Ten poems: From Woman in Bushfire to man in Sea of Tranquillity

Woman in Bushfire

High over her a 'copter is
Pouring pylons of water,

Transient stands
In shifting fire.



She dwindles,
Becomes a tiny tot

Drizzling the gutters
Of her doll's house.

J. K. Murphy



The Horse Races

The sound of the horse races is my father’s music.
The names of the horses are his worlds.
They are pregnant with prophecy,
live in short breaths
and green fingered gasps.
They die away at the turn,
worlds die away,
it’s simpler than you’d think.

Jennifer Finlay



Cheek to Cheek in Omeo, early 1970s.

the locals thronged to the young farmers' ball
after supper they dimmed the lights in the hall
so the brylcreemed and perfumed and sleek
could try to be daring and dance cheek to cheek

but our generation's idea of a ball
was not family orchestras in the town hall
for we would slink down to livingstone creek
kick off our levis and swim cheek to cheek

Geoff Baker



Hidden by ambition

We make love
Dress the kids
Eat and shower
Sweep and clean
Deep in life’s fog
Little knowing
That this is it
It’s simple
It’s special
A soft dream
Hidden by ambition

Bruce Shearer
To listen to this poem, click here.



The Ways of It

You could

take other paths
or just stay put

throw back a ring
or choose to wear it

flick the forked tongue
or keep your counsel

You might
act differently next time
if there's a next time

You have
or you haven't
done this or done that

Do you leap
or linger

Lerys Byrnes



Hawaiian Stilts

When you see those birds,
Stilted and statuesque in the rushes
And know that they have journeyed
From Alaska,
You suddenly understand
That your flights,
As uncomfortable as they are,
Are minor miracles,
Theirs are grand,
Delicate and durable
Their legs would never fold
Into the sliced space
We are asked to inhabit:
Nature eludes artifice.

Peter Gebhardt



Silence

How easily this word can be
traumatised by the simple
addition of a “d”.

Terry Veling



Unusual Partners

Beer and didgeredoo
juxtaposed on Smith
sun shining
People in buses arriving to shop
cautious window banking and safeway
brimming with a diverse air
nocturnal buskers
daytime players
the soft windy hollow of the instrument
against raw life in the street

Rose Heard



Rush Hour

On the South-Eastern Freeway
a semi-trailer has rolled into the sky
splintering the sun
blocking the entire highway
with traffic stopped
and backed up to the sea
no one
is going
anywhere
three large crosses on the hill's bank
set by the local council
for a safer Easter on the roads
stand now
for seasons lost
and the time it might take
in getting home.

Jeff Guess



Full Moon

Garrotted by insipid convention
perturbations excite momentarily
creating only futility and exhaustion,
escape a distant hope, tormenting,
unbearable, crushing life and moral fibre.

Candescent brilliance offers reprieve,
transfixed by visions of crater and time
investigation of solace, place continues,
beauty and truth interchangeable
in the Sea of Tranquility.

Neil Hooley

 

 

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