Let Them Believe

October 15, 2016

Written by Negin Ghodrati

let-them-believe-by-negin-ghodrati

by Negin Ghodrati

Laugh at me with that amorphous mouth
Let me see once again what you’re truly made of
Look into my deep, tenebrous eyes
Come entertain me with thy iridescent lies
Speak of those who “illuminate and shine”
But sweetest, there is no darkness more abhorrent than thine.
Allow me to send this stealthy shiver down thy spine:
Imparting my wisdom of the real light, of thy supposed “divine”
Stand right there, stand with that menial grin
Keep on believing that thy ominous face would make me fear
But sweetest, there is some noxious news for you right there:
I shall fear no more, I shall not shed one single tear.
When the night befalls and the gibbous moon prevails
Let us both look into what this little tune entails
Let us keep pretending that you do know and I do not
Let us live eternally behind this abominable veil.

__________

Negin Ghodrati is a Master of Arts graduate in English Literature from the University of Oslo. Her primary interests include any work done on the subjects of “the unknown” and “cosmic horror.” Her Master’s thesis focused on the creation, evolution and aftermath of Lovecraftian horror wherein an academic effort was made to further familiarise the reader with H. P. Lovecraft and his grotesquely sublime universe of horror.

Legion of Despair

October 15, 2016

Written by Negin Ghodrati

legion-of-despair-by-negin-ghodrati

by Negin Ghodrati

 

The hums of drums in our ears
We rush into the distant battlefields
With our meager bodies wandering around
Amid the frozen moors of broken dreams
We are put in lines, we are marching forth
The war is upon us, we then blow our horns
As the horns moan their ashen sighs
We raise our swords of dust into the skies
Praying the “Lord of Death” to take us far
Far away from these filthy fields of lies
We crawl and moan, we cry and scream
The battle shall begin soon indeed
We are the legion of corpses, the horde of worms
We creep and crawl, we blow our horns
We march together to our ancient battlefield
Where we lay our rotten bodies on the ground
We shall be buried in the ashes of our hopes
Waiting eternally for our imaginary foes.

__________

Negin Ghodrati is a Master of Arts graduate in English Literature from the University of Oslo. Her primary interests include any work done on the subjects of “the unknown” and “cosmic horror.” Her Master’s thesis focused on the creation, evolution and aftermath of Lovecraftian horror wherein an academic effort was made to further familiarise the reader with H. P. Lovecraft and his grotesquely sublime universe of horror.

To Vanish

October 15, 2016

Written by Rod Beecham

You know how it is:

returning to the place

after years,

and the familiarity

made sad by absence

(your own, as well as others’).

You feel embarrassed—

ashamed, even.

Life goes on,

it’s not the end of the world;

everyone – including you –

had other things to do.

But the strange faces seem obscene,

while the familiar ones

possess a belonging

no longer your own.

__________

Rod Beecham was educated at Monash and Oxford and took his doctorate from the University of Melbourne.  His essay, ‘Fiction and Memoir of Britain’s Great War: Disillusioned or Disparate?’, was published in the ‘European Review of History’, Vol. 22, No. 5, September (2015), pp. 791-813.  He is currently preparing a biography of the poet Chris Wallace-Crabbe.  Rod is a Literature Lecturer in the Trinity College Foundation Studies Programme.

Fragments in the dreaming

October 15, 2016

Written by Talitha Fraser

fragments

Photo by Talitha Fraser

Fragments in the dreaming
Skittish across the landscape of my mind
some disparate thoughts slow
go side by side, mismatched a way
sometimes they chase each other
along and around – chasing, racing
and I am there with my
reins of reason to draw them in
I seek rest, a blank unknowing
and have instead this kaleidoscope
of people, stories, ideas, words…
I seek to, and do, resist it
but sometimes, rarely, I join the
Dance and explore a terrain
both fearsome and wondrous.

__________

Talitha Fraser works bivocationally as the Administrative Assistant to the Residential College team at Trinity and as a contemplative theopoetics-dabbler living in community with asylum seekers and refugees at Footscray Salvos Outreach. Her poetry and reflections can be found at itellyouarise.wordpress.com.

Lamentations

October 15, 2016

Written by Talitha Fraser

lamentations

Photo by Talitha Fraser

How lonely stands the park bench
that once cushioned so many!
Alone now where once it held
hospitality and community.
That which was functional
now functionless and empty.

She waits – by dawn, and dusk,
and starlight – for the livers and the lovers
but she waits in vain
there is no one left to come.

The realists know better, as do
the cynics and the players can’t
sit still long enough…
the leavers and the left might,
if feeling masochistic, drop by.

