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End Note

By Lisa Brockwell

It’s dusk.
I can see swamp wallabies
and wary magpies
grazing this corridor
between crotchety paperbarks
and the sea.
A long hallway
of green carpet
then a shadow
of ...

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Estuary

By Lisa Brockwell

It isn’t beautiful.
Neither are you.
But you pray
its sea-roughed Emperor
will somehow benignly
see you through.

        – Dorothy Porter ‘Caesarea’

 

1.

The Pacific raises
both muscular arms,
tucks ...

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The Disappearing 2.0

As part of the relaunch of The Disappearing, we've created a mobile optimised site for you to submit your poems about fading and disappeared places and spaces. Explore now »

Eastern brown snake

By Lisa Brockwell

Always here
and seldom seen.
 
The long tail of you
           curves along
                      Ewingsdale Road
                                 as I wait in traffic
                                            to take
                                 my son to school.
                      Staff from the hotel,
           nurses ...

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Sedge and Cyperus

By Lisa Brockwell

Camouflage for exquisite wrens
no bigger than fairies, orchestra
for breeze, a cover story for water
not yet ready to join the lake. 
Sit down and part our stems, instead ...

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Precarious, broken bridge

By Lisa Brockwell

A halfway daft invitation,
you’ve been here such a long time,
who’s to say you wouldn’t hold me?

Not for display, this tumbledown place
hard scrabble banksia ...

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