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Warrick Wynne

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the poet

With three published books to his name, Australian poet Warrick Wynne has had his poetry featured in various Australian and international magazines and journals, including Walleah Press and Varuna, The Writers House Blog. Warrick lives and writes on the Mornington Peninsula, south of Melbourne. His most recent collection is The State of the Rivers and Streams.

the poems

Hands

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                        Level 3 is 'Hands':

                        the swathed palm,

                        the unhinged fist,

                        the fingers fractured

                        black or twisted,

                        suspended in slings

                        wrapped in gauze.

                        We all face each other

                        mute as moons.


                        This is what happens

                        when pressure is applied

                        against the grain,

                        this is the flaw

                        in the great architecture

                        what a piece of work ...

                        how easy it is to break

                        this hold we have on things,

                        we can hardly grasp it.

Spider Crab

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            Above the Victorian Fish poster,  

            (vivid illustrations of the edible denizens of the deep)

            a white spider crab mounted on a wooden board  

            pinned to the wall as it was in my childhood.


            I mean, this exact crab, legs now blackening with age  

            was in a (different) fish and chip shop of my youth,

            brought here, no doubt, with the goods and chattels

            from some former enterprise, and I recognise it:

            one giant claw open wide to snap,

            the other retracted shy, evasive

            punch and counter-punch.


            At Hector's Seafood now, the staff wear light blue tops  

            emblazoned with a yellow marlin

            rising from a vividly tropical sea.

            I wait for my flake below fading ivory claws,  

            one outrageously enlarged,

            one curled inward gently

            like an invitation, 

            or an imploring gesture to the past.

At the edge

For Harriet

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                        We walk to the edge of the bay

                        drawn, it seems, to this great dish

                        where you played and swam

                        and now, stand here, with your own baby

                        strapped to you.

  

                        Could anything be stranger?

                        the three of us beside the sea,

                        the submerged beach where you played

                        a stone wall, the city in the distance


                        whatever next?

Publishing credits

Hands: The Best Australian Poems 2013 (Black Inc.)

Spider Crab: exclusive first publication by iamb

At the edge: Love the Words Anthology 2022 (Infinity Books)

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