recent stuff by allan boyd - antipoet


31 Jan 2015


31 Jan 2015

For Jakob's Zine


31 Jan 2015

in birak
this western sun hurts
some seeking reasons
not to ever live here
without a chorus
of aircon hum
this is Wadjuk country
at fire time, fruiting season
as always, there’s talk
of shifting to melbourne
or hobart
over a beer
another beer mate?

in the old days they
set flame to country
 a mosaic of management
and always, and still
that thick dark easterly at 5am
a long cello note
like a hair-dryer in your face

xmas without snow

12 Dec 2014

its roast pork and crackling on a 39 degree day

it’s a cold beer at breakfast, baked eggs, ham on the barbie, the scent of mango, pressies swapped in glee

its running under the sprinklers on a rottnest front lawn

its xmas eve, the four of us still wrapping presents at 2AM, drunk, giggling like kids – the pile under the tree a metre deep

its beach cricket after lunch, he’s out!

its baked potatoes in a caravan, drop-ins welcome

its all the prawns, all the prawns

its laughing at nanna

its life without grandads and grandmas

Coupla new ones...

10 Dec 2014

Here's a coupla poems I submitted to a local Zine:

12 cents - with Kevin Gillam

29 Nov 2014

you have this memory, aged 7 perhaps,
in the sleepout and tucked in, your brother

can taste freo in the plastic, as she burns
and spectacular gild sunsets, sand in toes

a breath away across the lino,
and you have the scene before, counting

can’t ever trip on concrete-pitted knee-high walls
painted mission brown, now mission purple

cowboys in the bricks, Dad on the piano
with the hymns for the week, and you have


29 Nov 2014

morning in southern city thunder
poems busted in waves
and in afternoon suns
in cars locked in grids
in freeway finger gesture
we wait for clear spaces
and dream new places
to park
without coins

as boot smacks leather
echoes cross ovals
and one-eyed whistles

love is a torpedo punt
through the sticks
fifty-five metres out

north of the river streets
wet with ideas
and knock-off beers
the tales of pale ale froth
and the sun hits ocean
in a sherrin-red sky

lingers - with Kevin Gillam

29 Nov 2014

it’s a dangerous light near the surface. is-
lands. drawn out silence. and like sails in my hands.

prints finger across the brown disconnect of sinew
his boldness saliva in fencepost diatribe, measure

these habits. frail spring afternoon. does not meet
my eyes. gnarled. netted with shadows. a mess of

negative procession, a progression of drive-thru
meaning. droplets on geraldton wax (chamelaucium)

ripples. the ebb, forecast of loss. using my
own words. hands twitching the jetsam. Verticals

the fly - with Maitland Schnaars

29 Nov 2014

Wind whistles around the mining dongar, sun melting across the rust coloured land and stunted shrubs, reflecting of the dirty white tin walls of the windowless buildings.

I lie on my bed watching the fly buzz around the room. The T.V is on, but I am not watching it, it’s just background noise.

The fly is more interesting than the mind numbing crap they put on T.V these days.

That’s my opinion anyway.