Voicebox Fremantle 30 April 2018 features poems from Jackson & Maddie Godfrey

Voicebox: Jackson reads a poem
Reading my poem “quite a thing” in open mike at March Voicebox

Voicebox Fremantle‘s poetry gathering next month features myself and the remarkable Maddie Godfrey, plus open mike.
30 April 2018
From 7pm
Cafe at The Rose, 78 Stirling Highway, North Fremantle
$6 unwaged, $10 waged
Cafe (meals, refreshments, licensed bar) and open mike list open from 6:30pm

Poetry workshop in Fremantle! The semantics of silence: writing poems that breathe. 28 April 2018

Poetry workshop in Fremantle! Come and write with me.

scene of silence for poetry workshop in Fremantle

Poetry is made of words, but that’s only half the story. Poets compose with silences, too. The pauses in a poem let it breathe and come alive. Explore the uses of silence through writing experiments and examples in a supportive, encouraging setting. Everyone is welcome, from old hands to beginners. Please bring pen and paper.

Saturday 28 April 2018
Fremantle Arts Centre
Presented by Jackson for Out of the Asylum Writers Group (OOTA).
Cost: $30 members, $35 non-members.
Book today by emailing Marlish Glorie, marlish at westnet dot com dot au.
OOTA’s workshops are very popular, and places are limited. Bookings are essential.

Man with a gun

In the queue in the chemist this afternoon
I stood behind a man with a gun
An armed guard from the ATM money truck

The gun was in a holster on his right hip
I wondered whether it
was loaded

I thought about the barrel
the trigger
the bullet at ease
in its little room

The gun had a wooden handle
smooth, honey-blonde
I tried to imagine
the man drawing the gun and shooting it
He aimed for the leg
I saw a suburb
a woman
a baby
I tried to imagine him
shooting to kill
The terror, the blood-rage
The eyes
blown to bits

I have halved with a kitchen knife a small snake
beheaded with a hatchet a chicken for soup
clubbed with a log a cat-ruined mouse
but I haven't fired a gun
Not yet

My father had a butcher's knife for sheep
an axe for chooks and ducks
a shotgun for birds
a rifle for steers and cancer-ridden cats
I saw how he worked the knife and the axe
but he didn't teach me the guns

The man in the queue was no more than 30
He had short wavy hair and a pale neck
He asked for strong headache pills
Pulled out his wallet

First published in Creatrix 34, September 2016

Special Class

I dreamed X in a swimming pool a man on the side with a stopwatch a race I in the water too with others all competing

I dreamed X won because part of the scoring was on how elegantly you moved your body I just couldn't match her flow I would move nicely for a while but then my muscles would rebel a distracted twitch I couldn't get my parts to synchronise whereas she

She won a trophy “Special Class” it said and I was both jealous and glad jealous because I didn't win glad because I didn't want the trophy object cluttering my bookshelf and needing to be dusted and justified

First published in Uneven Floor, October 2016