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Best Australian Poems

Below are the all-time best Australian poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of Australian poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Australian Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Australian poems are below this new poems list.

Australian Boy by Yeates, Owen
Goodbye Australian Cat by Radcliffe, Lily
Australian Mysteries -Haiku- by Jones, Cynthia
Australian Ancient Depths Of Time by Schumacker, Earl
Australian opal by van Akkeren, Huberta
The Australian Swagman by Cosgrove, Brian
Australian Teddy Bear by Pettit, Robert
The Australian Outback by Flach, Joe
Australian Stallion by McCrary, Glenn

View all new Australian Poems

The Best Australian Poems

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I Think Of You - Ground Zero - 1

I Think Of You - Ground Zero (Part 1)

Leaving under a blood moon
                in a jet plane rising
  los angeles falls behind me
and I...


                              Clouds dance
            to the song of the spiders.
Latent sun rays fall on me like rain...I 

...They say third time's the charm.
On planes again.
A sky...endless... and then finally 
from the other end of the world to here.
A continent, an island,
an australian flower drunk on wine.
Her...uniqueness lends to her beauty.
...and I

A fourth night.
A church spire at sunset.
At a distance bats fill the sky,
resemble a smoke plume.

I plead the fifth.
It's all these moons.
Tonight a hunter's moon.
She's unable to hide 
even with her bowl of clouds.
It's no help.
She has no spoon.
                     Her luminous rays give her up.
Moonshine in the moonlight over the sea.

I count...five, 
six...on the beach.
A purple nightshade,
a sand flower,
Irish eyes speak uniquely to me.

I, you...
you can't roll a seven with one die.

Back on a plane.
A snow fog blinding.
From my window seat a one of a kind view.

 I eight...ate...need to eat.

Africa...a Safari.
A plant chloroform green
has holes like cheese.
A large swiss leaf.
I laugh and I...I distract myself.

A stitch in time beats nine.
 Back in North America.
A dilapidated fortress stares down 
an overwhelming thunderhead.

I camp out.
It requires a tenth...tent.
An Eagle never blinks.
No eye lids.
An unimpeded view.

...but I...I surrender.
There is no place in the world
I can escape.

i think of you.

You are living art.
What I perceive 
is what I live.
I perceive us.

I can picture you.
I am photography,
the camera, the lens.
I absorb your image,
process it.
A form of plagiarism

I didn't borrow.
I stole.
Inhaled you but 
I dream
and I...

...i think of you.

March 11 2015

Copyright © Maurice Yvonne | Year Posted 2015

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The Knights Crusade

Dearest damsel, thou art my life
If thou want for food, it will always be there
I will offer confit and other gourmet fare

Whatever jewels ye desire I present to you
Be it Australian opals or Colombian gold 
Dearest damsel, thou art are my life

The ravages of nature may threaten ye
But I’ll cool thee in the brutal heat
and warm thee in the bitter cold

I will slay where all the dragons dwell
I'll protect thee from the gates of hell
Dearest damsel, thou art my life

My strength and resolve to win thy love
I will defy the gods above
Until my labors bring fruition

all these enumerations that I have stated
I promise thee with all my heart
Dearest damsel, thou art my life
But thou cannot have my Tapioca

Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2014

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The Hamburger

For thirty years I’ve been a truckie who has driven far and wide,
Carting goods through day and night all across the countryside…
But hours spent upon the road, do not permit a set routine,
When it comes to dining regular, on healthy style cuisine.	

If there’s time I’ll organize an esky, with ice and cans of coke,
Plus a dozen rounds of sandwiches…‘cause this won’t send me broke,	
Not like the tucker of roadhouses who all serve a similar trait,
With a big bill like a pelican’s and grease to decorate your plate.

But a truckies life is not habitual; the phone’s his driving sign,
If someone’s sick, or broken down, and the company’s on deadline,
There is no time of thoughts ahead; he must consider first the load,
And it’s on these hauls a truckie must buy meals along the road.	

I’d been driving fairly flat out now, for I’d say six weeks or more,
Carting produce down to Adelaide for a distribution store,
Some mornings I would leave at two, and backup a couple of trips,
And live upon that greasy take-away including fish and chips.

