‘It’s Too Early’- Poems by David Faber

He

rather liked

the notion

of a superior

order of

mathematical

clergy, but his

Welsh wife

thought the

The Glass Bead Game

a load of pretentious

old twaddle, Nobel

Prize or no

Nobel Prize.

___

 

It’s too early

to give you

red roses on

Valentine’s Day,

although I’ve

dreamt you

know what I’m

about already

courting you,

but soon I’ll be

giving you

flowers randomly

and routinely

like I used to.


Words by David Faber

Photo by Roman Kraft on Unsplash

‘Having dispatched me’- by David Faber

Having dispatched me

to Ultima Thule,

she came to see

me off at the

airport, promising

to visit soon, and

I quoted to her

in pain: from the

moment I could

talk I was ordered

to listen. Now there’s

a way, and I know

that I have to go.

For ostracism was

ever ordained

for thought crimes,

and I was upstanding,

sounding the alarm,

like a frightened

drummer boy.


Words by David Faber

Photo by Matthew Henry on Unsplash

‘Infinity Problem’- By Danielle Kate

there’s an infinity problem.

spherical in it’s physical essence yet it is everyone that has a

bitter longing for superficial happiness, tears glisten like glitter

love me, paint me on a golden pedestal worship me as you fall

in endless pits of misery. continuous misery of human inadequacy but

devote your soul to me and take the distorted reflection into your hands

see the reflection of society burning a hole in your mind. eyes dance around you

from your very own hands and you take the knife of plastic, and mimic the

images of a damaged world. paint over me and create your own masterpiece

of an eternal loneliness of perfect imperfection of loss, of failings, of being flawed.

whisper the hated words as you love me, hate me, try to be me.

spin around down the hole of despair of never being satisfied, always wanting more

never being enough – continuous misery.

plaster me on your walls.

stare up and worship me.

 


Words by Danielle Kate

Danielle Kate is a caffeine-dependent life form who occasionally writes and does art. You can catch more of her @daniellekstafford on Instagram.

Photo by Sid Verma on Unsplash

 

‘This Place’- By Callum J. Jones

This is a place I would rather not be.

It is a muddy place, terribly cold.

Dense fog restricts everything that I see.

I am imprisoned, under lock and key.

Following orders, doing as I’m told.

This is a place I would rather not be.

Death always comes painfully, cold as ice,

Those poor fledging souls, to God they are sold.

Dense fog restricts everything that I see.

Vicious, brutal pain is all I can see,

But my comrades are courageous and bold.

This is a place I would rather not be.

I admit: I want to get up and flee,

But I have to focus on being brave,

This is a place I would rather not be.

Dense fog restricts everything that I see.


Words by Callum J. Jones

Photo by Nursultan Rakysh on Unsplash

IMG_0080Creative, honest, and reliable, Callum J. Jones loves writing fiction and non-fiction. In his spare time, he likes to read, watch movies and TV shows, and go on walks.

You can follow him on Facebook (@callum.j.jones.writer) and Twitter

‘Wild Welsh Woman’- By David Faber

 

A daughter

of far off

primeval,

proletarian

Pontypridd,

unaware of

Mark Twain’s

dictum that

age doesn’t matter

if you don’t mind,

she hated with a

passion like

Dylan Thomas

the idea of aging

with gentle grace;

it went against

the grain of

one who had

seized the day

of youth with

romantic zest

in Swinging London.

She felt depressed

by a volume of

poems on aging,

its joys and ills

distressed her.

But she kept

her figure `til

the day she fell.

Lulled by the

sweet, sedate

rhythms of a

passionate

friendship four

decades long,

I only found out,

after her funeral,

as you do,

just how very

much I had

loved

her.


