New Poetry from Irina Frolova


I stare blankly

at the empty space.

Yoga is closed –

a public holiday I never celebrate,

it makes me scratchy

in my throat.

I am but a grain

of white sand peppered

on this red land,

a single white star

of a southern cross tattooed

over scars and names,

a tiny piece of tabula rasa

after thousands of years of

black history.


between the wild and the new

the lakeshore

is contained within

a wall of boulders on one side

a metal ramp on the other

echo of the past    

native and brought

gum trees   a kind of pine   

coral trees   jacarandas

green  orange   purple

splash at the sky

some lean to the side heavily

their roots a fish

half out of water   gasp for 

simpler days

away from the road rage

weekend walkers

soak up sunny moments

lizards dart

under the man-made rocks

birds sit

ignore birdwatchers

a blend of eucalypt

and car fumes   some flowers’

sickly sweetness

hangs in the air

next to glossy

waterfront mansions

and here

we stand    many and alone

under the trees

between the boulders

and the ramp

and this

thing called life

goes on


in my yard the red blooms of the Flame tree

perch in the blue air

my hammock wraps me in a cocoon

rocks me to surrender

back in the house the e-mails and bills wait

I am drunk on the clear skies

I stroke the white velvet of my cat’s back

eyes half-closed

  his gaze steady and far away

a little sphinx

he’s got this thing all figured out

I think light blue thoughts

juicy green dreams slowly


some say

metamorphosis takes hard work

on a day like this I think

it takes nothing

but time

About the contributor

Irina Frolova is a Russian-born Australian poet who lives on the Awabakal land. She has a degree in philology from Moscow City Pedagogical University and is currently studying psychology at Deakin University. Her work has appeared in several publications. She is working on a bilingual pocketbook of poems to be published by Flying Island Books/ASM/Cerberus Press later in 2020.

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