Melbourne Sonnets: VIII The Stock Exchange (E J Rupert Atkinson Poems)
THROUGH the stench and smoke of pipe andstale cigar -Black coats, black hats, and raucous tones,bleared eyes.Quick, past them - ...
THROUGH the stench and smoke of pipe andstale cigar -Black coats, black hats, and raucous tones,bleared eyes.Quick, past them - ...
Shall I give you white currants? I do not know why, but I have a sudden fancy for this fruit. ...
Crossing the frontier they were stopped in time, Told, quite politely, they would have to wait: Passports in order, nothing ...
(1) and off to scott's (the dockers' restaurant) burly men packed in round solid tables but what the helle (drowned ...
a starling sat on the roof (i don't know how young) croaking in an old man's voice cross with the ...
I. (Bread and Music) Music I heard with you was more than music, And bread I broke with you was ...
This is the lair of the landlady She is a raw voice loose in the rooms beneath me. the continuous ...
ice sheets sweep this slick mirrored dark place space as keys that turn in tight, trigger pain of situations where ...
Herb and spine, the flat-fisted dream of stars and dew formed when he walked with his telescope through grasses spotted ...
Her little head just topped the window-sill; She even mounted on a stool, maybe; She pressed against the pane, as ...
Behold! I'm old; my hair is white; My eighty years are in the offing, And sitting by the fire to-night ...
I never killed a bear because I always thought them critters was So kindo' cute; Though round my shack they ...
The mule-skinner was Bill Jerome, the passengers were three; Two tinhorns from the dives of Nome, and Father Tim McGee. ...
As I go forth from fair to mart With racket ringing, Who would divine that in my heart Mad larks ...
'Fall in, that awkward squad, and strike no more Attractive attitudes! Dress by the right! The luminous rich colours that ...
I I dream of journeys repeatedly: Of flying like a bat deep into a narrowing tunnel Of driving alone, without ...
to Robert Hass and in memory of Elliot Gilbert Slow dulcimer, gavotte and bow, in autumn, Bashõ and his friends ...
I shall tread, another year, Ways I walked with Grief, Past the dry, ungarnered ear And the brittle leaf. I ...
That slim creek out of the sky the dried-blood western gum tree is all stir in its high reaches: its ...
In the spring of the year, in the spring of the year, I walked the road beside my dear. The ...
Why are you running so fast hither and thither Chasing midges or butterflies? Some of you are standing solemnly scratching ...
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