Keywords: New Australian Poems
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ARTS AND CULTURE
The hands which pressed triggers, wielded knives at innocent throats, were once the gentle sons of others playing in sand pits, shadowed from scorching winds, while I ferried my own to schoolyard bunkers and safe horizons.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Karl Cameron-Jackson
- 12 June 2012
9 Comments
My dad and his RSL mates repeatedly told us 'Vietnam was a toy-boy war, only 501 died' as though numbers are a marker of grief. My tears often fall in an unremitting flood for eight mates who committed suicide soon after they arrived back home.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
'No matter what we say it's about, it's about kids,' says the archbishop. 'If it's not about kids then it's not first priority. The worst sins ever committed are against kids. That will never occur again, not here, not if I have anything to do with it.'
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Peter Gebhardt
- 29 May 2012
3 Comments
Never hoards it, for he has new urns to make, for us to admire and, sometimes, to love.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Brenda Saunders
- 22 May 2012
2 Comments
I know it's autumn when exotic imports lose their cargo of leaves. Empty branches startle the sky, northern cut-outs curling in the sun catch on fence wire at the school, flooding gutters after rain.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Aidan Coleman
- 15 May 2012
4 Comments
When I feel the day is turning, I go — without a dog or child — to pray and walk the corridors of light and shade.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Chris Wallace-Crabbe
- 08 May 2012
3 Comments
At sleep's near edge I busily ask myself — redundantly, rather — where soul might have its home: Like the golden tumbling apricots right next door attending on Christmas, my body has attained what another age would have called a certain age.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
Her deep eyes glance up from the page
without perceiving me, the hidden camera trained
on her by my unbroken gaze.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
O for a day without comrades bloody fallen, lovers in guttural grief, shrieking, sobbing, and mothers in stoic dignity, mantillas drawn tight, our heroic flame, corralled colts brazenly waiting, cruelly snuffed. Have we learned nothing my friend?
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ARTS AND CULTURE
The problem with being an atheist is the lack of possibilities, a world to come into being, a kingdom to be worked for, blood and sweated for, any hope of future travels curtailed with science.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
That river is almost embarrassed at the space it occupies — professionally shocked to be spotted despite the camouflage dust it wears. It scrawls on the grey-soil plains. This consecrated vellum is read by cockatoos.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Alistair Stewart
- 27 March 2012
4 Comments
The day has no front teeth, it raves in the street, it is grey as a tap, a murky x-ray of a multiple trauma. The front door keeps whistling old songs about going away ... these hinges hate me, not one screw will stay put. They are moving out.
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