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Keywords: Rory

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The flight into Egypt

    • Grant Fraser, Anne Ramsay and Rory Harris
    • 15 December 2015
    1 Comment

    Behind them that beast of prey, that Herod, was still glaring doom from his trees of thorn, eyes bulging like a fox. And so, by night, Joseph squired their secret way, prayed the morning kind, prayed empty the brigand-haunted roads. Each day they made another cold remove, with the infant swaddled close, and their way marked by quiet nurseries of straw. Joseph kept close his thoughts, measured each horizon, always with the rumour of dark hoofbeats thrumming in his mind.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Artefacts of grace

    • Rory Harris
    • 30 June 2015
    5 Comments

    The fabric over your bed, a life of quilts made simple & held up ... of more than ninety years, taught generation to generation.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    An ode to thunder

    • Rory Harris
    • 28 October 2014
    2 Comments

    you rattled the night around kitchen tables, water glasses filled with new wine healing history, roses on your cheeks & thunder in your heart

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Homeless wonder on Victoria's plains

    • Barry Gittins and Jen Vuk
    • 14 March 2014
    2 Comments

    Moira, her kids Zara and Rory, her partner Shane and his brother Midge are the kind of people you wouldn't think to look twice at. Living on welfare and on the constant lookout for abandoned houses to either live in or raid, they're known colloquially as 'trants' (short for itinerants). These otherwise overlooked and forgotten people might be parochial, but they're never parodied. They might be uneducated, but they have a voice.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    A life of oranges

    • Rory Harris
    • 24 September 2013
    6 Comments

    My father is still in the house he built with his wife; those hand-held walks after work from three suburbs away, to plant a garden as the bricks became walls, and as the fruit trees budded walls became rooms.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Migrant factory worker's story

    • Selected poems
    • 06 August 2013
    1 Comment

    The factory thrust its bloody quota past her six days a week, and she did what she had to. The gloves and boots and heavy denim became first and last lines of defence. She lost a thumb once, then a fingertip a year later. Language didn't come into it. She got sick and sacked in the same fortnight, then lay doggo for a decade.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Lives broken by false abuse claims

    • Tim Kroenert
    • 23 May 2013

    Whereas The Hunt portrayed a small town gripped by paranoia after a sensitive and imaginative child's confused comments are taken out of context, in Broken the accusations are more sinister, used by a young girl to deflect consequences from herself, in full knowledge of the damage that her claims will cause to the accused.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Perceval's delinquent angel

    • Various
    • 16 April 2013
    1 Comment

    ... is up to something, but will not reveal that tricksy intention ... it listens for the starting gun in the hands of a distant God.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    A keyboard or a drone

    • Various
    • 04 December 2012
    4 Comments

    Have this photograph ... In the body strewn pavement see the cardboard huts. Digitally processed. Glossy finish. As I rattle my tin, may it rattle your conscience? 

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Syria's massacre of innocence

    • Various
    • 19 June 2012

    The hands which pressed triggers, wielded knives at innocent throats, were once the gentle sons of others playing in sand pits, shadowed from scorching winds, while I ferried my own to schoolyard bunkers and safe horizons.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Learning to walk and to dance

    • Various
    • 13 December 2011
    2 Comments

    When I last saw you, still horizontal, interrogating the floor, you'd begun reversing Kafka — a slow transformation from beetle to vertical human. Powered by a new locomotion, you steer yourself towards the stereo; music erupts into your world, is taken entirely for granted.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Sun blast Eucharist

    • Rory Harris
    • 06 September 2011

    the coast is jagged like a weeping cut .. the high end of town, pizza beer dusk ... it is here we have staked a life, counted off the steps and measured what it is we need ... hands dissolve in prayer.

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