Support Retort

Retort Magazine - online journal of new international cutting edge art and literature - established 2001 and still breaking new ground.




The editors from Retort Magazine (2001-2013) are now publishing new poetry and literature at Bareknuckle Poet ~ Journal of Letters. Come join us.



Retort is Closed



12.5 years. Enjoyed a huge readership in the 00′s. Broke some ground (and a bunch of rules). Had a good time mostly. Would have loved to grow it into something huge, like an alternative to the old school greats that have become a parody of their former glorious selves. Retort stayed truly independent, never even applied for a government grant. I refuse to read government endorsed literature or view government endorsed art. Rest assured, the only propaganda you were exposed to while reading Retort was my personal agenda to champion the creative spirit of my fellow humans.

Have a nice life.






Art, Painting

Art by Ant Keogh

hands_of_light2_900 gravel_wood2_900 regrowth2_900


A selection of Ant Keogh’s paintings, including the three above, are now available at


© Ant Keogh

Photography, Street Art

Melbourne Street Art



Continue reading ~ Melbourne Street Art


Four Poems by E M Healy

Necropolis 1918

They came from the centre surrendering to heroism
We retrieving their light when they no longer can
Remember a time before innocence dreamt itself

Dust on his dungarees mending a rabbit fence
With Sun-kissed stains on his leathered complexion
The tableland sits down to a long afternoon’s lunch

Spinifex settling into the loam above a dingo’s bones
Besides the slit-throat reeds retiring into their bushland brine
Ghost rhizomes slowly probing vegetable memories where

Scones and tea form an endless procession of domestic suns
An inch-worm prophecy settling down to the bottom of
A young private’s name prefigured in a foreign constellation

Where the whistle sounds that magnesium bright moment
Gun-shy generals, gazing up at the grid locked skies
Write his death warrant to be replayed on the band rotunda

Reminding us Saturday is for cricket and Sunday is for God
Tongue-tied it’s enough to just listen to that music
Though we can’t surrender in dance let the band play on


I saw the Boy before they took him away
Dressed in cap and blazer on a Sunday
This time he left without his satchel
Running deeper into the city of God

Past the gates vast blackness beyond
Through membrane’s vibrating shibboleths
Shouts danger-mouth giving hero’s welcome
Into veins of the most high

Up-rushing in his ray-gun gothic chariot
So many rooms in his father’s house
Fleshy pillars in the midst of the temple
Bony knees dangle as the sky rolls

Daring centripetal motion the ground yawns
Knowing entropies blind and fatal forces
As a schoolboy knows well his times-tables
Well enough to know they work

Running skidoo too young for ascension time
Tender gums smile their secret promises
Biting the ether his pomegranates bleed
Into irresistible graces

Continue reading ~ Four Poems by E M Healy