Ten short poems



Crow in Car Park

From a power pole set in black bitumen,
His jagged bleating reminds me,
Of parched paddocks.

What better place to deliver his dark eulogy,
Than from the cross-beamed comfort,
Of his suburban strainer post.

Tim Edwards


The Japanese Lunch

The Japanese lunch
Has taken over,
For who can argue
With culinary grace
While the rude
Patron contrasts so
Deliciously with the food.

B. W. Shearer

Click here to listen an MP3 audio file of this poem, as read by B.W. Shearer.


Vignette of the Shoalhaven

On dry sand
the old boatshed
leans on its shadow.

Mark Miller



big picture
fell into a smaller frame
ever since has been
unable to break out of
unable or

Will Fraser


Prelude for the Damned

He is like a man who
has lost a sense of himself
driven by moment-hunger
thud of blood
twist of bone
he cannot see the future
or remember what has gone.

D. C. Hastie



They say after the storm
you should check the tide pools
for fallen stars.

Look beyond your reflection
for the spits of ore
and green charcoal.

Rake your fingers through
the sand, for the silver debris
of whole galaxies.

Even ask the starfish, lift it
carefully from the pool
place it in your palm

feel the tubefeet,
miniature hydraulics
and whisper your intent.

Andrew Slattery


Letter (II)

The answering machine holds the ghost of you.
Your half-choked breathing.
The words you couldn't say.

The ground is fire-ground.
The bed, too vast to cross.
(I cannot play Leander any longer)

Kate Middleton



In an empty field
I found a metaphor.
It was dying,
no longer connected to its roots.

Recognising it from my childhood,
against my better judgment,
I tried to revive it.

Cameron Fuller


December (Eschaton)

At the last day
the students leave the gates and exit into Summer.
They ramble out in packs, together,
but wander from each other;
Drift off on roads alone
looking for home.

Matthew Arkapaw

Click here to listen an MP3 audio file of this poem, as read by Mark Arkapaw.



There's a bat
in my sink
abseiling the frypan.
A soggy myopic
It wall-hugs the shadows
like some bespectacled spinster/
before I release it to the night
with wishes for improved navigation
and encounters only
with those gentle to wallflowers.

Susanne Kennedy



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Existing comments

I read these poems one morning, and all day I was more aware of my world, and more careful of it.
Gwynith Young | 17 June 2007

aestheticise your day
Darla | 31 August 2008

your poem is good to learn off by heart

mark miller | 20 October 2009

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