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Ornithology Lesson

The poems of Trick Vessels are not the imposed order and false certainties of neo-conservatism, but an embracing of the power and force of night through the spell casting power of language--the magic that does not destroy uncertainty but which gives it value, and purpose.

If Ashbery’s poems are premised, if distantly, on a hope for the future, a hope for new imaginary communities, a hope for a new way of speaking, Creeley’s poem are cynical about the future, isolated from community, and unable to even speak.

You sit down to write a report entitled, “How is it possible for one person to kill another?” An hour later you wander off into the streets, leaving a blank page pocked with dark nothings. You see people cover coughs, remove glasses, wave goodbyes, adjust headsets, thumb mobiles, stub out cigarettes and arrange hair in ways that suggest intimate worlds and private moments. Almost every action unaware, an unnoticed use of the hands. You wonder how many more steps in the direction of unconsciousness would be required for one of those pairs of hands to be raised against another. You fall into the hole between the hand and the heart and stay there because it is easier than answering such questions. Australian born Richard James Allen has published nine books [...]

dream in which you survive and in the morning things are back to normal

The Eggshell Parade brings you a The Noisy Reading Series reading and interview from poet Michelle Bitting. Michelle reads her poem “Free,” which appears in the winter 2012 issue of diode.

The story of Cain is built into the founding mythos of America, whose people were cast out of Europe to violently master "uncivilized" land.

Ghosts bristle from the grimy grout of cobbles and tiles. Foot -paths, the Ouija board. Feet pulled by forces to trace, decrypt names. Whispers just audible to haunted ears. Pedestrians strollers and filth, endless streets. My mind an accomplice a terrified toddler, curious climbs the steps toward the attic a house planted on dead memories. Eyes catch shadows, shoes read the Braille of faces. Shades surface beneath my boots, blacken the soles on the sullen trail, a ghost-infested city.  Ali Alizadeh's latest book is Ashes in the Air (UQP, 2011), shortlisted for the Prime Minister's Literary Award, Poetry. His next novel will be published by UQP in 2013. He is a Lecturer in Creative Writing at Monash University. He has a website:


She took her sweet time, I suspect, in order to release something rare, special, and dangerous -- a finished book.

The ecstasies of the “secular” are sacred.

Because the river is never still enough to reflect the sky, I want to stay. I want to say to strangers, who say I love you, it’s untrue. The mirrors of their eyes only blind me. There’ll be no ovation. There’s hardly a road. Home is a distant thought, hovering on a squall. I spot a chapel in the shade covered in lichen’s dull brocade. No-one’s looking at me, kid. Take a flake of rock, scratch the word Ingrid into bark, letter by letter. By the force of my hand, I might earn permanency. Let that plane leave without me. Ivy Alvarez is the author of Mortal (Washington, DC: Red Morning Press, 2006). She held both the MacDowell Fellowship (USA) and the Hawthornden Fellowship (UK) in 2005. Her poetry appears in journals and [...]

To the Night Shark

The Eggshell Parade brings you a The Noisy Reading Series reading and interview from poet Michael Homolka. Mike reads his poem “Family V,” which appears in the inaugural issue of Phoenix in the Jacuzzi Journal.

Bradstreet is an outlier of most received literary groupings.

So, thus far, I am both annoyed and delighted all at once, and I have a sneaking suspicion the poet would not mind that I be both annoyed (or irritated/agitated like a clam) and delighted all at once.