wordfire!

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I’m pleased to be performing at Wordfire again this Monday for the first time in years. If you’re there too you’ll be edified by my Rational Emotive Behavior Therapy Horrorscopes especially researched for the occasion. The moon is in the seventh house. Mayan calendar devotees and Apocalypse accolytes particularly welcome. Zodiac chart readings available free for all who attend.
Other readers include Gillian Britton, Stephen Lawrence, Martina Newhook, Anne Bartlett, Helen Dinmore and David Sornig.

When: 7:30pm Mon 21 March
Where: Crown & Sceptre Hotel, King William St Adelaide.
Hope to see you there.

Future-ism

futuristic-city

The Group Literary Magazine edition 7 is now online.

Thought-provoking, entertaining & definitely worth the time it’ll take you to read it!
There are contributions by Larry Buttrose, Mandy Salomon, Jack Feldstein, John Birmingham, James Bradley, Angela Sidoti, Martin Kovan, Kavita Jindal, Brendan Doyle and Rob Walker.

Thanks to The Group for linking my gm food poem.

The Group is HERE.

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Nelophobia.

fearofglassThe fear of glass.

My poem.

Deb Matthews-Zott’s

music remix.

Hear it  HERE.

Nelophobia/ Fear of Glass

it’s crystalclear
breakage can happen
at any point

the tumbler
might tumble

every window,
door – french – revolving
a potential knife to your throat

shards of your life
which cannot
be reassembled

and every one sees
right through you…

©rob walker

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Dry splashes of words.

This one began life years ago with a project (from Melbourne? Please let me know if you remember it) called Fridge Poetry which was an online version of the word-fridge-magnets which were popular more than ten years ago. There was a collection of maybe a dozen random words which you could manipulate/ rearrange to create your own poem. I created “to wheeze, not gentle” (possibly an homage / rip-off? of Dylan Thomas’ “Do not go gentle into that dark night”, probably the world’s best-known villanelle. It became to not wheeze gentle and was published in phobiaphobia (Picaro Press, 2007.)
After uploading an audio version to ccMixter, speck made it even more surreal by using a 1970s phonorgan that he picked up at a flea market for $8! I found a photo of a pretty sophisticated early (70s) French synth and emailed Speck to check if it was the same as his. He replied “Nah. Mine’s not nearly so sophisticated. It’s just a cheap kids toy. This is what I have, except mine’s red and says phonorgan where this one says phono organ.” The photo speaks for itself…

There is something very dadaesque in both the poem and the background story. Couldn’t be more random if we tried!

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