Issue 9 / Spring 2018

Special “exquisite corpse” issue featuring 4 collaborative poetry experiments by 28 new & acclaimed writers from New Zealand & across the world.

Introducing: Minarets Issue 8

Beyond the paradise of product lines, through an economic wilderness of hollow olives & glycerine drinks, past the invisible homeless & the ghost of Ralph Waldo Emerson (his mum bringing him clean laundry), up a steaming track covered by vaporous cloud—a man with a cowboy hat will lead your pony on.

Naomi Scully

p.Rose JAN 31 2018 BY P.ROSE RHO(DOT)ROSE I want to write and essay “Light the poem”—day three:: THAT SCALABLE FUNCTION:: The cube is concentric volumes… And it speaks to Hallelujah. I will not give in. To the heart that speaks of sins. Beyond the paradise of product lines, we juxtapose a mother set of rhymes. Possible. A trace is made between the fields. A function of discrete appeal. My filter dreams are structured why? For pursuit of scenes and substance gone by. Old is new is old is new is old. What of the historic mode? It took sensations into“Naomi Scully”

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Manon Revuelta

Prayer Look at this busy dance I do with my hand When I’m talking to people Shredding paper in the darkness of my pocket It is the quiet work of saying things Like bees or ants aren’t still when they build things And I admire it and I wonder why it is We put our hands together to pray I suppose we must show that our hands are not doing anything That there is finally nothing happening behind the scenes Which I can’t imagine is most honest    

Courtney Sina Meredith

Pony New Lynn Actually, a whole traveling farm, a portable farm with rats and bunnies, chickens too? It was my sister’s birthday.   Baths Unless my memory is playing tricks on me. The rats were white with blazing red eyes.   I’m translating myself from a time when I was sure.             Sex with strangers The man leading the pony in circles was wearing a cowboy hat.   Sunday School There was a big pink cake with purple icing and sprinkles.   Of being outside I was too big to ride the pony. By then I was a young woman.“Courtney Sina Meredith”

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Murray Edmond

CAMPING IN THE EXISTENTIAL FORREST L’homme y passe à travers des forêts de symbols Qui l’observent avecs des regards familiers —Baudelaire, ‘Correspondances’ I  The bourgeois cuts the  forest to an inch of its life.  “How come you don’t fall?” II  Empty bottle. Think  of Baudelaire camped in his  symbolic forest. III  Someone coming in  gumboots. Tramp tramp tramp. Beat  of own tell-tale heart. IV  The forest watches.  Watch out! Wrong way! So the  forest has its way. V  Forest’s colour is  fish. It smells of dancing. Tastes  pink. Sounds hand. Feels shoe. VI  Through the forest: monk  on donkey, hitch-hiker“Murray Edmond”

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Zack Anderson

Vapor Wake shadow the steaming track the wormy spoor the hex print the luminous index data streaming from me like a wedding dress a mantle, a mantis a veil oh vapor wake I doze in your trace shimmer in your haze lean into your membrane call into a room locate the voice it is mine and it is not mine meme god replicant speech particle vapor wake I break like a flock I cleave in three directions I refract and scatter I spread the remains across the garden floor yes these are hills filmy with light yes these are meadows“Zack Anderson”

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Lee Thomson

My Guru (& the intrusive face) In the wilderness of surrounding social certainness, Exiled; an audience to tables of my inedibles—bright cheeses, canapés green&black olives, distracted; I bump into the doyen of words, guru to a literary soul: Emma. Standing next to me on sacred ground. Breathlessly, I listen to your wordless sight-filled breathing. I would drop my fashion jacket (with sculptured peace sign) into any muddy lino. Leaning my hand to balance Your ephemeral thoughts, celebrate your words embrace your magic views; Egyptian cats & flowered children floating on depths of cultured rivers, on godlike currents…….I drifted with you;“Lee Thomson”

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Freya Daly Sadgrove

BAD SEX IN BIG SUBURBS        what will you give up for closeness honey bun        you can get anyone onside     with enough booze and ruthless gentleness            people are gagging for a little kindness            people will kill for sympathy        these are the seasons of mists baby and I’m in business       I’m a life coach        now let’s get drunk among your family       compose six texts    to your gap-filler crush and send them off in a volley of triumph    from under the dinner table        pay for me!!!! pay for my soul        I’m long-lasting       god I’m so durable        I’m honestly stronger than you know        I’m like the condom with chemicals in so you“Freya Daly Sadgrove”

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Victor Billot

The Hierarchy Invisible homeless The dead Care worker Solo mother (bad suburb) Loan shark Bottom feeder Dolt Poet Casual employee PhD in Fine Arts Intern Experimental rodent Minion Serf Serf (creative industries) Mid-career journalist Ten years to go and holding on desperately “Between jobs” Climate scientist Aspirational 30-something National voter Embittered bureaucrat Petty officer Solo mother (good suburb) Will never afford a house but still think they have a chance Dull but stable Chief Executive of twelve people Tobacco lobbyist Bishop (Destiny Church) Interior designer “P” dealer Change management consultant Grand Poobah Dairy farmer, backbone of the nation “Entrepreneur” All“Victor Billot”

