Jayne Fenton Keane
country : Australia
Jayne Fenton Keane is the author of two poetry books, 'Torn' (Plateau  Press 2000) and 'Ophelia's Codpiece' (Post Pressed, 2002), with another 'The Transparent Lung' due for release in 2003. 

Please visit JFK's award winning multi-media website 'The Stalking Tongue Book II; Slamming The Sonnet' at and sign the guestbook.

The Transparent Lung is due for publication in the next few months and will be available from where you will also be able to buy copies of Ophelia's Codpiece.


Dialogue with apostrophes
Excerpt from Bag Woman in a Helium Room

Welcome to my helium roomI can dance in the sky

see how their beak-teeth scar my arms. Look

look into my moon spacehere's a photograph


before they drove the moon buggy across my dunes

before they stuck their flag in my backlook at how I


Would you like to research some lonelinessI have the time

not like those factory - filled masturbators who smear themselves on paper girls.

I must leap and curl on my urban breezecollect some

paraphenalia.There's always that dull ache in winding spaces

Open your self absorbing eyeand you will seeI am nothing

but a childplaying morning tea.A child in a fielddancing

in a suit of amourprancing

swaying in the breeze like saplings

bendingsingingmelodies to calm the night's distending.

The medals I fiddle now

are flecks of timeI know the smell of

my own treasonyours hints of steel

you cyberspastic

MPIT/HCTCCAPAJ (mobile-phone information technology/highway cable

television credit card acronym-power-abusing junkie) cyberPUNK.


Excerpt from The Transparent Lung

Going To Battle



My wife gathers up her skin

and learns to walk on water.

I am up to my waist in a brakish lake.

She is an ice-sculpture

carved by a Chinese artisan,

who decorates her with winches

and a central red light.

She pulses at me day and night,

rigid with positivity.

She will not let me sink.

her cloying

rusted links slip under my arms.

With every turn of the winch

apiece of her falls away. I worry

that we will both meet halfway

and drown.

(Excerpt from The Transparent Lung)


My father is developing a shine on his chrysalis.
His eyes are a simmering geyser that boil with …

I cannot tell what is really there, though everyone tells
me what they think I want to hear. They are frightened

of my knowledge. Of how I might breach the protocols
of this family by scooping up those boiling eyes

to make soup. They are frightened of my scrubbed
aluminium hands, of the alphabet-pasta words

that spell love and hate and everything in between.
They have tidied away the fish scales and hooks.

They know, that I know, where they are kept.

Copyright Jayne Fenton Keane