the poetry that matters

Amelia Walker

Amelia Walker is a South Australian poet who has published three collections of poetry ('Fat Streets and Lots of Squares', 'Just Your Everyday Apocalypse' and 'Sound and Bundy'). By day she is studying a PhD in Creative Writing at the University of South Australia, and by night she performs with jazz/spoken word outfit Max Mo (film clips are downloadable free from You Tube).


scratched vinyl
a black snake swallowing its own
mornings: the dull clatter of a truck gobbling
the innards of bins: garbage, green waste
a DJ's remix
all the same old songs just the order changes
like a game of cluedo: whodunnit? where and how?
drag races: revving engines
a baby's cry
my mortgage my mortgage my mortgage my
mortgage mortgage mortgage – my!my!my!
a baby's cry
an invisible black
eye hurricane
swallowing its own
snake: remix: mortgage: morning: clatter
a baby's cry
whodunnit? where and how?
the innards of bins: green
waste / garbage
recycling a DJ's drag race
remixed engines
secondhand sofa: black snake
scratched vinyl

a girl i knew

i knew a girl who swallowed her own face
(a face who swallowed a girl (a faceless
girl (swallowed by what she knew
(what i (what everybody knew
and nobody knew
that girl who swallowed the i
she couldn't face (the her
she couldn't knew (a swallowed girl
who faced her own her (a swallowed face
who owned her own own ((i knew
that girl (knew her face as well as her face
because i never forget a face
(except when i do(((
(but that girl (that girl
(((((((((((((((((((((((((((((i knew

why i've stopped reading the newspaper

another day another nervous break
down in the global financial
systems of ones & zeroes
(& you suspect you're a zero)
tolerance policy on
& on & on again
off again a gain i gain
that this elevator's going down
but not on the likes of us, baby
bunting bye bye time to go
a hunting through the classified
(s)information is power is planted
bombs in every flower pot
I'm not not not
gonna spend my whole life down
in this mine shaft my mind
blasted politicians & their words
worth fuck all lonely cloud struck
a match & burned up
into the sky like if helios had a harley


My Name is My Name
is not my name.
it is the name of other people
dead and alive
alive and dead.
My Name is a name
(is a word ( is
several symbols ( a widely
known code (an invention (a game) ) ) ) )
My Name is a sound,
an evolved grunting. I
am My Name,
but My Name is not i (am
a cluster of cells, a series of electrical
impulses). My Name
is tied around my wrist
unlike my name (which i hold tight
inside myself, a smuggled drug,
too sweet to take).
My Name is a command
to which I answer (but i don't)
a set of walls in which to assemble
white goods, sound systems, garbage
disposal systems and all
the other systems, the flat pack essentials
of that modern Me
(which will never be me).
My Name is My Name
is very important,
but it doesn't matter what it is.

pOst humOurOus pOem

i am speakh
ing to You from beyond
the page (be)yond cons
piracies called flesh & pol
ichtal fact
ions, though not be
yond the cunst
ravelling called         )langu(
age                            (there is no esc
                                              ape from that(
like Judas
back from The dead
for a final cur
it self indulgents
my poked-out ‘I’s see far
ther than an
y of those muthas &
the end is no / longer
              where / than it was
in the beginning

y’see that ol’ noose has made me ha
rd now so much harder
than any prick
ly little pen – y’know?


if floggin’ a dead
man seemed tiring, man, go
od luck with one who was ne
ver al

excerpt from 'Sound and Bundy'

This selection of poems is taken from Amelia Walker's new book, 'Sound and Bundy', the full version of which is available through Interactive Press: http://ipoz.biz/Titles/SB.htm

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                                                                                                                    May 31, 2012