Poetry

Resurrection – a triptych

By Jan Price                                 Panel l. The Inspiration London – East End; a barefoot lad slips into...

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Mother and Child

By Bill Cotter   Suffer little children to come unto me: for such is the kingdom of heaven.   The sky sickens And fuses darkness,...

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Sky Burial

By Jan Price   Down the arch-groan monastery road coursing these treeless bitten mountains a sharp dismissive wind snatches from the...

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Father

By Jan Price   Once, when I was four you carried me home on your shoulders over a long bridge.   Once, you and I sang The...

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Stars

By Jan Price   Each chosen child destined to live in its own desert one night will look up; the trees will be breathless and the pain...

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Robert Dudley

By Wendy J. Dunn   From a postcard He glares at me With an eagle stare Accusingly And handsome No doubt of that His very stance...

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Claudette Colvin

By Fiona Lynch   When she was four, white boys asked to touch her hand, to compare; her mother slapped her face, not her place.  ...

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At the Assassin’s Hands

By Melinda Jane Your sea soft, melancholy blue eyes Your long, slender Celtic hands Your long, curled locked hair   You, at 19 years...

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Sunday 11th July 1875 – ‘Just before 8ish!’

By Melinda Jane   How many heard your mooted screams that Sunday evening At Mrs. Mitchell’s paddock between the house and the hay...

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Helen Mitchell Photography 1873

By Melinda Jane   Floor-grazing gown cinched at the waist silhouette black crepe crisp and crimped who would imagine three years on...

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Iron Above the Hills

By Bill Cotter   The storm rambles and tramps, hammering pine trees, Strafing crops and, from the tangled clouds, spilling jags Of...

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Bovary

By Eloise Faichney   Flaubert recognised my love, tender and whole, and it made him sad.   ‘I forsee that I shall make you...

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Once and Future

By Wendy Dunn   Can poetry die When words mark meaning On a page? No Not simply mark But explode Into architecture Imaginary gardens...

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Outline

By Vashti Farrer   On the corner stood a house. Unloved, its weathered weatherboard. But now a wire fence surrounds the lot. No planks...

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Identity (A Recipe of Crumbs)

By Clare Millar   416,809 enlisted 156,000 wounded, gassed, taken prisoner 62,000 killed Preheat a war. Line countries with armies....

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Reflections of an Anzac Day March

By Margaret Marchant   Once tall proud men Remembering those who went before them Marching for those who cannot and those left behind...

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Luna Lune

By MA Fox   White columns reach towards the heavens under the moon’s rays.   The gods are now home sitting in judgement...

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Flora

By MA Fox   Spring looms. Flora, Rome’s goddess, flowers as her crown, heralds the cycle of rebirth.   Image by Roksolana...

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Farewell Maid

By Wendy J Dunn   My lover brought me a poesy Yesterday morn Alone in the meadow Alive with spring Ragged robin, vetch, golden...

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Diana

By MA Fox   Hail to thee, Diana, Goddess over all that is steeped in darkness, Sacred keeper of the moon.   By the silver light...

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Brief History of Hate

By Wendy J Dunn   A child bleeds. Head broken Wound open Torso pocked by gunfire. He cries Terrified “Where’s my father?...

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The hand that pulled the trigger

By Duncan Richardson   The officer in charge of the firing squad knows he was the one who killed the Ceausescu’s because his...

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Genghis

By Duncan Richardson   When the great Khan died legend tells   they buried him on the plain and gathered a swarm of horses  ...

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Sylvia: the movie

By Duncan Richardson   England – February 1963   The worst winter in memory pipes and birds were freezing heaters gave up...

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Empires of mist

By Duncan Richardson   Suleyman the Magnificent* twice bereaved found solace in poetry for a while then war dying in the field on his...

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The Philosopher’s Stone

By Duncan Richardson   Eager pilgrims seek out the Great Philosopher 1898   Let us go and see Herr Nietzsche sitting by the...

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Witch, Nun, Scholar

By Eloise Faichney   i. Witch   Am I to spend my days locked in the longing of my namesake?   I am a ghost of knife and...

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Baba Yaga

By Eloise Faichney   Your walking-hut1, witchmother, hides in the forest of the Tsar. You; ambiguity personified with bony legs and...

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Diábolos

By Eloise Faichney   You still do not understand what I have seen, Padre. These rosaries will not save us now, nor these prayers; we...

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Untitled Poem

By Christina Aitken Spots of crimson dance in the breeze Below, the swollen, shuddering sea bears hopeful young men to war Standing in rows...

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