pee
I turn to see a spider absent

from its home of
swinging raindrops and torchlight.
Asleep in a corner
branch to fix slack lines in the morning.

I towel my hair, flash
the time.  Forty minutes
since the last check. 

 

 

Stinson series – Saturday 20th February, 1937

ii

leg bone -
aircraft pipe
through canvas

iii

The cyclone moved
off the mountain, moved off
the coast, retreating
from what it had done.  Air

washed of its haze; buildings
in Brisbane and beyond the Glass
House mountains.  We couldn’t see
our mountain held a secret;

flecks of blue through the canopy,
and wandering planes
never circle
our cries and smokey fire.  Westray
couldn’t wait beside the carcass
of yesterday’s flight, his hand burning
to scramble down gullies.  Gone,
in moments, swallowed by green
just the fading sound of a man slipping
through the undergrowth.

Month of Poetry – Smoko

I have been participating in writing a poem a day for the month of January and so far have only missed yesterday due to a heavy schedule of work.  Here is one of the poems from last week.

 

Smoko

$1.50 and no line at the vending
machine.  He holds $3.20 and a funny
line to try on the denim skirt
who drives the smoko van.

From out of the lunch room
in the warehouse, “Who punched
my bus-kits?”
“Just hair brew!”

Under a shade cloth
a weld of cheese is squeezed,
drips from stained hands
on to overalls
that used to be navy blue.

Silver hair unfolds
a white salad
sandwich, bows
his head, the same
smile he wears every day
for the last thirty years.

Watch Daddy watch – MoP#4

Watch Daddy watch 
Each stone is a badge,
selected for smoothness,

its ability to belly skip,
hop when it ought to sink
though the side arm 

technique and flick 
off the finger
is a stretch 

beyond their looped 
plop.  No, not like that, watch this one 
watch this one Daddy.