Three bluetongues reside in our steep bush garden
of sandstone ledges and the stumps of fallen trees.
One is content to doze under a rock while around her
everyone chatters; one lost the pointy end of its tailMore
Her mother remembers how in the end
she died of third-degree burns from a kitchen fire,
and she can’t get over it, the cup of tea
The springing point was where they took off from,
where the impost, set on good footings,
joined the arch and assured its leap and span
of water’s being the ... More
Nothing is whiter,
like clouds with the sun inside them.
Nothing is smoother,
like clouds and the moon beside them.
But they aren’t pure either.
There is lily-green underside them.
This is the start of an ASIO poem.
Borges said living under dictators
made him expert at metaphors.
But lyricism is direct, adores
the physical, the real. ... More
For H. Tamvakeras
I was reading a poem in that upstairs sunlit room
when I looked up and thought I saw ... More
Take the Dasslers, for example: even with
a buggy and two horses they were walking –
leaving it all, turning their backs, quitting
What you say
could very well
because this art
can serve you up
truth without even
so bloody much as
actors or make-up.
Now you have seen the elephant and heard
from an ex-student who blogs an elegy
to his lost left leg (his transfemoral amputation),
and a friend (you visit him in emergency)
has misplaced his memory, his lost confirmation –
and doctors talk of a Global Psychogenic Fugue:
write down what this means in 250 words or less
The Peter Porter Poetry Prize – now open to all poets writing in English – is one of our most prestigious prizes of its kind. Read this year’s four shortlisted poems.More