Poems
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Cranbrook, Mid-June (after Martin Harrison)
By Tom LeeThe inarguable harbour proves the point
hit by the low winter sun, we squint
fishing for cutlery, facing the mirrors
in a high-ceilinged room. -
gulp
By joanne burnsfish and chips on the pier
at watson’s bay, or is it
calamari – something we
never ate in the 50s un- -
Silvery
By Astrid Lorangeable rustbelt in three thousand pixels
when a faultline two-month billboard
maxes out, flags up, snags concern
and shells maple in a non-televised -
The Astronomer
By Fiona WrightJust stars, and grassland –
to stand on the limit of the world
and then climb upwards.
Here is his tower, -
The Wolves
By Bert SpinksFive wolves went hiding in the corners of the island,
each with stripes across their spines just like the newly-
arrived men’s, who also wore faces darkened with the
desire to kill and devour whatever might present itself -
Diminuendo
By Sue FieldingFrom the top of the range
it falls-
like afternoon shadow.
Imperceptible, -
Birthplace
By Richard James Allensomeone in your family once read my novel
or maybe studied it at school
I found an old copy
an early Penguin edition -
Bridge over the River Memory
By Jeanine LeanePrince Alfred Bridge, Gundagai
When I come back I remember it has -
Health Department FactSheet No.67(a)
By Tim SinclairPoems are bloodsucking parasites. There are many
species in Australia, including several that target humans.
Poems have four distinct stages of development:
bothersome thought; lost napkin jotting; failed first draft; -
Behind Orana Takeaway
By Rico CraigWe’re out of the rain, hunched around
a feast
five dollars worth of chips
ripped open on the concrete, -
The Arch
By Danny GentileIn the beginning my words will arch
like an eyebrow or a wing. Then they
will offer a fevered commotion of atoms
to resolve back into harmony as I resist. -
A Disappearing Act
By Lorin ElizabethThe magician pulls death
out of his hat and
saws it in half and in half again
until death is a carpet -
View of a Library
By Geoff PageA cold wind from the August ranges.
Seen from here exactly
the Brindabellas seem to join
the Library’s line of Grecian columns — -
The Ox
By Corey WakelingSo free and easy on the draw capital gain
during the years of the ox, when the five-year-old
painted the domestic and spilled your whiskey,
Kazan scapegoat, -
Lunch Hour
By Eileen ChongLunch hour. The machine halts its drilling
into concrete. The workman folds his body
onto his haunches like an accordion and takes off
his gloves. There: feeling returns to fingers -
Golden Summer, Eaglemont
By Kate Middletonafter Arthur Streeton
Late afternoon amber falls across house
and far-off mountains, while shadow
forms a new perimeter. The human body -
Tent
By Todd TurnerPinned down dwelling place,
small abode. Windsock
weathervane, umbrella home.
Under the world's orbit, -
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 -
Fade Out
By Hamish WoodGhosts of ghosts. How
celluloid leaves a lingering shadow,
long after black has faded
through multi-coloured lights,
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