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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
Robert Adamson discovered a love for reading and writing poetry while serving time in prison as a young adult. His 2011 Blake Poetry Prize winning poem reflects on the experience of discovering divinity by contemplating emptiness and darkness.
Christmas for crabs; their island blooms with a rare largesse of flesh mashed to pulp on rocks — such 'palatable human refuse'.
There was a man in the land of Uz whose name was Job; and he was essentially a blameless dude, and unarrogant, and he was blessed with seven sons, and three daughters, which is a startling number ...
Bush towns settle into their landscape. The galvanised-iron roofs and encircling verandahs squat with a certainty and a determination that only nature at its worst — fire or flood — might disrupt. Coastal towns, conversely, know all about the uncertain nature of existence.
Every night the devil gave birth to roast chickens and jacket potatoes and gallons of wine which it swilled and gobbled, sucking the oil from its fingers. It shrugged when the man and dog refused the steaming food. They always refused it, for they knew where it came from.
A lot of people refused to leave. Sydneysiders with waterfront properties could not fathom that the mansions that had cost them millions of dollars were going to be under water. There were stories of eastern suburbs socialites loading their antiques into boats. And drownings. Lots of drownings.
The light is falling away with the tide, but the dark shapes are birds going somewhere. the bubbles in the sand small breaths rising into the air ...
In 2012, the settler people of Australia finally made their peace with their Indigenous brothers and sisters. With this came the discovery of what had been lost, what was missing, what needed to be restored. There was much work to be done and together they made a plan.
Prayer has not prevailed. She sits silent without lover or friend: she slumps in her blackened skirts: she slumps in black dust: she slumps in her black that was green.
He was deaf as a lamppost in the end, so that he never heard a note of it. We listen still, and we hear the sound of what it was like to be alone. We are surrounded. After all these years we have to believe that god was important.
Below the waterline, a rufous mud dishevels the purpose. Above the waterline, struts and rooves stamp rectangle chequers onto the place where community can no longer gather. Two dogs look out from a corrugated raft.
SIEV X survivor Amal Basry died of cancer in 2006. By then she had received her permanent visa and was able to return to see her children, grandchildren and father in the Middle East one more time. When she returned, she expressed a wish to be buried in Australian soil.
121-132 out of 200 results.