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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
Recent weeks' events in federal politics stretch the imagination. The search for historical parallels brought me to the start of the Burke and Wills Expedition to the Gulf of Carpentaria, the disappearance of Azaria Chamberlain, and the race that saw Fine Cotton unravel. Each of these events was characteristically Australian. In Les Murray’s memorable phrase, they all had sprawl: the mingling of excess, overweening self-confidence, and the cutting of corners.
Her every lover, her filler of dreams, her kisser of broken & bruised. She watches him through the pills, she misses him when he leaves, whispers to foot that when she recovers she will love him for ever & ever, but now he is heading back down the stairs & she stares at his absence.
G. K. Chesterton said that 'too much capitalism does not mean too many capitalists, but too few capitalists'. In our young century, we have lost capitalists, and wealth has coagulated to a seemingly smaller and smaller number of financiers, oligarchs and corporations. The stock market is where entrenched wealth is kept and made. An industry-shattering share-trading app is set to help deepen our pool of capitalists.
How I love spending good quality time with you | You twist yourself around me giving me no space. I just want to hurl you into space | You're leaving, that's a fact, you said it straight out, with hardly any tact | I'm so alone being without you, I can still feel your glare | Thank you for giving me your love.
The woman holds up her hand to stop him speaking, with one finger pushes her black-framed glasses back into place, continues tapping keys in a large face calculator. The tiny baby in the old pram sleeps. Will our children know the cost of it all?
I will put my pinky round one arm, she'll do the same to the other. our knuckles will graze, purchase will slip on the smooth old bone. Thumbs will hanker to push against the head that binds the two arms. But our mother says, wait.
Stop trying to possess him, claim him, covet your story, talk it away with the Christ or the hackneyed straddling of 'Two Worlds'. He didn't walk between them, he just was, is and ever shall remain, a man not a slogan.
The fabric over your bed, a life of quilts made simple & held up ... of more than ninety years, taught generation to generation.
Our salt-blasted car rental veteran guzzled fuel, gearbox a disaster gasping past wallaby roadkill leaving the dramatic volcanic mountainscape for glimpses of carved bays, Crusoe beaches contrasting with weathered scrub, still farms.
Streets like the streets in Blue Velvet or Land of the Giants. I think I may have been the only poet.
I will sit the pot on my desk filled with red geraniums, variegated blue and pink wallflowers I’ll let it breathe devotion, your heart work, imprint your words of love.
Fifty years ago well after my baptism my first holy communion & my confirmation I would have likely said – practising Catholic. Most friday nights back then I’d find myself with Father kneeling before him on the carpeted step of the confessional box my little red face pressed upwards to the grille.
133-144 out of 200 results.