But then driving home one evening, I could feel that hunger pain,
Though didn’t feel that I could really cope with roadhouse food again,
For I needed something different, and then this jogged my memory,
There’s a fast food café up ahead that really does cook differently.

I stopped close to the café near the South Australian border,
And walked up to the counter where it says to place your order.
The cook who had his back to me, was making salad rolls to sell,
While dropping chips into the cooker, as he battered fish as well.

And the young girl, who is serving, asked me what I’d like to buy,
But before I gave my answer, one more feature caught my eye,
The cook had gone out to his cool room, and rushed back with a sack,
Then started slicing spuds and onions, while his chips are burning black.

So now by knowing that the backyard chef was well within ear shot,
I nodded, “All right love, well what about, a hamburger with the lot,”
As she was writing down my order, I had some further more to say…
I asked if I could have my burger cooked, in my own special way.

I requested that the bun I get, be very hard and three days old,
The bacon mostly crispy fat, fried onions fatty, burnt and cold,
I want the lettuce limp and bitter, and cucumber piled five high,
A slice of cheese like cardboard. Shredded carrot, brown and dry.

I want my slices of tomato, to be slushy more like juice,
With the egg yolk set like concrete, plus salt and pepper overuse,
I want the meat as black as charcoal, and cooked to a rigid phase,
Then asked her if it’s possible, to drown the lot in mayonnaise.

The cook who had been listening, looked away from boiling fat,
And rudely said, “Fair go mate… I can’t cook, a hamburger like that!”
I raised my eyebrows just a mite and then with tongue in cheek,
I said to him “Why can’t you pal? …You bloody could last week.”

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2015

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Australia Down Under

Down under continent
Down low is Australia
Australia the big island
Australia sixth largest continent
Country whose desert known as outback
Country who has the largest reef
Reef called the Great Barrier
Reef found off northeastern coast
Coast 35,877 kilometer of shoreline
Coast provides fun in the sun
Sun beats down on the desert
Sun is brightest in our winter
Winter offers some snow
Winter's are mild
Mild hop, hop of Kangaroos
Mild climbing of Koala
Koala live high in trees
Koala eat eucalypt leaves
Leaves favored blue, mansa, and swamp gum
Leaves are Koala's daily diet
Diet of Australian influenced by world
Diet consist of variety of foods
Food introduced from Ireland, Europe
Food from Italy, Greece and Asian new spices
Spices used in stir fry
Spices changed meat's taste 
Taste of foods like rice, oranges, bananas
Taste of foods from all over the world
World influences shaped continent
World and Britian settled
Settled by Aborigines
Settled also by Britian
Britain sent convicts
Britian sent soldiers to New South Wales
Wales brassy, bold, stately and old
Wales sandy beaches, Jenolan Caves
Caves above ground
Caves in sea waters for adventure
Adventures in Abercrombie cave
Adventures in Tasmania
Tasmania mecca for adventure
Tasmania's mountainous terrain
Terrain for wild river raft
Terrain of sheer cliffs to climb
Climb the Great Dividing Range
Climb to new heights down under
Under sunny skies
Under skies so blue

Written: August 14, 2015
Influenced by Debbie Guzzie's contest..
First Blitz..Whoa!!

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2015

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Angels of Mercy

Angles of Mercy
Kevin L Fairbrother

There is not to many of us that can say that the owe their existence on this earth to a Native in a Foreign country, in my case I can say that without the help of the Fuzzy Wuzzy  Angels of New Guinea, I would not be here to write this 

My Father served with the Australian Imperial Forces in the Middle East, New Guinea and Borneo, a sapper in the engineers his service with the AIF overseas was over a period of 4 years.
The time my father served in New Guinea fighting against the invading Japanese has great consequences for me as I was conceived not long after his return to Australia and back home to Tasmania.
My father along with thousands of diggers who served in New Guinea, suffered not only from the Japanese forces but from internal diseases that were rife at the time, the mosquito spread Malaria and Gengy fever and the climate of New Guinea and poor sanitation spread Dysentery throughout the camps.
A big push by Japanese forces pushed the diggers back into the hills and forests and as the numbers of sick and wounded were growing at a very fast rate, the Generals decided that they had to find a way to get the sick and injured back to Port Moresby. 

