Poetry

Angela Peita ~ Three Poems

The truth about your depressionIMG_9331

So, I’ve never been good at lying.
It’s not that I don’t have the creativity to come up with a good story
It’s just that I never have the guts to pull it off
And It’s not like I haven’t tried
I’ve spent time doing supermarket crimes
Putting my macadamias through as bananas at the self serve checkout
But by the time I get to the car my hearts beating the intro to a cardiac arrest and
It’s just not worth its weight
I’ve always been this way, When I was a kid
My parents would know I’d done something wrong
Because I’d put myself in the naughty corner
So it surprises me more than anyone when you ask me if I can handle this
And the word that comes out of my mouth is
Yes

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Poetry

Bareknuckle Poet Annual Amateur Poetry Competition 2016

ampoetryleader

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Poetry Video Poem

Andrew Galan ~ Five Poems

Responding to Fireflies in the GardenAndrewGalan

Frost, your epigram is mistaken
with its parenthetical assertion
critical of garden Lampyridae.
Hydrogen means atomically
fireflies always really are
stars at heart.

. . .

‘I will break their guitar.’ – Joan Miró, 1927

The Firefly Assassin

I read a poet writing how a poem is like
a firefly trapped in a glass jar and I thought
that’s a terrible metaphor
you’ve imprisoned, displayed, suffocated
for spectacle, interest, boredom.
But I know we do it
take trophies, torture, kill
until many of us grow up, learn not to
and my clichés are no better.
So this is right, disagreeable –
let’s keep executing poetry.

. . .

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Poetry

Ashley-Elizabeth Best ~ Five Poems

Ashley-Elizabeth BestUs, A Couple Years On

My carrion heart is stabled
beside deposits of nostalgia.
His empty flattery mumbled
into rogue word drifts.

I’m fiery throated, breath
him in whole. I snip off the
heads of decayed flowers,
their stalks eating at the light.
My hair unhooks from my
ear as I rearrange the glandular
pattern of pebbles circling the
garden.

The earth clasps the wind
pelts my face with rinds
of sand.

His arms are flexed cursive,
breaking the soil up by harrowing,
tattoos braceleting his biceps.

We’re tardy gardeners, him
tall and stiff-jointed, gangling
by. I clop over to the front
steps, finger the valvular
incompetence of my varicose
veins, feel the wiggle of my
adolescent wattle jaw, and
there he is still waiting for the
nightly worship of my pelvis.

The evening air turns pearly
sad. A fattened robin lops
a moth off the front door screen,
flubs away, wings promiscuous,
giving the evening a good larrup
with weighted wings.

. . .

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Competition Poetry

World Poetry Day 2016 Amateur Poetry Competition

world poetry day compTo celebrate World Poetry Day 2016 we are holding our inaugural amateur poetry competition. Opens Today 18 March 2016 and closes April 18 2016.

The Rules

. Open to residents of Queensland, Australia who have not yet attained any formal publication credits (excluding personal blogs/social media).

. One poem only, no word count limit, no theme, any subject, any style.

. Entries close 5pm April 18

. Free to enter

The Prize

The editors of Bareknuckle Poet will select ten entries for publication in a special online edition at bareknucklepoet.com and the winning entry from this shortlist will be published in our print journal Bareknuckle Poet Anthology 2016 alongside some of the most critically acclaimed poets and writers in the world. The winning poet will be invited to read their work at the anthology launch at the Brisbane Writers Festival in September 2016.

Read about the Bareknuckle Poet Anthology 2015 at The Australian.

 

SUBMIT

 

Poetry

David Adès ~ Five Poems

David AdesDavid Adès is a Pushcart Prize nominated poet currently relocating to Australia after living in Pittsburgh since 2011. He has been a member of Friendly Street Poets since 1979. He is the author of Mapping the World (Friendly Street Poets / Wakefield Press, 2008) commended for the Anne Elder Award 2008, and the chapbook Only the Questions Are Eternal(Garron Publishing, 2015). His poems have appeared widely in Australia and the U.S. in publications including over 20 of the Friendly Street Readers, and numerous literary magazines and have also been widely anthologized, most recently inVerse Envisioned: Poems from the Pittsburgh Post Gazette and Works of Art They Have Inspired. In 2014 David was awarded the inaugural University of Canberra Vice-Chancellor’s International Poetry Prize and was also shortlisted for the Newcastle Poetry Prize.

Download (PDF, 713KB)

 

Poetry

Rose Hunter ~ Three Poems

Rose Hunter sillyRose Hunter is the author of the poetry books You As Poetry (Texture Press, Oklahoma), [four paths] (Texture), to the river (Artistically Declined Press, Oregon), as well as the chapbook descansos (dancing girl press, Chicago). She is from Brisbane, spent many years in Canada, and is now in Puerto Vallarta, Mexico. More information about her is available at Whoever Brought Me Here Will Have To Take Me Home (http://rosehunterblog.wordpress.com). 

Download (PDF, 675KB)

 

Bareknuckle Poet 2016

© Bareknuckle Poet ~ Journal of Letters & Individual Authors 2016. Edited by Brentley Frazer, A. G. Pettet & Guests. All works published by Bareknuckle Poet ISSN 2204 – 0420 are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License. Published by Bareknuckle Books ABN 23 626 812 677 PO Box 5009, West End, Brisbane, Australia 4101 FOUNDED – BRISBANE, AUSTRALIA 2014

 

Dangerous Writing Literary Fiction Literature

Rot by Laura Ellen Scott

Laura_in_Black_01__thumbnailBy way of introduction, I should tell you that when I was seven, my father took me and my little brother, Phil, on a car ride at three in the morning. We drove for hours and hours, stopping only for pop and potty. The next day, policemen took my Dad away when we pulled in for gas, and Phil and I went to live with strangers, separately, forever. Years later, I learned that Mom’s body had been in the trunk the whole time. My only memory of that night was the thrill of being out so late. They kept asking, but I didn’t remember a fight. Philly remembered nothing at all.

I am the most death-filled person I know, which makes me an ideal political operative. I can say no without looking back; saying yes makes me cramp up. My first wife said I had a rictus smile.

As Senior Aide to the City Manager of New Persia, Pennsylvania, I pledge to attend any and all funeral events. Also, I will give speeches to unpopular constituencies, such as the Sons of Confederate Bastards or the Association of Small Hardware Purchase Agents. I have three excellent suits, and I have no fear of small aircraft travel.

I loved my Dad. He was executed in 1967. He was guilty.

Currently I am married to my second wife, and we have two indistinguishable adolescent sons. They are possessed of jackal lust and hunger, and we plan to send them away for secondary school. They are eager to go.

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