Tag: haibun

When two is better than one

Is there anything better than having a parcel arrive on your doorstep? Well, yes there is. It’s when books, or more specifically poetry, bounces into your hands.

Husband and wife and ridiculously talented Brisbane based poets, Graham Nunn and Julie Beveridge have, both this year published a collection of poetry each. I’m in for a poetry pornathon treat tonight and over the weekend as I get word drunk on Graham’s ‘The First 30 and other poems, and Julie’s home {sic}.

Graham’s collection focuses on the journey with his firstborn son. From what I’ve read so far, these poems are tender and bone-crushingly honest. The love for his wife and son is palpable and striking. It is radiant.

Julie’s collection – a follow-up to her book of haibun, Home is Where the Heartache Is – is an unflinching and unapologetic collection of poems, haiku and her trademark haibun. As wonderful as her previous collection is, Julie’s hit the ground running with her sharp observational skills and cutting prose.

Lucky as I am, I was deeply moved by what Graham and Julie inscribed inside the  books  …

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Now go and do yourself a favour, support your local poets and buy a copy post-haste!

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More of Mr. Nunn’s poetry can be found at Graham Nunn AKA Another Lost Shark

powder

Shot glasses of your ashes before you’ve been burned. Served up to you in a dingy bar, stinking of beer and piss and false promises and lost lottery tickets. At first you think it’s cigarette ash. But then you’ll look closer and see chunks of bone with your face etched on them. And you’ll ask for another shot – something different. But surely this can’t be right because the ash keeps being served up; crunching against the inside of the glass like fingernails down a chalkboard.

Your sweaty ass slides inelegantly off the vinyl. You look at the blonde at the pool table with her ass in the air, chalking up her cue, then gently blowing on it like she could blow you off your feet. You fall in love ten million times a minute, wanting to lash yourself to her slim thighs, but you turn back to the bar and it’s lined with shots – shots of your ground-down bones, melted organs, nails and teeth. Because it’s just ash. And it’s you.

I don’t understand why you don’t like

being thrown around

like talcum powder.