Category Longer Poetry

by Carl Walsh small sacrifice in slow scheme serrated drawn from hand or bite of wind at back structures beneath fold into furrow grey day keeps company ghosts lap hungrily at edge fall away – this fingerbreadth of land

by Jo Whitelaw A limestone tower, where oceans meet, still standing strong after a hundred and thirty years. The giants of the sea pass, unperturbed by tourists or the imposing monolith, and torrents of wind threaten in vain as waves…

by Louise Hopewell Gold Coast after the cyclone earth movers rebuild paradise a palm tree missing its crown circling seagulls low tide a crane lowers gabion rock onto golden sand collapsed dunes skyscrapers soar above sand cliffs a gang of…

by Jonathan Cant a villanelle Hey, Down Under, you’re going south these days and some would say that apathy’s to blame. No longer do I like your words or ways. In media’s bottom paddock, dumb sheep graze on weeds grown…

by Richard Clarke High in the Blue Mountains, halfway to heaven, full of quiet streets and weathered houses, Blackheath was the favourite holiday haunt of Sydney Anglican ministers like my father. No phone, no TV, no pesky parishioners, but familiar…

by Agi Dobson For a while lamp-lit homes glitter on the darkening hill then, like fireflies go out one by one no moon tonight the twinkling stars and fairy-dust of the milky way light the night skimpily just bright enough…

by Vanessa Proctor Darkness begins to extinguish the remnants of the day. After the roar and clatter of the train in the third-class women’s carriage, all is quiet. I place my worn backpack on the ancient stone floor, sit on…

by Pat Saunders take me to the city where I lose myself clicking cameras suits sashay betwixt checkerboard red, black splashes battling brollies squirrels Hyde in plain sight your Eye always watching let me ride your underground multicoloured maze rainbow…

by Anne Zito I believe when I visit this place there is a little of her still here as the sun climbs in the summer haze, I see my daughter in the garden opening the gate, eyes large as beams…

by Anne Zito January best month ever red dust draws a path through hills littered in bleached bones probably wallabies stuck staring at the moon the riverbank is baked like a giant mushroom cracks split a land hungry for rain.…