Keywords: New Australian Poems
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ARTS AND CULTURE
All day, every day since you have gone, I stand on the road shading my eyes from daylight's harsh reality — you are gone, too far away for me to see. How harsh is your reality?
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ARTS AND CULTURE
When you tried to walk through the wall you were still living at home. What did you see beyond the opacity of brick? You were so sure it would absorb you that moments passed before reality kicked in ...
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ARTS AND CULTURE
No longer on useless shopping sprees .. No longer overeating .. Knowing the difference between right and wrong .. Singing a happy song .. Bright and cheery .. No longer dull and dreary .. A brand new woman
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ARTS AND CULTURE
those hypnotic swerves, a mark of dominion like all else: its height, its eight-foot span, its primeval patience. The eagle turned, an archer's bow; became a bold emblem that could impress the red seal on a document of war; rip out an eye.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
Hushed joggers puff their discretion, German ladies impose their Kaiser bulk onto the graceful belligerence that is Tai Chi, a Vespa falters for an instant. An early promenade.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
When is touch .. invasion of privacy? ... To touch another .. is to send .. some intimation .. subliminal blatant .. casual or deeply meant ... When is restraint .. the protocol?
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Pauline Reeve
- 15 March 2011
1 Comment
Someone now cast in forgetfulness, out cold – dumped down in a sleeping bag moulded like a burial mound. And by their side neatly aligned, threads of an abandoned bedside.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Alex Skovron
- 08 March 2011
Once omnipotent night slid over the campsite to reveal nothing beyond a black more dazzling than any darkness could contain, all we could do was inhale an immense presence touching everything, which we called faith.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
It was hard to look back .. for hot desert sands were stinging her eyes .. quickly obscuring aging parents .. waving forlornly from the terminal ... It was hard to cry .. for the three year old .. abducted and murdered .. now decaying in a corner of the family vault.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Various cat poets
- 22 February 2011
4 Comments
I didn't have much hope. Soon I would be 50. Love was fitful and glorious and painful. There will always be thugs in caves murdering children and crowing. But we are capable of creating wonders beyond our imagination every second of the game.
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Aileen Kelly
- 15 February 2011
A heavenly choir .. some individual faces at the front .. and all the rest in the careful fuzz of distance .. computer-generated to a full infinity
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ARTS AND CULTURE
- Kevin Gillam
- 08 February 2011
1 Comment
the tongue is bleeding, but the words come out the same. checking spelling, cursive immaculate, an orderly flight of birds across a yellowing page.
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