Rat tailed & Juvenile of complexion
they’ve got a hand in the Drum satchel
Fish’en out the fragrant Thatch of corporate Nicotine
blatant arrogance of Denial, no Influence of Almighty or Oldfella here

strait from the fresh food Woolie’z off licence
Woolie of complexion fresh out of creekbed fore’shore
Twizt the top on the Crown, bottom shelf deal Mc William’z qualitive Beverage
Neck’en it, first splash go’z strait on the asphalt Mark’en territory supposedly

Speak easy, although from a different language group
drug house source of dizcontent & move along dovetail’z to walkabout
Transient nature of no consequence, if Canning Stock Route iz Alive with Hiatus
corporate & political poison’z, bridge Structure of artisticness would suffice

intervention completely bottlenecked by Gatekeeper’z
Who sez the colonization is ova
to be born here
don’t mean you
come down in
the last shower

Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia)


I’ve a Little Communist
I’ve a Little Capitalist
       Battling Away inside of me
       I Believe the Capitalist is
       Reining Supreme
       (in a Defeatist type of Manner)
Whilst Being Bitch Slapped by the Muse
       I become aware the only Capitol I possess
       is the Ability to
       Rise Early &
       Stay up Late
Simultaneously, Randomly
       being told I have to be Mindful of Burnout
       So as the Flame Grows
       Weaker & Dim’s
       Poised Above it
I’m a Chocolate teapot

Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia)


Statistic’z on’ a (de) Template’z
(Multiple Choice Question’z)

     - Have Yo Ever, CLAIMED / INSURANCE/ (FRAUD)?
        (yes)(no)(maybe)(not sure)(Absolutely Not)(Possibly)
     - Have Yo Ever, Sustained A Workplace Injury?
     - Have Yo Ever, made a Worker’z Compensation Claim?
        (yaa)(ne)(Allegedly)(Don’t Know)(Let Me See)(Um)
     - Waz Your Mother, Your Biological Berth Giver?
        (yea)(nu)(All Of The Above)(I HOPE S0)
     - Have Yo Ever, Sought Workplace Legal Advice?
        (yer)(na)(Have I)(Did I)(Am I)(Was I)(Can I)(Can 1)
     - Do you Feel, you Have the Opportunity, to Question?
        - - - - - - -, ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? , !!!!!!!!!!!!!!?
     - Have Yo Ever, Had A FRONTAL LABOTAMY?!!?
        (yes)(no)(What)(DER)(Jiz I Doh Know)
     - D’ya Have A Clue What Any Of Thiz Iz ABOUT?!!?

Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia)

Haar-cooo: Incarcerated

I gaze from Train windows

same as

the Multiply Incarcerated

Haar-cooo: Corporate World

  • Corporate World - Exploits Me?
      • Exploit ME! - Corporate World.
  • Government Department - Embraces Me?
      • Embrace ME! - Government Department.

Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia)

Handbag Economy

My Partner & I,
Split Up Over a, “Fricin” Hand Bag?!!?

They Argued,
    They Said,
    They Will Not Be Told.
    (Dictated 2 / Manipulated / Controlled)
    Over The Ownership of a,
    Hand Bag?!!?

I Said, It’z Not the “Hand Bag”
    I Have A Problem With.
    The Need, It’z The
    Absolute, Incessant,
Anal Retentive,
For The Hand “Fricin” Bag?!!?

I Said,
    Working Yourself Into,
    A Frenzy,
    The Ground,
An Early Grave,
Just for the Ownership.
(To Possess, Seek Out & Gain)
The, Hand “Fricin” Bag?!!?

I Said, So That’z Alright,
    We can Part Company,
    (Go our Separate Way’z)
    You’ll Always’z Have For Company,
    You’re “Fricin”, The Bloody, Hand, Damn, Bag?!!?

(Juzt A Thought Aside)
    Wouldn’t It Be Great if the World’z
    Economy Waz Based on Hand Bag’z.
    No More Petroleum,
    No More Car’z.
    No More Drug’z
    Or Weapon’z Of Mass Control?!!?
(Back to the poetry)

I Said, It’z Alright.
    The Hand Bag Will (Certainly)
    Keep U Busy Enough (I Mean)
    You’ll B Need’n to Travel (Back)
    To Place of Purchase (The Shop)
At Least 3 Consecutive Weekend’z?!!?

