keywords: New Australian Poems
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
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AUSTRALIA
- Andrew Hamilton
- 23 January 2019
19 Comments
The sound of the didgeridoo would be heard throughout the land. On each street corners buskers would mark out their patch, playing violins, oud, piano accordion, berimbau, nyatiti, cello, mouth organ, zither, anklung or daduk singing the love songs and epic poems from the many civilisations that have enriched Australia.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ross Jackson
- 14 January 2019
1 Comment
If, when called upon at eighty years of age, I cannot prepare a sandwich, make a mess of my words, I fear that the thought may occur: I have my Seniors Card but I have no legacy, and I have no Torah, I have no Bible, and I have no Koran.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Barry Gittins
- 20 November 2018
8 Comments
I am holy, no, to discriminate? But by doing so, I self-incriminate. I doubt the loud denouncing will dissipate before the promised election falls.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jenny Blackford
- 10 September 2018
These days, the military tattoo is just too sad for words, the soldier-children twirling, dancing, fluting, prancing, singing, some with rightful Maori marks, or cheekbones high as Indian hills, thin teenage girls in kilts and fancy Argyle socks ... What have they to do with war or death? Yet men strap bombs on ten-year-olds.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ian C. Smith
- 31 July 2018
In Tahiti I fall ill, bronchitis amid humid splendour. At a summer camp in Dutchess County I get the sack. Cops warn me for hitch-hiking after sundown in Maine. In the wintry Cotswolds I wheeze in a bedewed attic. A lost aunt is found in Liverpool post-Toxteth.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
For days I passed the black screen, berating and blaming the mass-entertaining hooked on a loop, counting down to more incoming footage ... What if we are not seeking ruin but searching the ruins for a hand, battered and bruised, broad-backed, mud-slicked, bent but unbroken, reaching out of the mire to catch a pale light ...
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- John Frawley
- 19 March 2018
4 Comments
We the remnants, largely spent, professors, teachers, beloved practitioners, scientists, world leaders, pioneers, a menagerie of specialists, some honoured citizens, the sick, the grey, the bent, the pill dependent, divorcees, the widowed, the saints, the sinners, bound and equal, together, all as one, gathered again, searching out new pastures, denying mankind's stark mortality.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ian C. Smith
- 26 February 2018
1 Comment
I once read The Female Eunuch, the only bloke taking a course on feminism, admired Greer's chutzpah, knew she lived in England where I came to dwell on the edge of belonging. I mourn unplanned lives, mine, others', back stories, each of us carrying private clouds of sadness. What happened next, that distant dawn?
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Ross Jackson
- 12 February 2018
2 Comments
I am so pressed by memories poached in warm air, that I step a good way around circling pavement ants. Though experts say nothing positive about the world, despite the encroaching dark I might just pin badges of purple hibiscus flowers on anyone to hand.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Jenny Blackford
- 22 January 2018
3 Comments
I ask the kids to pick a character and write a sentence or a paragraph to start the telling of those lives cut short. A tragedy so far away in space and time is made brand-new, but still as sad, by Aussie Muslim hands and shiny minds.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- N. N. Trakakis
- 18 September 2017
1 Comment
We do not know what we want. And we do not want what we know. Like shadows hanging in the air, their threads of reality unravelling, absenting themselves from the world. She said time erases life. He said let's be timeless. She said it would be dark. He said he hated daylight. She said it would be lonely. He said he prostituted his mind talking to people. She said he is mad. He said may God preserve him from sanity. She said: God will. And God did.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Rory Harris
- 22 August 2017
1 Comment
tomatoes
you fade into the hospital white
above your head a row of floral Hallmark cards
as a husband’s garden once filled every available
backyard space with colour
the glasshouse arrived after retirement
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