Read the rest of this entry »

Written by Danny Dahey

On the marbled floor, perhaps a mosaic, the tree

Spreading branches like burgeoning humanity,

Both women collapse, their hands beseech,

Their eyes wet with tears; they each tell their story,

Call for Solomon the Wise to grant them leave to claim

The squalling child as their very own son (and that babe,

Innocent of crime, did he have a sense of calamity?).

In that crowded chamber, how the onlookers

Must have studied the two? Did they place bets;

Did a voice cry out as if a new tabloid was being sold?

Were there conjectures made; whispers behind hands;

Judgements on each woman’s performance?

Read the rest of this entry »

The Prodigal Son

October 15, 2016

Written by Danny Fahey

The force that drew you home – a blind worm

at sunrise drawn without hope towards

the expectant beak – was it stronger than

that which drove you to choose emigration?

 

And your brother, did he ever forgive you,

who took for granted all that he had

not (forget your father’s words,

what else could he utter in justification)?

Read the rest of this entry »

Reflections of a Prefect

October 20, 2015

Written by Rod Beecham

I’ve always hated Passover,

the slightest twitch rippling the Sanhedrin beards,

rustling the people like a cornfield

hiding a wolf.

Some maverick preacher, no political threat,

quiet, in his own world

(where I’d like to be),

but they wanted his blood.

Claudia talked of bad dreams,

said he mustn’t be killed.

I don’t have dreams:

I collect taxes.

Pay or be punished and no religious babble.

I rather liked the man:

quiet, well-spoken, no political threat.

Priests yelled and waved their arms

aped by the stinking mob

Read the rest of this entry »

Drowning

October 20, 2015

Written by Danny Fahey

For many years now I have been using Grace Paley’s Drowning poems as an exploration of image/metaphor etc and the use of Dramatic techniques to present the poems in a theatrical form. I start teaching one of the poems (i.e. Drowning II) with the line “this is how the camel I am drowned”. But I have this weird habit of twirling words around in my head so what I see/read/ and what is to be seen are not necessarily the same.

So the problem was, as a student pointed out, the poem does not start with the line “this is how the camel I am drowned”. I checked the book of Grace’s poems that contained the drowning poems and…sure enough…there is no camel in that second drowning poem. It was a shame because I had made all these links to drowning and journeys and such that linked the camel into the idea of drowning (desert images etc).

In response to all that work and to my strange error, I wrote these two poems. I hope you enjoy them.

Read the rest of this entry »

The Brick Choir

October 20, 2015

Written by Nazanin Ghodrati

Photo by Nazanin Ghodrati

Photo by Nazanin Ghodrati

They heard her voice, more like a noise

From the other side of the brick wall

Screams: muffled echoes

Scratches: broken nails

Cries: thousand tears

There in her throat lives a spider

That climbs up with every nightly scream

And weaves its sticky web in her mouth

Trapping her voice

To silence her, to erode her

And all she lives for is

The choir sung by the bricks

Screams: muffled echoes

Scratches: broken nails

Cries: thousand tears

———-

Nazanin Ghodrati is an English for Academic Purposes (EAP) lecturer. Her literary interests are in Gothic, horror and absurdist fiction, as well as in confessional poetry.

Untitled

October 20, 2015

Written by Talitha Fraser

me/

learning to love is messy and painful and oh how i

want to be free/ free to be me/ or perhaps someone

else/ off the shelf/ will do/ for you i can’t

remember who/ it is exactly that I am trying to

please/ freeze/ hold it right there, that’s the

perfect shot/ but now the light has changed

and we’ve got to change our location/ altogether

now/ how is it that no one warned me this

was going to take work?/ Jerk me/ around

for dinner tonight? / A frightful mess/ rest of

my life with you/ I’m so confused it’s true/

have we made any/ progress payment due in two

weeks/ sweet for the sweet/ heart don’t take on

so/ feeling low? / I think you should go/ not

without me/ can’t you see/ understand me/

just throw the Frisbee/ I will catch/

you/

By Danny Fahey

So, right hand holding the door’s handle, she bends
at the knees and leans into the open fridge
as she talks to me about events of the day —
her hair falls to the left side, her face
faces me even as her left hand reaches into…

the refrigerator’s light
catches her perfectly

and this frozen moment reminds me
of all the reasons why— and isn’t it
just like the mind
that it takes a shard to capture the whole.

All the years…all the minutes…
blend and are forgotten until a moment
such as this when she leans into a fridge

and I remember everything
but not everything…
just the essence — the way a smell
can capture the entire
when in reality it is but a part.