Welcome to Eureka Street

back to site

Keywords: Modern Poetry

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    As a watched kettle we were boiling

    • Gayelene Carbis
    • 14 April 2015
    12 Comments

    We spent a whole childhood outside houses fighting in our father’s car while women served our father (such a nice man) coffee and cake. We wanted our lives to take off, like a train with a clear destination.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    My Christ is a raw object

    • Marlene Marburg
    • 31 March 2015
    5 Comments

    i am small and lowly at the feet of my Christ. my hair is sharp like needles on his skin. my tears wash the dirt stuck to his wounds.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    In memory of Leo

    • Diane Fahey
    • 24 March 2015
    8 Comments

    'If I'm deported back to Sri Lanka, torture is certain because I'm a Tamil.' On the day I hear of Leo's death I pass a tall maple, its star-like leaves, blood-red and flame-red, irradiated. The Australian government refused the visas applied for by Leo's family so that they might attend his funeral. As three Tamil men at a microphone sing a long hymn in Tamil the Basilica fills with an undertow of sound.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Never forget the actual St Patrick

    • Brian Doyle
    • 17 March 2015
    10 Comments

    A courage that could not be crushed, an imagination That could not be imprisoned, a song sung anywhere Free people insist on telling their own wild holy tales.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Edward Snowden comes around to fix my sick PC

    • Catherine Magree
    • 03 March 2015
    2 Comments

    Afterwards we will sip green tea in the sitting room and I'll persuade him that his next exposé must reveal our own torn and twisted hearts straining to escape their ventricular structures in the gaping face of the world's inanimate evil.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    I am not ephemeral

    • Marjon Mossammaparast
    • 24 February 2015
    8 Comments

    How many times rooted are we to earth, though we would reach away from it, lifting our arms like trees? My stem, yielding to the fashioner’s knowing hand? I am not after all ephemeral. No petals of a flower.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Lord A of Yarralumla

    • P.S. Cottier
    • 10 February 2015
    8 Comments

    Subtle as a ventriloquist, he clacks and grins ... But the beer is flat and the snags, the snags are burning to memory. Someone should give him a lap. Someone please give him a gong.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Sitting in a room with my mother and father

    • Diane Fahey
    • 03 February 2015
    2 Comments

    The wind a cool shadow felt at my back: when the sun’s blaze slams into my chest, I am held between them as if both would claim me, pass through me. So grief, with its heart-heat, its pressuring shadows, lays claim, passes into and through us.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The boys' pranged up moment of shared and shed untruths

    • Kevin Gillam
    • 27 January 2015

    beering, untangling, cruising, jaunty and blooming, the boys, in the ambered half light, the boys

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Wee Mary MacKillop minds the shop

    • Brian Doyle
    • 16 December 2014
    4 Comments

    I can tell you that Fitzroy always was and will be a wry wilderness; Every colour and ethnicity and language you can imagine lives there... And now I see wee quiet shy Mary MacKillop there, minding a shop. She is fourteen. Her people are Scottish. She will be legendary, later.

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    God's little twinkler

    • Jordie Albiston
    • 09 December 2014

    —trembly bubble of life —raindrop clinging still to cold window glass —illuminated deity —stunning —hosanna on heat —heaven in a melt —earth on its knees beneath serious sun

    READ MORE
  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    A broken life gathered in beauty

    • Bill Rush
    • 02 December 2014
    5 Comments

    I hope no-one asks me what the preacher said ... for I'm looking south, where David strikes his harp in a riot of glass and the hymns wash over.

    READ MORE