Category Longer Poetry

by Fred Duncan I sailed a boat, On a sea so calm and beautiful That I almost suffocated in its breathless passages. I walked through a forest, So green and deep and sombre That my footsteps and my soul were…

by Carl Walsh i. glamour of mid-morning sun fibro shacks lean into hawkesbury sailboats ride anchor half-sunk from last night’s rain mud blooms into water buoys mark out shallows girls keep their vessels close ii. train in waiting wondabyne bolts…

by Jeremy Gadd In Sydney’s Domain, where, pre-war, in nineteen-thirty-four, eighteen thousand once listened to the warnings of Egon Kisch; where, on Sundays, Webster promoted free speech and would-be politicians, proselytizers and the deranged stood and harangued gawking crowds, hecklers…

by Kellie Asmussen A different scent visited me before. This one, I learnt in Nam over two weeks of shared meals and numerous Tiger Beers. Still, I stopped and searched knowing you were near. I felt it again within a…

by Earl Livings Three kilometres of walking under trees galumphing with the wind, listening to chitter, screech, croak of noisy miners, lorikeets, magpies seeking sanctuary or revelling in the challenge of branch and air constantly twisting, walking towards a memory…

by MIKE GREENACRE Two brothers, Charles and Andrew caught in time’s hands lifting them out of Depression years and watching them as children playing marbles down the road on the footpath and in the drains on either side of High…

by Robbie Coburn I am always with you when it begins to rain. any given night I could dream that I was well and never wake up beside you again. under the apartment roof there was one voice, the blood…

by Peter Roberts Y Niwl means the fog in Welsh Gaelic For the Celts, my stock, the fog made all unaware of time. Today the high country in Omeo is cloaked in cloud. Smokey greys and green. No sharp lines.…

by Allan Padgett So the easterly is blowing hard through the gum trees & local sky & it rips me from the sleep that is so hard to find. Transistor switched to on, News Hour from 4-5 am on the…

by Kitty Owens The camp-ground rule is Walking Pace Only. We walk away the argument in the car. Shush, calm down, both of us. Time now for the strange labours of camping. Tightening ropes, plunging hands into ice, cradling tiny…