Poets & Poems
By John Lloyd-Green
No please don’t go
I still have one more wine —
You are my boats
on the harbour
on a Sunday so fine
Your passing by
By GT Sewell
The wind carried the words through Bakery Hill.
For the white, and, the blue. The blood that was spilt.
So many have gathered, so many shall fall.
We are in ...
By Paul Scully
Envy prowls the highway-perimeter
Modest bungalows interspersed
in turn-of-the-century streets
California among the porticos and finials
Black, always coke-black
somewhere in his outfit braiding the mottled manilla
and bottle green ...
By Tony Lintermans
Rosewood, a tree that I have never seen
except embalmed in chairs, rises each night
in a forest of thick cries writhing
under bulldozer blades at Dorrigo.
A hundred years ...
They tried to regrow the forest.
Met on alternate Saturdays
with baby trees in tubes,
buckets, plastic tree-guards.
The rows of holes, sheltered
seedlings, rations of water
their day-off task ...
By Benjamin Dodds
we had Baskerville
hounds in our heads
sweeping bold arcs
through feathered darkness
at the porch lights’ circle edge.
My father’s too-long absence
and the distortion
By Amelia Walker
At five am, the Pirie sky already nine shades of Krishna.
Down the main street, palm trees bling
like cashed-up bogans in their forty watt sapphires
– a Caribbean Christmas in ...
By Jane Gibian
in the town there had been earth that met ditch & weed, swamp that met grassy verge; where the footpath meets the external wall of the chicken shop adjoining the border ...
By Virginia Jealous
There's water in Lake George.
Been ten years, the locals say.
You're lucky, they say.
That wide, still lake
is a strange thing;
its troubled silver surface
By Coral Carter
"you can see forever she said—we sat in camp chairs over looking cretaceous paleo channels—exist still from time when land masses pulled back—cracked and broke—rainforests quaked ...
By Saxby Pridmore
we saw more crocodiles
The people of the land
(happily, so we were told)
their sacred sites and paintings
to be fenced and packaged ...
By Andrew Sneddon
Levelling the ground
Where you now see George Street
We turned up dry old bones –
But nothing there for us.
No altars or henges.
Just blackfella bones
And the ...
By Brenda Saunders
Latest Discoveries: fine open country…with wooded plains
reminiscent of an Englishman’s estate
‘The Expeditions of Major Mitchell’, State Library of NSW
We watched them come with new ideas ...
By Anne M. Carson
Warrumbungles Creek, NSW
I lie balanced on the beam of a flood-felled tree,
a bridge from bank to bank. Like a hand at my waist,
a branch keeps me from ...
By Fiona Hile
Sweet Gradiva purple in the marbled light
could not have unearthed the wiley passion
of your sub-coastal spray. Tramping towards
the gully, I wear long pants and take a spade ...
By Graham Kershaw
Casualties of migration stain the rose-powder beaches:
corpses of Mutton Birds exhausted at sea, relicts of pilgrimage
washed ashore to litter this last refuge for depleted souls
with the bloated ...