Poetry

 

The Heart of a Rose

The Heart of a Rose

Ernest Briggs
Where shall one match this grace within, Without? What pain Does one assuage with such a linen? What heavens are mirrored in The inland sea Of these blown roses, Lying carelessly: How loosely each uncloses Lying so, as though no ...
Dots on a Map

Dots on a Map

Clifford Gessler
Dots on a map flash flatly up at me— and in my ears there chants again the sea. The thousand isles I’ve never seen toss up their sheaves of tawny green; wing-slanting sea birds scream across the wind-whirled vortex of ...
From The Fallen

From The Fallen

K. H. Bradshaw
The leaves are gone from the tree, Eddying. We too, wind-cold, with the leaves Revolving. We that were green in the sun Have the yellow of death in our veins. The tree is gaunt in the star-shells, Silver and black, ...
Planes

Planes

Dorothy Hewitt
The planes seem to crash into my room. I feel their wings lurch In torment of darkness And silver; they leave their shadow Flat for an instant, then run Across the floor, like mice. One long, little shadow of death ...
The Leader

The Leader

Mary Gilmore
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; ...
Sarah

Sarah

Dorothy Hewett
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 ...
This Is the Hour

This Is the Hour

Olive Hopegood
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 ...
Pastoral

Pastoral

Muriel Armstrong Lewis
The farmer turns for home; his team's glad tread  Drums from the furrows red, Passing where bronze sheep graze In brass-bright haze. In kitchen wide, the grooved gold pumpkins' sheen And apples' palest green Are small gay suns, whose light ...
Wanderlust

Wanderlust

Flexmore Hudson
Green days wound when magpies start to nest and wagtails soar with hawks, when pipits dart from bush to bush, and the blue range looks its best, for each wind that blows the leaves blows unrest into my heart. As ...
The Materials

The Materials

Llywelyn Lucas
There is creative glory as it was In the beginning of created things. The potter shapes his vase, the painter paints In imitation of the aeon-day When life itself became an oracle. But there is ecstasy of colour: clay: The ...
The Heron

The Heron

Brian Vrepont
The crested heron flies over the lake, Lower and lower falling with down-stretched legs Slanting to the waiting water; she touches, And starts ripples in widening circles, like water lilies Unrolling their edges and staring at the sun. She sits ...
By Lantern Light

By Lantern Light

Clem Christesen
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 ...
Australia to a War

Australia to a War

James Picot
If you would smash my volley at the net— Strings to the court! Come on! If it were cricket, Is my renown inglorious where the tall Grey wall, the steeple shadow stooping cool An August English pitch, oh leafy fall ...