Words by David Faber

Photo by Henry Paul on Unsplash

‘The Unmade Sky’ – Poems by Ben Adams

the unmade sky

these words

touch on something lightly

like a feather drawn

through tall, dry grass

a figure crouched

on wide and careful feet

teasing their meaning

from between time’s floorboards

forehead resting on fingers interlocked

and listening—

rising to pace the old house

and place rough hands

on a splintered windowsill

seeing dark smudges

where the dust rubs away

to gaze across the grassy yard

over stones, bare dirt and strewn chunks

of rotting wood—

where no fire flickers

in the cool night air

only cinders

and a corrugated side fence

stretching down to the road

lines of iron and asphalt

at the edge of where we gathered

where something rests in the palm

a weightless bird

memories that perch

soft and uncertain as the grey sky

hung above like a rumpled sheet

the unmade sky

whispering something lightly

words lingering in the mind

like the smell of coffee

that no longer floats

through these rooms each morning


one eastern suburbs afternoon, sliding into evening

and one says to another

there are options here

and the other says to one

would you like a drink?

and one says to another

there is class here

and perfectly kept lawns

what’s on the radio?

and the other says to one

have you checked for

fallen lemons?

and the other says to one

is the front door locked

and have the eggs arrived

this morning?

and one says to another

is the wine open?

and the other says to one

have the bins

been emptied yet?


lights in the dark

through the darkness

we trudge

soldiers on a forward action cut-off from reinforcements

like little children lost

among the trees

through darkness we trudge

and seeing lights

in the distance, as if

from some farmhouse or estate

we say, “those are not the ones

   I remember,

that is not the place

   I know.”


Words by Ben Adams
20180911_155304Ben is a writer, servo-clerk, research assistant and festival cash wrangler. His poetry has appeared in a range of print and online publications, including Australian Love Poems and Red Fez at redfez.net/@badbad He also shares poems and photography on Instagram @bts.adams while poems and politics can be found on his Twitter feed @badbadams

 

‘Nightmares’- By Amber Wurst

I remember the time when nightmares used to be monsters not people,

when I feared the creatures in the dark, not the ones hiding in plain sight.

Snarling teeth and sharp claws sent shivers down my spine,

now it’s unhinged smirks and wandering hands that make me uptight.

No is no longer a demand but a suggestion and they preach that my best bet is to cover up as prevention.

Chances are they will be let off for their transgression,

so I know there is no such thing as redemption.

Now it is no longer a matter of life or death but a bitter memory I try to suppress,

until it becomes a scar I’m too scared to address.

Instead I would rather digress and silently fight my mental distress.

Then it becomes just another secret that I possess.

Something I will never confess, because it’s safer to just repress the memory and shame.

Especially when all they do is victim blame and I know no one would ever look at me the same.

So now he is just a name I can never erase, and a face I will never displace.

I try to find a way to go on knowing that he is out there living someplace.

Meanwhile my world has become tainted and my sleep is contaminated

With dreams of being manipulated, and the ways in which I was adulterated.

Fighting is no longer for my life but for my sanity,

and fighting for the right to have control over my entity.

All the while wishing for serenity.


Words by Amber Wurst

Amber is a student at Flinders University. She has been writing for years but only recently began publishing her work on Instagram under a.wurst_poetry.

In Conversation: Malaika Gilani

In 2016 Malaika Gilani published her first poetry collection: Untold Journeys. She was seventeen. This year she has been a part of the global anthology, I Bared My Chest, comprising of 21 phenomenal women telling their stories. Recently I had the chance to interview this Melbourne-based poet and talk about inspiration, writing advice, and poetry.  

 

Could you give us a brief overview of your current published poetic work? What are its themes and what would you like your audience to know before reading it?

 
Untold Journeys is about everyday life. Things we all experience: friendship, family, body issues, and so much more. There is at least one poem in there that you can connect with. If the poems aren’t giving advice then they are there to show you that whatever you are going through, you are not alone. Someone is going through the exact same thing too.

 
What was it like publishing a poetry collection at seventeen?

 
It was amazing to be doing something that not many people have done. However, there have been rejections because I am too young and inexperienced. But who cares, life is all about the good. If we start focusing on the negatives then we won’t be able to live at all. I’ve loved it. The support from my family and friends has been a huge part of how I got here. They help me stay humble and enjoy this experience at the same time.

