Picaroon Poetry - Issue #10 - September 2017
We have a strange and wonderful line up for Issue #10 - including (but not limited to) smugglers, dinners, literary icons, an octopus, a tapir, pop stars, and the passage of time. Featuring poetry by Stephen Daniels, Stella Bahin, John Grey, Claire Lloyd, Lorraine Carey, Kathleen Latham, Natalie Crick, Leda Muscatello, Billy Malanga, Sarah Shirley, Pat Edwards, Monique Byro, James Croal Jackson, D. Dallas, Neil Fulwood, Howie Good, Michele Stepto, Tristan Moss, Joe Cottonwood, S.E. Acton, Brett Evans, Samuel Kendall, Philip Flynn, Belinda Rimmer, J.A. Sutherland, Kathleen Strafford, Catriona Yule, Patricia Walsh, Nick Romeo, J.P. Bohannon, and Hannah Stone. Enjoy!
We have a strange and wonderful line up for Issue #10 - including (but not limited to) smugglers, dinners, literary icons, an octopus, a tapir, pop stars, and the passage of time.
Featuring poetry by Stephen Daniels, Stella Bahin, John Grey, Claire Lloyd, Lorraine Carey, Kathleen Latham, Natalie Crick, Leda Muscatello, Billy Malanga, Sarah Shirley, Pat Edwards, Monique Byro, James Croal Jackson, D. Dallas, Neil Fulwood, Howie Good, Michele Stepto, Tristan Moss, Joe Cottonwood, S.E. Acton, Brett Evans, Samuel Kendall, Philip Flynn, Belinda Rimmer, J.A. Sutherland, Kathleen Strafford, Catriona Yule, Patricia Walsh, Nick Romeo, J.P. Bohannon, and Hannah Stone.
Enjoy!
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Brett Evans<br />
Philosophies and Maladies<br />
Now, there’s a man.<br />
He knows there’s no heaven to reach up to<br />
and squeeze the fucking sac, burst its balls of purpose.<br />
So he wastes his life, in control of that alone.<br />
Doesn’t shroud himself in Jesus, accost strangers,<br />
spout the sermon on the mount;<br />
interpret texts to suit self-interest,<br />
obsessions. He dedicates himself to truancy,<br />
not philosophy, economics, politics;<br />
of the people, for the people, fuck the people.<br />
Wallowed in debauchery, he comforts his arse<br />
on a cushioned barstool.<br />
But that boy there, stood still on the bridge,<br />
excesses driven beyond volition,<br />
ghouls sprinting the ginnels<br />
of his brain; he’ll have lolloped years naked<br />
through electrocuting hail, laughing like a bonobo,<br />
then from the bridge, drop, as he does now, to slide<br />
along the railway lines, both his blues and reds.
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