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There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.
A young man, made of ebony, from Senegal or Somalia or the Côte d'Ivoire, sat down beside me gracefully… I gave him the twenty euro that I had to hand. Stammering, ill at ease, he asked me what I had in mind.
Dylan Thomas wrote that 'A good poem helps to change the shape of the universe.' Our 'good poem' is the listening to, and learning from, the people on the margins. But it will only be a 'good poem' if these whispers are translated into collective action.
You can't have your cake if it's eaten. Or your cooked goose if it's no good for a gander. Golden eggs are useless in a fragile economy. And what goes up must keep going.
Go and open the door .. stare at the bright blue sea .. for boats .. struggling southwards from Sri Lanka and Afghanistan. .. Feel the rippling fear of refugees .. wondering if supplies will last .. or a hand reach out .. or turn and lock the door.
At the IGA, the woman at the check-out peppers her speech with Darl. Her friendliness, the way she packs my plastic bags, greets me two days later – a connection Facebook can’t provide.
Lost — Waiting for Spring — God owes me Royalties — Niche — Folding & Flying — Judas and Jezebel — Donne captains a ship of fools — Home — Loose Change — election
Industrious servant of excellent fame .. You sting to protect the hive, then you die ... Instinct is such an unworthy name .. Which calls a selfless attitude, a lie.
You say to leave roses .. for the overcrowded arms of bikies .. You pop inflatable hearts and cut the strings .. of pink and stodgy cherubs .. You shoot down my skywriting plane mid-cliché .. This is not our day.
No good deed goes unplagiarised; no noteworthy scheme leaves the department unharvested. Lack the intellectual capital to spend on an informed decision? Set multiple minions to work then cherry pick the outcomes, signing off with your own trotter.
Australian poet Tasha Sudan just won the Blake Prize for Religious Poetry, and in October will be ordained in a Zen Buddhist monastery. In simple but evocative language the poem speaks of the Buddha from his son's point of view.
Come as you are, Marilyn Manson ... that's how I want you, Peter Kennedy ... Trust me again, Germaine Greer ... Don't run away, Catherine Deveney ... Nothing can change, Pope Benedict ... the love that I bear you, George Pell
somewhere, .. on a dusty stump .. or parched rock ... far from here on the road inside myself .. patiently fanning flies .. and hoping that I'll have the heart .. to travel on and not look back.
169-180 out of 200 results.