Category Longer Poetry

by ALFREED FANDANGLE Awe stars’ verses, bored as Aurora gathering rainbows at the dawn of local time. Unsavable daylight can’t power you through the night. Like some kind of magic wand in valley, no secret Malley bull is really fowl.…

by J F Garrow In the atrium, at the entrance, of Kmart, in Warragul there are birds living, Which waiting I watch. And high up inside this atrium, which is the entrance, to Kmart in Warragul there are birds living,…

by Earl Livings It can’t be all hunting on the wing, those sudden swerves, open beak scooping insects. There’s beat glide beat glide beat rise and dip into swoop barrel roll low fast skimming above quivering green above rain pools…

by Kevin Gillam my father, eighty years ago, at the age of – my guess, seven – was driven with classmates in a bus on a stifling hot February day to a salt lake, marched to jetty end and thrown…

by Marilyn Humbert The limestone outcrops at Chillagoe urge us to wander the caves before night herds the lost stars into constellations. On the descent cold coils around us, your hand the lifeline steadying my course. Our boots grind rubble…

by Marilyn Humbert on weary wander west dusk cleans her rouged cheeks ready to take the stage with the moon and stars in luminous perception flickering stippled shadows at furthest point from home on a weathered lava vent we stop,…

by Hazel Hall stoking the stove— her aunt’s and mother’s weary eyes— their work-worn hands— seven kids to bathe and bed before time of their own— ‘skin the rabbit’ they say— girls first— stripped one by one— slipped in the…

by Celeste Brittain night falls on the riverside board walk reflected in water a cathedral of stars deep, luminous glistening out of reach a hum like an engine – water crashes against rocks we shine torches on seaweed, and walk…

by Agi Dobson We walk in bright early- morning sun last night’s argument still in our mouths hoping sunshine will absolve. We walk. A light breeze caresses. We do not speak. Surreptitiously I watch you take breath, my mind numb.…

The last train station by Wayne Pollard Can or can it not be said that a passage of scribed thoughts from the revelation reveals that out of a river red gum forest resting on the banks of the Murray River…