Live Encounters Poetry & Writing August 2025
Lifeseeker, poems by Johnathan Cant.
Lifeseeker
after Howl by Allen Ginsberg
Bobstar: “Otis”: Lifeseeker!
Spontaneous, potential hipster and
presiding Dylan disciple
spirited in a town of blind fear,
who strolled suburban night-streets
in quiet contemplation,
who drove reckless along forest ridges
in souped-up Leyland bushcars
spoke with esoteric passengers
on all manner of worldly matters,
who, with drunken awareness, nodded,
exchanging lyrics & lingo, accents & everything
with those wise enough to listen,
who scatted endless Blues at the water’s edge
under steely girders’ railroad rattle,
who sought the elusive riff,
who hollered thru East Memphis juke-joint jams
with tall, slow-talkin’ Texas guitar cowboys
then took Chevy south to hometown Muddy Waters
ate Cajun-fried chicken en route
before venturing into voodoo swamps
of hot-ass Loos-ee-Anna!
who starved at Frisco airport, footloose & content,
having spent final greenbacks on Rolling Stone magazine,
who returned home to a cultural vacuum,
went walking among Raskols
in steamy mudslide night,
who conspired with others wanting to flee to ol’ Mehico
for cerveza, chili-hot senoritas, myths & scenery,
to follow Jack down Pan-Am path
in search of drowsy afternoons,
who conquered mountains in the morning
reached the highest plain and saw
his own reflection in the stream
and more signposts pointing upward
forever onward. Move! Go! You,
who dared to Break on Through,
who Lived while others merely existed.
Little Stingrays
Hoop Pine, how your branches cheered us
on—waving those green pom poms in
the wind. Your flat seeds floated down
and around us like tickertape.
On sun-rayed, childhood holidays,
through your hostile burs of winged spurs,
we’d run barefoot. Those small hooks, barbed
and sharp, fishing for soft soles and
finding them. Our pain followed us
home—the stinging worse than bindi-
eye. We’d try to out-Aussie each
other with brave stupidity.
Note: “bindi-eye” (or “lawnweed”) is an introduced plant species
with tiny seed spikes that sting when stepped on. The girl’s name
“Bindi” is Aboriginal in origin and means “little spear; or a stick
on which a coat is hung”.
Celestial Bodies
Look! A distant light source
brightens—high out of the ink
of Sydney’s southern sky.
Each night before eleven,
new stars are born and die
like Mercury or Mars.
They form a strict and steady
cavalcade comprised
of metal objects, all man-made—
populated with our likeness,
too. And, from the darkness,
more join the queue.
Observe how their transit trusts
the chart. Obeying orbits
helps keep them apart.
They turn to port: their pulsing,
flashing signs of brilliance
caught—like Sirius shines.
Then dimming downwards,
finding Earth quite naturally.
Although weary, it’s worth
the wait for faces pressed
upon the glass, so thrilled
to see their kin arrive at last.
This time tomorrow, other
worlds will show, appearing there
from thin air. And, though
they move in similar circles
and merge in close proximity,
their paths will soon diverge.
The lightships land from
far away. Fly in, fly out, fly over
Kamay Botany Bay.
© Jonathan Cant
Jonathan Cant is a writer, poet, and musician. His work was shortlisted in the 2025 Gwen Harwood Poetry Prize; won the 2023 Banjo Paterson Writing Awards for Contemporary Poetry; was longlisted for the 2023 Fish Poetry Prize; and commended in the W. B. Yeats Poetry Prize. Jonathan’s poems have appeared in Cordite, Island, Verandah, fourW, Meuse Press, and Otoliths.