The Dream Of Wearing Shorts Forever (Les Murray Poems)
To go home and wear shorts forever in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate, adding a sweater when winter ...
To go home and wear shorts forever in the enormous paddocks, in that warm climate, adding a sweater when winter ...
I starred that night, I shone: I was footwork and firework in one, a rocket that wriggled up and shot ...
Sleeping-bagged in a duplex wing with fleas, in rock-cleft or building radar bats are darkness in miniature, their whole face ...
Blats booted to blatant dubbing the avenue dire with rubbings of Sveinn Forkbeard leading a black squall of Harleys with ...
The paddocks shave black with a foam of smoke that stays, welling out of red-black wounds. In the white of ...
The lemon sunlight poured out far between things inhabits a coolness. Mosquitoes have subsided, flies are for later heat. Every ...
Us all on sore cement was we. Not warmed then with glares. Not glutting mush under that pole the lightning's ...
When yellow leaves the sky they pipe it to the houses to go on making red and warm and floral ...
Back, in my fifties, fatter that I was then, I step on the sand, belch down slight horror to walk ...
Scarlet as the cloth draped over a sword, white as steaming rice, blue as leschenaultia, old curried towns, the frog ...
In the World language, sometimes called Airport Road, a thinks balloon with a gondola under it is a symbol for ...
I am lived. I am died. I was two-leafed three times, and grazed, but then I was stemmed and multiplied, ...
From the metal poppy this good blast of trance arriving as shock, private cloudburst blazing down, worst in a boarding-house ...
In my aunt's house, the milk jug's beaded crochet cover tickles the ear. We've eaten boiled things with butter. Pie ...
In the painting, I'm seated in a shield, coming home in it up a shadowy river. It is a small ...
That slim creek out of the sky the dried-blood western gum tree is all stir in its high reaches: its ...
Inside Ayers Rock is lit with paired fluorescent lights on steel pillars supporting the ceiling of haze-blue marquee cloth high ...
Uphill in Melbourne on a beautiful day a woman is walking ahead of her hair. Like teak oiled soft to ...
Sprawl is the quality of the man who cut down his Rolls-Royce into a farm utility truck, and sprawl is ...
Religions are poems. They concert our daylight and dreaming mind, our emotions, instinct, breath and native gesture into the only ...
Once played to attentive faces music has broken its frame its bodice of always-weak laces the entirely promiscuous art pours ...
We who travel between worlds lose our muscle and bone. I was wheeling a barrow of earth when agony bayoneted ...
Childhood sleeps in a verandah room in an iron bed close to the wall where the winter over the railing ...
Everything except language knows the meaning of existence. Trees, planets, rivers, time know nothing else. They express it moment by ...
It was built of things that must not mix: paint, cream, and water, fire and dusty oil. You heard the ...
The word goes round Repins, the murmur goes round Lorenzinis, at Tattersalls, men look up from sheets of numbers, the ...
Humans are flown, or fall; humans can't fly. We're down with the gravity-stemmers, rare, thick-boned, often basso. Most animals above ...
All the air conditioners now slacken their hummed carrier wave. Once again we've served our three months with remissions in ...
We're driving across tableland somewhere in the world; it is almost bare of trees. Upland near void of features always ...
Mid-9th century Good-looking young man in your Crimean shirt with your willow shield up, as if to face spears, you're ...
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