Call me Rose Dorothea. I prefer the word for the thing to the thing itself.

Stuart Barnes

 

Two lines, fast

Edens,               limelight a rose,               con

-ceal rhododen

-drons, aphids,

thrips. Their

repartee dares

the egotist, silent, eerie

as fertiliser.       All

specimens are

focal            points.

Finer than shears’

flashing grim edges,

per so nag es

shift among the

elements.      Cro

-cosmia

Dierama

Freesia corms

starch garments.

Acid soil          in ter ro gates         worm

casts, a ring of

toadstools,

firing pistils,

stamens,   in

flagrante delicto,

crowns

thistles.      A hollow tine

aerator intercepts

to p   dr es sing,

whets itself.

Swarms of half

-moon edgers

massacre the green.

                                                                  s

                                                                e

                                                                 c

                                                       e                 n

                                              o         r      e      s         c

                                                            f       l

                                                          i           n

g

n

i

l

f

s

d

i

h

c

T e r r e s t r i a l

o

The intercrop swan

song: ‘Pollination’s

a con

-cept.’      The gardens air

no tender

-ness

for chrome posse

-ssion

-s:

these parts are the

hereafter’s carollers.

 

Note: this poem only uses letters from its title, which is a phrase from Emma Jones’ ‘Citizenship’

 

 

Stuart Barnes’ first book, Glasshouses (UQP), won the Arts Queensland Thomas Shapcott Poetry Prize and was shortlisted/commended for two other awards. He’s working on his second collection, Form & Function, and a novel. Poems are forthcoming in POETRY (Chicago), Scars: An Anthology of Microlit and The Night Heron Barks. Twitter/Instagram: @StuartABarnes

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