KNAP! … Knap! … Knap! … A stone among stones I sit, Knap . . . Knap . . . Knap— Who is the leader? Not he On the galloping horse, Though he fly like the wind In its course; Not the wheel like a web In the sun, Not even the church And the steeple— But I, the roadmaker. A stone among stones I sit … Knap … Knap … Knap,— I am the people. Mary Gilmore (1865 – 1962) was an Australian writer and journalist known for her prolific contributions to Australian literature and the broader […]
Sarah, walking in the rain With her red mouth twisted in unconcern, Sarah, Sarah with her lovely paleness— How much I could learn at her lips, Of sorrow, sweet despair, of loving and dying. Sarah, crying in the night that life is fair, That she will neither suffer nor burn nor care When the dust settles down so thick on her tawny hair And the night-bird whispers “Sarah. . .” Dorothy Hewett AM (1923 – 2002) was an Australian poet, novelist and playwright.
This is the hour When the black dog is eating moonstones and on the dark river gipsies are singing of moons made of blood. This is the hour when moths speak of insistence to a flame of white silence when clocks press the unwanted minutes into caps of metal. This is the hour when Proserpina forgets to cup the moon in her hands and love is a flower of paper under glass and dust.
It was such fun, with lantern light agleam, to hollow out the night of years and dream again, again, again of canefields washed by rain, and we two strolling arm in arm from riverside to farm, past crushing mills a blaze, through lantana lanes to laze on fragrant grass, and listening hear the rumble of the wheels borne on molasses-sweetened air ; and when the light took sudden flight, and blue-grey mantles of the night were spread o’er day, then lantern gleam would seem to leap and dance ahead, while at our muted tread the shy wild things would cast […]