The only way down from the steep mountainess jungle was via an old supply trail used by the natives to sell their wares at Port Moresby, It became known as the Kokoda track and to this day many thousands of people trek this notorious track to relive the past and to familiar themselves with the torturous and dangerous trail of misery and death and to pay homage to the Fuzzy Wuzzy angels act of sheer strength and perseverance to carry and support the many sick and injured, the dead and dying to a place of safety at Port Moresby.

 Even as the column of misery descended down the track the Aussie diggers were fighting the Japs in a rear guard action, this hard fought battle turned the tide for the Japs were beaten back and even though many diggers were killed and injured it was a turning point in the war against the Japanese invaders.
Thousands of diggers reached the safety of Port Moresby and so many owe their lives to the Fuzzy Wuzzy angles, many were shipped home, and others recovered from sickness to fight the Japanese in Borneo. My father was one of these men who helped beat back the Japanese army and have an influence in the Japanese surrender.

I salute the courage and tenacity of the Fuzzy Wuzzy angels and thank them for bringing my father to safety and eventually home. Like many diggers of World War 2 they kept their feelings and stories of war to themselves, my Father never said much about his service in the war and what little I know has been told by others. 
I also salute the courage and fortitude of our diggers who kept Australia safe from invasion from the Japanese. 
My Father, (rest his soul in peace) went on to have a productive working life, rearing 9 children, 6 were born after the war including me and 6 of us still survive today. The six of us born after my father returned from the war owe the native Fuzzy Wuzzy of New Guinea a big thanks for without their courage’s deed of mercy we would not be here. 

Kevin L Fairbrother
Who were these men of such courage and fortitude?
Whose hair curled and matted reached for the sky
Well, muscled and full of resolve to complete the mission
To get the sick and injured Aussie Diggers home to safety

Never thinking about their own well-being or safety
The Fuzzy Wuzzy angles as they became known
Carried and supported the Diggers down the mountain
Never flinching nor feeling that they would fail the mission

Endless rain, a sea of mud, so steep hard to stand up
Raging rivers, swollen streams, impenetrable jungle
Constant darkness from the thick forest canopy
The Fuzzy Wuzzy persevered with strength and courage

On stretches, on their backs using their bodies as support
These angels carried an endless tide of sick and injured
Down the notorious Kokoda track of misery and death
Contemplating to never give up on their mission of mercy

With Japanese mortars and bullets befalling the column
As the Diggers fought a rear guard action to stem the Japs
The Fuzzy Wuzzy continued their mission down the mountain
For their job was to get as many Diggers as possible to safety

Eventually they reached the safety of Port Moresby
Largely due to the push by the Diggers to push back the Japs
The Fuzzy Wuzzy Angels were given a hero’s welcome
And to this day a revered and honored for their mission of mercy

Copyright © Kevin Fairbrother | Year Posted 2015

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In the Australian summer
you’ll always have some mates,
they will ride upon your back 
and then fly to your plates
at your picnic in the outdoors,
and there’ll never be a truce,
when you’re putting out the food,
and both hands are in use.

Bloody flies get in your eyes,
up your nose, between your toes;
eat your pasties, eat your pies,
those bloody rotten little flies!

When the lawns need mowing
and the mower will not start,
you pull the thing to pieces,
and when it’s all apart,
you need full concentration,
for nuts and bolts and springs;
with spanners in both hands
you can’t swat the flamin’ things.

And they don’t mind my sandwich
after eating horse manure,
and of course the barby meat
becomes their ideal lure.
When a fly goes down my throat
I near choke to get it clear,
and reckon that they cross the line
when swimming in my beer.

So to avagoodweekend
oh, its gunna be so hard,
amongst a mist of fly spray
and a coat of aeroguard.
Flies dying in their thousands,
become one big mistake;
their mates turn up from miles away 
to join in at the wake.

Bloody flies get in your eyes,
up your nose, between your toes;
eat your pasties, eat your pies,
those bloody rotten little flies!