To Settle On,
    Correct Design,
    Fashion, Style, (Exchange)
    Trend, (Refund)
Of The,

Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia)


I’ve Got A Kronic Headache

I’ve got a kronic

I can no longer see —
or feel my freedom

I am caught and tethered in the
stale dry molasses of a
nanny state

My development is
arrested by the forces
of coercion

It may be wise to
ban something that
erodes good health
and promotes a selfish self
and leads to fun, even
if it makes you feel good for a while,
for you can never guess where it might take you, it
might take you to 100% happiness, it
might take you to an early grave,
it might take you to dystopia, it might invigorate
your myopia

But while we’re on it, while my
kronic smokes its way into my
illegal smile, let’s get real, let’s:

ban all alcohol
ban all nicotine
ban all bad drivers
ban god
ban families
ban sexual intercourse, especially with horses
because you might break your back
ban amphetamines and
analgesics and
dopamine and
impregnation and
fertilisation and

They might kill you, or make you sick

Ban the bomb, ban
a walk in the park
after dark —
a squirrel might bite your arse

Ban conversation — a
difference of opinion
might lead to homicide or even, regicide

Ban touching yourself,
you might go blind
and walk in front
of a bus and —
that might kill you

Ban kissing cows, you
might get mad cow
disease, especially if
you tongue kiss

Ban kissing flying foxes, especially
if you are a race horse

Ban diarrhoea, I no
longer enjoy gastrointestinal contortions or —
being caught with my
pants down in some inconvenient laneway

Ban dysmenorrhoea, it’s
no fun being periodically painful

Ban stamps, there might be arsenic
where you lick the sticky bits

Ban gazing into your
lover’s eyes, you
might see their
hidden agenda and —
hang yourself

I wish this kronic ache
would go away —
it’s made my day

Allan Padgett (Western Australia)


curving legs beneath
a red leather mini
skirt     red knee high boots
below fleshy thighs
what I can’t see
excites me as much
as what I can

the woman on stage
sweat down her face
singing ‘I found love
or should I say when
I stopped searching love
found me’     steel on steel
as slide guitar squeals

the mood is hot
and the smell of sweat
fills the room

I catch her gaze and
a flash of red painted
fingernails across the
room as she gives me
a little wave     my cue
to make my move     in
this room even the
brightest red is
easy on the eye

Maureen Sexton (Western Australia)

Inferno: 1

Rejoice in the Whiteness of Skin

My thighs are cold from where the coke can rested
between them as I drove. By the mailboxes
the ginger guy is staring
          again his back against my box,
meat-pie eyes, fixed on the middle distance
          not looking at me
like I expect him to.

I should have worn shoes.

I seek out shadow, walking
where the pavement is darkest, where
my skin won't burn. I'm white,
white, white. The sidewalk of my hips
untrodden by your fingertips.

I know it's summer
from the sticky pools
of ice-cream melting in children's eyes,
from the stink of burning flesh
on barbeques.

A guy walks past with a fresh tattoo:
the Southern Cross is slick
with blood and fluid, packed
in Glad Wrap like a lump of steak.

I sink my teeth into his arm.

I am so hungry.

Kia Groom (Western Australia)
First published in the anthology Breath of the Sea (Peter Cowan Writers Centre 2013)

A graphic by our featured poet

An artwork by our featured poet for February 2013,
Neil J Pattinson (Western Australia).


The Shoes That Fit The Man

Our man is more Oxfords & Derbys
Than Loafers, Plimsolls, Trainers, Boots,
More P.G. Wodehouse & Evelyn Waugh
Than tabloidese and television,
Occasionally, on sunny days,
He brandishes a white umbrella;
Yet, today, at the Picture House
That snagging thought... all is not well -
Eleven years a single man!...
His only comfort classic films
About princesses, princesses
Of myth, fairytale, cartoons,
A looking glass to see right through
His classic shoes (a man in rags).

Anthony Costello (UK)

The un-said

He’s new, he’s late, they’ve begun without him
he sits in the only seat left, the one next to her
The room closes upon him,
Here, breathing is all compression
Here, walls talk louder than their words
and the ancient tree is split to fill
space as board room table, holds notes and pens in resignation, hides
knocking knees

He listens to ideas bleached by conventions
thoughts adjusted and annealed by protocols
to his surprise she offers a candle hope to the darkness
speaks from a flicker alive in her eyes

Conversation and formality goes on
around them, between them,
grabbing to fill space and crush air
yet he knows they cling to oxygen bubbles
breathe a foreign place

She believes he does not notice her
or if he does not much
or if a bit more than that
then surely not too much

Not enough to want to open her
not enough to want to see the
beat in her heart, the
wet tears of her longing

her desire to be met in the depths
of the possible
to be unwrapped like a Christmas present
all the layers and foils
one by one, the pretty bows and ribbons

He does not hear her polite greeting card words
For him they are drowned by the moan of her soul
calling to the wild

His face is not turned long to hers
yet he holds her there in the corner of his eye
sees the black waterfall of her hair
the doe brown of her eyes

He sits as if arrested
as she spoke
he heard the second-heart-beat
of hidden words
the perhaps-messages
falling from the ceiling

Terry Farrell (Western Australia)