Keywords: New Australian Poems
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Peter Gebhardt
- 29 May 2012
3 Comments
Never hoards it, for he has new urns to make, for us to admire and, sometimes, to love.
READ MORE 
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Brenda Saunders
- 22 May 2012
2 Comments
I know it's autumn when exotic imports lose their cargo of leaves. Empty branches startle the sky, northern cut-outs curling in the sun catch on fence wire at the school, flooding gutters after rain.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Aidan Coleman
- 15 May 2012
4 Comments
When I feel the day is turning, I go — without a dog or child — to pray and walk the corridors of light and shade.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Chris Wallace-Crabbe
- 08 May 2012
3 Comments
At sleep's near edge I busily ask myself — redundantly, rather — where soul might have its home: Like the golden tumbling apricots right next door attending on Christmas, my body has attained what another age would have called a certain age.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
Her deep eyes glance up from the page
without perceiving me, the hidden camera trained
on her by my unbroken gaze.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
O for a day without comrades bloody fallen, lovers in guttural grief, shrieking, sobbing, and mothers in stoic dignity, mantillas drawn tight, our heroic flame, corralled colts brazenly waiting, cruelly snuffed. Have we learned nothing my friend?
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
The problem with being an atheist is the lack of possibilities, a world to come into being, a kingdom to be worked for, blood and sweated for, any hope of future travels curtailed with science.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
Let me have things about me not thrown out! Reminding things are made by hands, spent from the earth. You can't take any with you, that is sure, nor likely leave behind. But when they ask, 'Do you have a widget, a grommet, a poem by ...?' yes, I have.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
That river is almost embarrassed at the space it occupies — professionally shocked to be spotted despite the camouflage dust it wears. It scrawls on the grey-soil plains. This consecrated vellum is read by cockatoos.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Alistair Stewart
- 27 March 2012
4 Comments
The day has no front teeth, it raves in the street, it is grey as a tap, a murky x-ray of a multiple trauma. The front door keeps whistling old songs about going away ... these hinges hate me, not one screw will stay put. They are moving out.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Mark Austin
- 20 March 2012
2 Comments
A drink from the sole is more refreshing than any bottled river. I felt the cushion of grass. It did not exclude, but wrapped its spines around me, tickled my dying ankles to rattle, greasing the bearings of my toes.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
When I'm with you, I take off my rings, unlatch my watch and untie my hair. And it's so quiet, so so quiet, like a film without a soundtrack.
READ MORE