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FROM THIS ISSUE:
The Australian poet Stephen Edgar’s poem “Man on the Moon” can be found in his collection Other Summers .... With a single reservation, I think it is a perfect poem, although “perfect” is an adjective I would rather not be caught using.
— Clive James
How can she do this now that it’s all changed,
Present her lips to kiss
As though that known face were the same as this
From which you’ve been estranged?
— Stephen Edgar, “The Kiss”
If we go daft together we
will die like fools without a clue.
You won’t help me, I won’t help you.
We’ll blunder independently,...
— Janet Kenny, Daft
So many things by reason reason’d are
It wonders me. If hurrieder I go,
Behinder I end up! Ya, I grow far
Too soon old und too late schmart!...
— Patti McCarty, If Shakespeare Were Amish
I feel newly possessed of interest in
The convolutions of my large intestine.
— Chris O’Carroll, The Procedure
I’m Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn,
Hunting a husband in Aldershot sun.
I’ve the pick of the barracks; but all that I’ve found
Is this limp little poet who just hangs around.
— Martin Parker, No Medals for the Subaltern
The glass I leave’s an empty one;
I polish off each drop.
It’s only when the bottle’s done
that I know when to stop.
— Leslie Monsour, Polishing Off the Sherry
And nothing in our laughter as we fell
into those leaves was like the autumn’s cry
of also falling....
— Michael Burch, Leaf Fall
Please also look in on The Chimaera
’s disreputable parent zine, The Shit Creek Review