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Keywords: Poet

There are more than 200 results, only the first 200 are displayed here.

  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    How they floated in the clouds

    • Geoff Page
    • 25 May 2020
    4 Comments

    Ah, how they floated in the clouds, back before the first world war, those decent heady phrases: the common good, the living wage and how they came across the seas, those writers and professors, to study what we’d done down here.  

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The bone attic

    • Paul Williamson
    • 19 May 2020
    1 Comment

    The dweller in the bone attic holds countryside as home; thinks of food, safety, health and warmth for family, self and group. Frenetic scuffles rage in the brick canyons where the hunt is commerce and food constructed.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    After eyes tight shut

    • Tony London
    • 12 May 2020
    1 Comment

    We have always lived thus, in our heads. Bone domes, impenetrable to others, we might project animus, animation, add to Duncan’s questioning. The mind’s construction in the face, enigmatic, Rubik cube with sixteen squares on each face, so any signs I give are laced, graced with ambiguity.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Falling

    • Josephine Clarke
    • 05 May 2020
    2 Comments

    Closing the leap on February’s door, its Easterly thrashing at night. Our skins stretched feet obese — the heat of it      leaves crisp-dried. Scratching down the street, we’re wishful thinking the old seasons.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The possibility of poetry

    • John Falzon
    • 29 April 2020
    4 Comments

    You have to love happiness so hard it hurts and even this for you is happiness. Even when your demons, bless 'em, meet and have a drink together. Playing a little two-up with your life.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The days of the week

    • Philip Harvey
    • 20 April 2020
    4 Comments

    Reports of the rain are weak front, then strong. Sunshine headline news, or so it appears. I whisper the tune from a scratchy disc. Maybe Tuesday will be my good news day.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The joy of one step after the other

    • Angela Costi
    • 14 April 2020
    4 Comments

    She is sitting on the edge of a mountain in the Annapurna, her face, away from the camera, her gaze, focused on the Lamjung peak, experiencing a moment of peace like many before and many after. The seconds could be hours could be days, the weather could be challenging or kind, she could be alone or surrounded by trekkers. It has taken careful hoarding of time and money to be sitting there framed by sky and snow.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    Summertime in drought

    • Jeremy Gadd
    • 07 April 2020
    5 Comments

    It was summer in the midst of drought. The earth was parched, impenetrably hard, and all about leaves fell like rain, clogging gutters and the drains. Leaves fell in clouds, curled and dry, and formed a carpet across the street that crunched beneath pedestrians’ feet.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    An echo of silence

    • Rory Harris
    • 30 March 2020
    2 Comments

    Melbourne in summer & the weather is grand & blazing, proof that global warming is real. At my age I allow myself to be surprised.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The earth we are made of

    • Lucy Alexander
    • 23 March 2020

    The floodplain is full of the black earth we are made of. All of the world’s particles pass through this zone: yours, too. Have them arranged so your heart can weigh in. Have them in order, crystallised and formatted. The light frothing up will hold your new name.

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  • RELIGION

    Farewell to a revolutionary

    • Antonio Castillo
    • 22 March 2020
    13 Comments

    Nicaraguan Ernesto Cardenal, Catholic priest, poet and revolutionary, was an essential figure of Latin American liberation theology. He died on March 1. He was 95. Cardenal’s spiritual life was the unyielding foundations of his country’s social and political struggle.

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  • ARTS AND CULTURE

    The treachery of sand

    • Les Wicks
    • 16 March 2020

    Anchored in the treachery of sand, wearing waves until the snip of a certain comber shreds them landward. They call this weed. There are people here too busy in their pleasure. They stare further out across the stolid hungers of tankers queued to feed national necessity, rapacity.  

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