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Magpies

By Joelistics

I dreamt I was a thousand feet tall and I could see all the way to Sydney
And I could smell the desperation and the fear and the excitement
And ...

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All of the lights

By Joelistics

All of the lights
All of the lines
All of the liars
 
All of the shadows
All of the shapes
All of the sirens
 
All of the minutes
All of ...

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The Disappearing

The Disappearing has been redeveloped and we invite you to submit your poems about fading and disappeared places and spaces. Explore now »

Whole (if it is all one thing)

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Kate Liston-Mills

 

Whole (if it is all one thing).
Synchronicity flickers every step –
match
match
match
light.
The whole place is burning now, I thought myself right, I thought ...

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Aubade to Fading City

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Jennifer Chance

 

To dis/appear
to cease
to get so small
that a puddle becomes an ocean
and the ocean becomes a universe
 
I walk the edges of memory ...

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Sydney Town Hall Tree

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Steve Denham

 

In my teens, Sydney’s flora
brushed the inner city and CBD
with green - but the first tree
I really ‘saw’ ...
 
curtsying to a zephyr at the ...

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Byron

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Stephen Thomas 

 

Wind rushes through the car
Shadows carpet the road
A narrow line of jagged grey
Curls through the trees
 
A house nestled in the slopes
The world ...

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Salt

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Sarah Watters

 

Salt

We bathe in its oceans 
crispy as it settles. 
Marking your skin with mapping of the earth
exposing the labyrinth of your being

Our soul bleeds ...

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Passing Through

By The Disappearing Public Submissions

By Jennifer Chance

 

Clouds capture
                                        the movement of our bodies
             a quick, simple flash and then a dance
                                        with crawling police cars
 
             and death happens,
                          lone people in masks wrapping ...

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My Grandfather’s Ice Pigeons

By Robert Adamson

My grandfather would walk into the house,

on a summer evening after his work, then empty
his catch of mudcrabs into the bath-tub;
they'd flow out in a stream ...

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The Confessions of Saint Augustine

By Robert Adamson

'Meanwhile I was sinning more and more'

Saint Augustine

 

I suffered when Una my first love
was torn from ...

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Alofa at the Vai

By Christine Afoa

First day in Sā
Us fia-palagis go swimming
At the vai during low tide:
My four younger sisters,
Two uluka’e brothers walk behind us.
 
Our cuz from NZ,
Teine ...

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Missing Persons

By Adam Aitken

From Tokyo to the Gold Coast they’d come. They were in the
papers, instant scoop, apologising, and on the box. In the
lunch break we talked about the old ...

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On the Chemin de Fer

By Adam Aitken

On railway land
Chemin de Fer,
avenue of graded lime.
On each side weeds:
broom, juniper,
perennial oak.
Almond trees in
pink white
like cherry bloom
but tougher, more industrial ...

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Notes on the River 8

By Adam Aitken

Voilà! Slums levelled, wharves, boat ramps,

central planning.

Whites, Koreans, Chinese

in cravats and big sombreros

sip their Caiperoskas

in the Foreign Correspondents Club,

the Nikon 1960 meets

Phnom Penh ...

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Pol Pot in Paris

By Adam Aitken

Oh happy child, kindly teacher – were you a fake?
Like you I'm taciturn
but when I give an order who's to hear?
Paris, I found it cold but ...

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I Smell Buffalo in Cambodia

By Adam Aitken

after Tomaž Šalamun

I smell buffalo in Cambodia, ruins in Angkor.
I had come from a rich disinfected nation
to one overflowing with frozen steaks
and a disarming happiness.
No ...

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The Anti-travel Travel Poem

By Adam Aitken

The anti-travel travel poem suggests the road
romance & regrets
the endless paperwork we left behind
I dreamed of walking boots that wouldn't lace
anti-travellers can never get lost
in ...

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