keywords: New Australian Poems
There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
-
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.
READ MORE
-
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 ...
READ MORE
-
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.
READ MORE
-
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?
READ MORE
-
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.
READ MORE
-
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.
READ MORE
-
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.
READ MORE
-
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
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Peter Gebhardt
- 08 August 2017
2 Comments
I found years on that my Birth Certificate
And Christening Documents spelt out a nominal fate
Of which I was totally unaware,
Dragging in English, Irish, German lines of past blood,
Like good stock,
Corriedales and merinos of good fleece.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Gillian Bouras
- 19 May 2017
13 Comments
Does poetry still matter in our Twitter society? Such was the question that caught my eye during a random Google session. The answers consisted of some lugubrious comments to the effect that poetry, like the novel, is dying. It is hard to believe that poets were once considered celebrities, and that poetry was once a pre-eminent form of entertainment. We also generally refrain from mentioning poetry and politics in the same breath. 'Twas not always thus.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
Repeat your name over and over and it doesn't make sense. Being able to hear your name across a noisy crowded room. Being able to see things in the dark by not looking at them directly. Walking down an old path brings back a conversation you had in exactly the same location years ago. Your handwriting looks exactly like your father's. Revisiting a childhood park destroys the memory and paves over it with the newer, boring adult memory. When you chase something you can't have it.
READ MORE
-
ARTS AND CULTURE
- Chris Wallace-Crabbe
- 17 October 2016
1 Comment
When I was a kid, I certainly knew, that a cassowary in Tinbuctoo, was able to eat a missionary, cassock, bands and hymn-book, too. Because it rhymed, it had to be true. But what on earth were those bands doing? Nothing musical, I'll be bound, And a cassock, what sort of jigger was that?
READ MORE