Copyright © Lindsay Laurie | Year Posted 2016

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The Girl From The Mountain

It’s a diaphane, this day, with all the lives, stringed to one another.
The filament of life is asking for something I wouldn’t know.
For this is all but nothing? Or a little something, a little nothing, a little both.
Vertigo! Vertigo! Ends like this. Ends like this.
Little confusion, little confusion, spinning about itself.
Yet wouldn’t know. Wouldn’t know. When to stop and feel stupid.
But now I know. Now I know.
‘til the clouding stops, and mountain starts, I must keep moving. Keep moving.
Keep my shoes clean, and heart abbott.
I’m stupid lot. Stupid lot.

When did sweltering heat become the winter gales?
I won’t hear this, but within earshot.
Restful, yet I fluster. I once took a red road,
Walked into an Australian day, foamed. Now I defoam.
I must listen, all the silent lines in my head.
The fate that vanishes, becomes a feat.
And I wake up, waking up with the fowl flow of a river,
That reminds me of a Syrian night, no antigram to go with it.
                                              So I respawn.

One stream of consciousness, and I recall,
Half my head is underwater, where things are clear.
The other half, wandering about someplace good in a little light weather.
I hope it’s the same Australian day in the ferns.
Hitherto moving along the daylight, hitherthen dreaming twice,
Of the same Syrian night in the fall,
Where I trip over a lazy way off, and toss my thoughts for a call.
Head; and this mountain is all I have in the middle of another day.
So I must not stop, till I see what she’s like in the sun.
Tail; and I hope she likes the Sun.            

But who is she? Is she the mountain I want to see?
I always knew people are, where they are.
And not who they are, I know for sure.
Is it morning yet? I walk indifferent, to the sky that keeps changing.
But to tell this a plethora of it, I do not have one.
I feel one ray on my skin, only dreaming of a myriad.
Now this dream sets my skin, sleep inducing,
Not a ray would wake it up, it will take more.
So I keep walking till I see a lot of mornings.
More than I have ever seen, more than I can take.
                                              I have known for long, tranquility not.

Why do the most beautiful words not sound so good?
Rhapsodic moments take away all the illness, to not feel so good.
Grotesque vestige of my behaviours, wear me out for the rest of the day.
Yet for long, I couldn’t walk so far, not the fear, but the far.
I am never too afraid to not wait, to not walk the red road.
It’s always like this, waiting seems like walking.
So I wait two miles, walk long in gaze, grimace to go with it.
Not a lot of it, but it still is the story that echoes in my head.
Sits calm in the bucolic, watches me wait, watches me walk.
So I must not stop, till I see the Harbinger become so.

This is ineffable, this hearth that has taken the place,
Of mantles in my labyrinth. Love, is the only way I know,
To walk out of it. So I must love what I see.
Penumbra of daily thoughts waiting with me as I walk,
My love is waiting for me in the mountain, as the mountain.
So I must not stop, riparian to this talisman, the one that keeps me going,
Wherewithal to all my quintessence, my love is watching me wait, watching me walk.
And when all lives merge with me, erstwhile.
I must read the first few lines in my head,
And keep going.

They say, this love, it is for someone else to take, but I do not care.
I just keep walking, telling my red road romance,
Submerging into it, the panoply of stories I always needed to tell.
To my love.
The girl from the mountain, I must walk up to her.
For only she can end my vertigo,
Or tell me why I should keep spinning, so I don’t stop and brood into it.
I have always loved her in stranger ways I wouldn't know.

Copyright © Lalit Kumar | Year Posted 2015

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Overcome Evil With Good

A loving husband, a great man of God,
Few people would dare to walk the path he trod;

Came to spread the Good news of the Bible,
Left his own country to live among tribals;

Came to serve the poor with a great vision,
A friend of lepers, he did a great mission;

His heart was full of love for the dying,
But some of the people thought he was lying;

They did not understand his message, but
They sadly thought that he was there to convert;

Two little sons, unaware of all this,
Ready to meet their dad, saw nothing amiss;

They had come to him for holidaying,
And they were going home after a meeting;

On the way, wanting a warm place to sleep,
The man and his young sons laid down in their jeep;

The silent night was startled by loud cries,
When fifty men came with evil in their eyes;

For no fault of theirs, three kind souls were killed,
For loving lost people, their own lives were stilled;

On that fateful night, evil did smother
Three men of her family, killed together;

It was the worst blow his wife ever had,
But she forgave the killers. Good conquered bad;

They were killed in a murder cold-blooded,
Brutally those three were incinerated;

The missionary work went on to thrive,       
Though Graham Staines and sons had been burnt alive.