 
What inspires you to create poetry?

 
People, their experiences, and their lives.

 

If you could sum up what you would like your poetry to evoke what would you say?

 
You are not alone. We are all going through the same things. In the end, it’s the things within us that make us more alike than we will ever know.

 

Could you tell me a bit about I Bared My Chest? What was it like working with and collaborating with other artists to create this anthology?

 

You could say it was an interview of 21 authors in book form. All participants were given a series of questions to answer, to show people someone else has gone through the same thing as you and to show people that artists are not [all] geniuses. We are [people] like everyone else, anyone can achieve what we have.

It was amazing to work with people who are so much more experienced than I am. I learnt so much from them and was in awe of how wonderful and cooperative they were. Most importantly, I realised we were all normal humans – we disagreed, we celebrated, we got sad and angry and happy.

 
Have there been any books/authors/poets that have deeply inspired you? If so, what are they?

 
Sue Lawson and Jackie French.

Sue came to my school once when I was in year nine and has been in contact with me since. And Jackie is such an amazing and inspiring lady. I contacted her to review Untold Journeys and she has been a huge part of my life since. I email her and she instantly replies, giving me advice and encouragement.

 
What advice would you give to other poets and writers?

 
Rejections make you want it more. It makes everything more meaningful too. I appreciate my work and others’ so much more now because I know what hardships we all have to go through.

 

What has been the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever received?

 
If we start focusing on the negatives then we won’t be able to live at all.

 
Are there any upcoming projects that we can be excited for?

 
For now, I am on hold. I am starting university, so I am going to focus on that for now. However, once I am done with my psychology degree I will think about whether or not I still want to focus on writing and continue my writing journey.

 


Gilani’s book is available for purchase on Amazon and you can follow her journey on both Facebook and Instagram.

 


Interview by Georgina Banfield.

‘Back To Californian Spring’- By Sydney F.W. Stout

 

 

I am scared of the dark and,

With every step yet more lost.

 

I know no path, yet fear my steps false,

Every one an investment in mistake,

A folly of naivety and hope.

 

I’ll reach for the flicker ‘n’ flame,

I dare to hope – a chance not lost.

Where I’ll be is gone; where I was,

Where I head, all forgot.

 

No, there’s a place for me,

For all us stumbling and reaching,

With no cause to hope 

Yet that is what we’ll do,

All with hope to fight despair.

 

Last I saw in light,

Was one green Californian spring.

And memories cheat me but before –

Before things went dark, before I feared

A devil’s footsteps trod truer than mine,

Yes, there was light and a line to walk.

 

And there, somehow, I shall find myself a way.

 


Words by Sydney F.W. Stout

‘Counting’- By Callum J. Jones

One week ago, I betrayed you.

You screamed at me out of anger and frustration.

I felt guilty and unworthy.

But of course, you were right.

Two weeks ago, I angered you.

You now hate me as if I’m guilty of an unforgivable crime.

I feel ashamed and undeserving.

But of course, you were right.

Three weeks ago, I infuriated you.

Your anger continues to rise, as if it’s a swelling tide.

I feel crushed under your wrath as it festers into a pill of bitterness.

But of course, you were right.

Four weeks ago, I enraged you.

You now avoid me as if I’m infected with the Plague.

I’m locked in a cell of pain and self-hate.

But of course, you were right.

Five weeks ago, I deceived you.

Your fury has now diminished, as if it’s a cooling furnace.

Even so, I’m still hurting as you continue to evade me.

But of course, you were right.

It’s now been five weeks since I went behind your back.

Not that I’m counting.


Words by Callum J. Jones

IMG_0080Creative, honest, and reliable, Callum J. Jones loves writing fiction and non-fiction. In his spare time, he likes to read, watch movies and TV shows, and go on walks.

You can follow him on Facebook (@callum.j.jones.writer) and Twitter