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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
'The failure of the Rudd and Gillard administrations', said Paul Keating last week, 'is the lack of an over-arching story.' Eureka Street poetry editor Philip Harvey believes poets have a role in articulating a sense of meaning and direction that is lacking in politics and the media.
Two blessings, one resurrected, one still in the tomb. We are not pre-Vatican. We think whole, body and soul ... We are not parrots in a pew trembling.
He drew fear from flood and seedless sun. She traded contradiction for curves and valley hips, verdant sod of earth, reckless drift of goats. When the bailiff came, the end of lamb and beef, she clung to rock and let the salt erupt ...
Mist moves here, cloaking statues, mild giants that haunt and wait... the slave breathes towardhis freedom.
She would be aghast, at the weeping litany of my sins... From the moment the apron string is cut, we are free to be. And to bring, make or undo, whatever the hell we want to.
Talk of morality is bad for rationality ... it's a derailment-factor, a self-sabotager, a barbecue-stopper, plain un-Australian ... I can help you leverage your life-goals, so that you can experience real change with improved results.
It might be an epitaph on a tombstone, or an ancient call to prayer ... Forget the ancestral trespassers, the heritage forbears, the gin and bitters people. They didn't ask, they just used their guns.
Hans shows me an invention which magnifies letters for his failing eyes, so that still he may read, so that still the winds may turn the bronze art coins of his perception. Cobweb-like sculptures dream upon some shelves, poetry is the wing of his bird-like speech.
the coast is jagged like a weeping cut .. the high end of town, pizza beer dusk ... it is here we have staked a life, counted off the steps and measured what it is we need ... hands dissolve in prayer.
Now he is pursed within the curl of his leaf, a monk at watch for those lost souls, whom he might trap in the sneer of his silken intentions.
'You've got a wicked mind, Padre.' 'All the wickeder for seeing you.' Enter Big Nurse. Big Needle. Big Sleep. I check the stopwatch when I wake. I do not tell Big Nurse her response time is a personal best.
There are weary smiling workers recovering from a Thursday night event. There are men planning this, the second weekend, with their family. There are married couples — one in the throes of giving up hope of being touched, the other working hard to ensure the weekend is chaste.
157-168 out of 200 results.