Category Longer Poetry

by Stephanie Powell there is a split above the stone harbour mouth From the window of our hotel room, I could use a finger To unpick it To break it open To jiggle about the wound Or leave it Enjoy…

by Gregory Piko If I was to walk down the short concrete path between the squares of neatly mown green grass toward the gate with its freshly painted steel bars glowing white in the sunshine like a neon sign; if…

by Isi Unikowski An announcement that buses have replaced trains for the evening rush hour has become a soundtrack for the city’s growing pains. A guy in hi-viz redirects bewildered passengers decanted in the drizzle onto the pavement’s terra incognita:…

by Rodney Williams ‘I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be’ – T.S. Eliot, ‘The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock’ It’s not my place to invent soliloquy Outside lines in a script, I don’t improvise Beneath stage lights I’m given…

by Rodney Williams 1. I turn to glimpse through glass one passing stream as a tram lurches around the bend across this bridge down at the bottom of High Street from Northcote heading south – if barely seeing the Merri…

by Jan O’Loughlin a long finger of suburbia pokes into an immensity of grey-green bush all the houses are clichés fibro cottages and red brick boxes facing the road and each other squarely my new house is a different cliché…

by Doné de Beer In the crevice of my boot soles still lies dirt from the Blue Mountains we trekked last winter. I keep finding traces of you, even when I’ve scrubbed the wound raw. I can still taste the…

by Peter Roberts The initial shock is palpable – my feet like cowards wanting to run, yet in a minute, maybe two, they seem to meld with it and wake fully for the first time in a very long time.…

by Fred Duncan I sailed a boat, On a sea so calm and beautiful That I almost suffocated in its breathless passages. I walked through a forest, So green and deep and sombre That my footsteps and my soul were…

by Carl Walsh i. glamour of mid-morning sun fibro shacks lean into hawkesbury sailboats ride anchor half-sunk from last night’s rain mud blooms into water buoys mark out shallows girls keep their vessels close ii. train in waiting wondabyne bolts…