Category Longer Poetry

by Wayne Pollard In the island remembered for apples, A town straddles the Leven River. That stream flows into Bass Strait and finds freedom. From another place nestling on the Bass Strait coast, When one wore shorts, Clark shoes and…

by Fred Duncan Auroras pulse and shimmer on Spitsbergen’s Isfjord, And midnight suns reflect on rock and ice and snow; Deep within the frozen ground, life and wealth are stored: A bank of seeds from field and forest, plain and…

by Laurie Keim Always there in the same place they cannot run from crisis check out how they bend and twist of all things, torsion of the pole-vaulter, pom-poms of the cheerleader, throwing themselves into the tearing wind. One ear…

by Rodney Williams outside Marvel Stadium at Docklands in Naarm on the country of the Kulin nation All that’s left here now of Batman’s Hill is a stout square pole, its red paint fading on a tall fabrication, installed stiff…

by Rodney Williams with thanks to The Lure of Montague by Laurelle Pacey; & The Field Guide to the Birds of Australia by Pizzey & Knight: with respect for the Yuin Nation, traditional owners of Barunguba 1. Arriving to a fanfare…

by Veronica Troup Infertile We pretend the land does not remember who it was before we came who it held, what it knew When sand rises up between our toes between strawberries, carrots set in rows when tomato seeds shake-off…

by Carl Walsh across breakwater port and starboard light drifts of hinoki wide as arms are long calling seagulls herring lodge on headland slips to silence rusted port machinery poised as close to vladivostok as tokyo ship noses out of…

by Roger Vickery Once this Smythesdale block, for three seasons of the year, was rain piddly, soft-loamed country. So despite its niggardly patches of green, Jacob from Devon felt its pull. He bought a pub called The Banner of War,…

by Mark Clough Prompted by the 2023 Shikoku 88 Temple Pilgrimage How Delicious This Anonymity This Stranger In A Strange Land No Who … No Where … No Why to dread No Knowing the path that I now tread How Sweet It…

by Veronica Troup her mother-self dissolved O o in a shimmer of flying fish 0 – arms belly hair tendrilled o O she became o – amongst their silver fins 0o a rare shock of magic oo O welcomed back…