Poems
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Rouse Hill
By SOLOTime travelling on the motorways
we watch the landscape change
as cramped steel and concrete
give way to open space -
A little history of Mechanics' Institutes
By Susanne GannonGood Professor Birkbeck
had no idea
in Glasgow in 1799
that his little quaker plan to -
Featherlight
By Eunice Andradai.
It must have been after the sermon wrung us dry—
his lungs an emptying congregation
as I mouthed sins into my fingers then -
I take up a long, lone branch, bone white
By Anne M. CarsonWarrumbungles Creek, NSW
I lie balanced on the beam of a flood-felled tree,
a bridge from bank to bank. Like a hand at my waist,
a branch keeps me from falling. Water tumbles over -
Taylor Square Ghost Tale
By Scott-Patrick Mitchellmy brother tells me tall tales
to make me grow faster sharper but
only my eyes grow wider
like the buildings here reach higher -
French's Darlinghurst 1985
By Brian Purcell“Moving up Oxford St towards Taylor Square, and crossing Crown St, we come to Betty’s Soup Kitchen at number 84, a building that housed French’s Tavern, a wine bar that gave so many bands a paying gig early on. Midnight Oil, Cold Chisel and The Reels were there early in their careers…”
from Rock ‘N’ Roll Walk Of Fame ‘N’ Shame, City of Sydney
Of cou… -
Temple relics
By Jena WoodhouseThe banners of red-painted wood
are worm-eaten. Some of the characters
have been effaced:
'The God's might is clear and grand, -
62, Lost bottles depot, the outworkers sew (but not for banners).
By Astrid LorangeDearest P. All sailors get paid at once! Watch them, and you
will see exactly how cash moves (vibrant and dead). Yesterday, on the
back fence, facing the harbour, and washed onto the scratch of the
wall, I threw a system of lines in motor oil. One thing will occasion in -
Blackout
By Toby FitchAt some point, the power went out.
You thought you’d left your appliance
on, or the gin was wearing off. Still,
when you felt your way down the -
II. An old convict recalls
By Andrew SneddonLevelling the ground
Where you now see George Street
We turned up dry old bones –
Blackfellas. -
Tent
By Todd TurnerPinned down dwelling place,
small abode. Windsock
weathervane, umbrella home.
Under the world's orbit, -
The Floating Palais
By Mike LaddMoored to catch a summer breeze,
the vision floats.
Its cupolas and promenade,
hall of Arabian gold, blue and terracotta, -
Shadow dance at Dorrigo Plains
By Tony LintermansRosewood, a tree that I have never seen
except embalmed in chairs, rises each night
in a forest of thick cries writhing
under bulldozer blades at Dorrigo. -
Along Terrigal Beach
By Brian PurcellNeeding more cash to get the fish
I walk via the beach
dark cloud, fat drops of rain
seagulls and some hooded terns -
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The Rain of Bodies
By Anne M. CarsonPods of gangangs hurl sleek grey bodies
into a receptive sky. They surf, rising and dipping,
catching air-current waves in sets from ridge
to ridge. Red-capped males lead. Querulous calls -
Fridge
By David Stavangerfloats down river
worries about mud lice
and loss of power
stops in no parking zones -
Absence
By Sarah RiceFunny how we read even empty
benches in the park as gathering,
huddled, grouped together.
The metal stairs we used to sit on -
A town from land John Oxley said would never be inhabited by civilised men
By Lorne JohnsonWe were returning from
long days in thinning mallee
where we persued red-lored whistlers,
grey falcons and malleefowl, -
(En)Joy rides in police cars
By Andrew GalanDad was certified dead Christmas day
septicaemia mixed by schizophrenia, alcohol, and restraint
in Long Bay maximum security psychiatric hospital
mum didn’t tell
