States of Poetry ACT
The gentle hills north of Taralga
unfold as though
everything were possible. Trees
grow. Their crowns shift in the small wind
showing off new leaf tips: pink, green, a hint
of blue. The cows in the paddocks are big
and brown. They browse and stare
into space. One lays her head on her friend’s
shoulder. Their calves lollop around
getting ... More
Five ducks are standing
on a narrow strip of concrete
designed to ease boats into the water.
They have their backs to me;
even so, at the sound of my steps,
they slide into the lake.
A moorhen rises up and
onto the concrete.
She raises the dark wedge of her tail
and shits a neat soft gleaming pile
then steps towards me
small ... More
(For my sister, Joanne)
Slowly the days pass.
Buses, cars, bikes
all roll away, away.
She is gone, down a shady street in shiny shoes.
Way above, vapour trails burn the sky
and way below, scars burn the land.
She screams, but I can’t hear.
In another street, the new suits,
suit themselves, and colours burn red and gold.
Noisy bastards. Shu ... More
Whitefullas got no cult-charr!
– Only me
With my arm fulla tatts, up my sleeve.
– Only Us Mob!
Don’t tell me! I lived it, man. Us bruvas, we live it –
Everyday man. We fuken live it.
Blak and Proud. Deadly, un’a?
Always will be
Colonisation i ... More
I’d become …
just a public pain.
Did I make you, just a little
Make me your vampire, then –
Take my neck.
Dig deep with kisses.
Let’s feel the swirl of blood.
A country boy on Country is a power difference-making ...
Spirit flying time with eagles – where everything’s clear.
I’ll never be clear.
Not i ... More
A Barkindji man, born by the Darling River in Bourke, far north-west New South Wales, Paul is an emerging writer and poet, who works at the University of Canberra, teaching creative writin More
Well, I have now reached the end of the States of Poetry (ACT) mini-anthologies, accompanied by delight and privilege in having been able to showcase something of the poetry where I live, More