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Issue 8 / Autumn 2018

Victor Billot, Freya Daly Sadgrove, Lee Thomson, Zack Anderson (US), Murray Edmond, Courtney Sina Meredith, Manon Revuelta, Naomi Scully (US), Harry Moritz, Erena Shingade

Rebecca Nash

WHEELS ON FIRE   2013 Baker’s hours means I’m home and it’s two in the afternoon. It has been three days since I last did any proper sleeping. I am raging wide-eyed and insomniac. Nothing is even really real. Something that is not coffee, work or not-sleep needs to happen and it needs to happen quick-smart. At three in the afternoon I book myself a ticket on the evening ferry to Wellington. I have three and a half hours to get to Picton. It takes four and a half hours on a good day. I put my boots on and“Rebecca Nash”

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Hana Pera Aoake

from DEAR JOURNAL, TODAY I STARTED           A TWITTER ACCOUNT CALLED           ‘IS UR ART POLITICAL’   I dreamt I was a peacock No one wanted to fuck me I filled my cunt with concrete It crumbled into your mouth Then I ate a banana                     // Punch me in the face like the guy who punched the Monet Stab a cigarette out and dunk it in my coffee At least then I would know why I am so ‘high risk’ // A bad girl that looks slutty A bad girl that acts like a good girl Remember when it was cool to“Hana Pera Aoake”

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Owen Connors

4 untitled fragments wore forbidden and a well dressed wound. super bad, bad, certified meat. i’m going slack in the current. i’m gonna start dressing now. see, i wanna play with the big boys. i let them all inside. i let inside me no shit. i’ve bruised and lacking destination. i’ve reserved a hatred for others that turned to devour me. right now it’s eating, and, and, it’s on my face. i’ve been living distracted as shady creeps fighting shady creeps with flirts streaming steaming. i love to live this way. i throw gross shade, gross shade at creeps and“Owen Connors”

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Ursula Robinson Shaw

LOCUSTS           nothing is sexy im building a body im copying it out from wikipedia           im giving it          a liver          & a nice disorder im giving it ice skates          im gonna slice thru the bad timeline          of modernity          into new terrors           the rent prices climb          they cut into your prescription speed budget          the rent prices are implicated in deaths           i get another woman’s cold          like a bad present             i take your paracetamol i leave payments late          for the crisis effect                      it doesn’t have to be like this!!          ode to lizzy                      she reads naomi klein          makes pasta & lives with her sister but i came here            to do bad things   & i“Ursula Robinson Shaw”

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Eden Bradfield

kathleen is thinking of moving when i was in gore it was sunny says kathleen considering moving there’s a good art gallery there i could go home, all my cousins say: family it’s harder moving when you’re older kathleen says her hair is cut a little shorter she calls it ‘the web’     morven now i am cleaning up my soap business is thriving i sold four cakes of soap an older woman asked me (her hair like baking powder) Do you do liquid soap it’s better for my skin Now i am cleaning up i said It’s better“Eden Bradfield”

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Rachel O’Neill

The sky is a wide, unmoving chest A woman in a yellow sundress wakes in pale arms. She tells her mother she fell into a meat processing plant. Men, cleavers and carcasses went to and fro. I had tea with the foreman, she says. I tested the conveyor belt and found it hairless. I said some things I shouldn’t, she says, I said I wanted to go home. The foreman knew I didn’t mean it and pinched the flesh on my arm. Well done, her mother says. Just look at you, all yellow in your meat & bone.    

Anna Crews

UFC Joe Rogan’s words before the Rousey and Miesha Cupcake fight 2: Two beautiful women Who hate each other Who happen to be two of the best fighters in the world This is a fight When Joe Rogan has a female guest on the podcast, it’s all restored Feels as good as a splash of nice perfume on my wrist Missing the aggressive atmosphere of the UFC Fight 210 Fortunately, UFC Fight 211 is on May 14 (next Saturday). I’ll watch it at Crown Casino’s Lagerfield Bar, as I did last time I like to feel the aggression and testosterone“Anna Crews”

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Craig Foltz

One of us Has Gone Missing (from Petroglyphs) There is no such thing as total darkness, only scrolls of light signalling end points and alternative states. You emerge from a column of hazy statistics, stating, “I want to enter a cave. But not just any cave. I want to enter a cave of my own design. One that was created using nothing but needlepoint and redundant body parts.” The cave you are thinking about resembles an airport terminal. The departure lounge prevents carriage return and other complex hieroglyphs. I reply, “It’s not the first time the word has been mentioned.” But“Craig Foltz”

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