                       --R           I--
                    -- U  N      L   V --
                 --- B      T  A      E ---
                STAINES AND HIS SONS
                     (_)                 (_)


{Graham Staines was an Australian missionary who was burnt alive in Manoharpur village (Keonjhar district, Odisha, India) on 23rd January,1999 along with his two young sons, Philip (10) and Timothy (6) by a mob of about fifty for allegedly 'converting'  the villagers to Christianity. After his death, his wife, Gladys, continued his work among the lepers until she returned to Australia in 2004. In her affidavit before the Commission on the death of her husband and two sons, Gladys Staines stated: 

"The Lord God is always with me to guide me and help me to try to accomplish the work of Graham, but I sometimes wonder why Graham was killed and also what made his assassins to behave in such a brutal manner on the night of 22nd/23rd January 1999. It is far from my mind to punish the persons who were responsible for the death of my husband Graham and my two children. But it is my desire and hope that they would repent and would be reformed."}

Copyright © Jo Daniel | Year Posted 2016

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Lest we forget the bad decisions

Sponsor	Nancy Jones
Contest Name	Things that suck

Lest we forget the Bad decisions …

(Myxo the rabbit steal the Bagmans Bunny),     first use of a deadly weapon
( Cane toads 4 cane beetles,)( 12 atom bombs exploded …what!!!)

Does anyone remember back in 1955 …
 why we were blessed with atom bombs….
we are lucky to be left alive …
The Liberals said its fine…
No need to bloody worry mate….
 12 atom bombs that’s all…
The Poms might us incinerate…(British)
And leave some mushrooms tall…

And we of the convict strain …
10 Thousand died that’s all…(bones kept 12 thousand suspicious deaths….)
Brisbane town a falling radioactive rain …
Geiger counter saw it fall……….tech guy couldn’t zero the counter it got worse near window,
rain in Brisbane…..1955/56
So I said to a Pom you dropped the bomb….
No, a tower they’d had a seat…
Strontium 90 in the milk for some….
Off the grass the cows did eat…….free milk for the school kiddies back then:(…

So the order of the garter …
Was given to some mug …
For atom bombs the barter….
And they surely burnt our rug.. :(
The master is there for the master….
To keep the worker down …..
To contract for the cheapest slave…
Like the business side of town …….

The CSIRO man Marston? In the fifties found enlarged thyroids in sheep he checked all over
Australia Found evidence of the radioactive poisoning of Australia …He tried to warn the
Australian public but only got his comments In some farmers magazine due to political
interference by the master …..

This is what happened and there is a documentry available in the Aussie ABC shop.

Copyright © DON JOHNSON | Year Posted 2011

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'The Wakening World

The Wakening World

A new world spins kaleidoscopic, a whorl of color in revolt.
Oceans quake, molding into fissures of tectonic hunger,
ravaging the deep, stirring the primal need depressing
populations unseen to the denizens of land, left in man’s wake.
From diatom, to whale, from single cell, to open hand 
from sun, to star, to mushroom bomb, we have light.

Within the orb of eye, retinal flares of light
an inside-out, upside-down, yin and yang revolution;
juxtaposing wealth with poverty, throngs rise asking for hand-
outs, aching with a human need to know, hungering.
Childhood ends as the predestined ouroboros wakes.
Death’s rattle subsides, as head eats the tail of depression.

Communication becomes the global antidepressant.
Aborigines in Australian huts and Inuit in igloos see the light.
There will be no holding back the tide, for hand in hand, cells wake.
No longer can knowledge be held. “Phone home,” a revolutionary
cry, the breast will not be ripped from the lips of hungering
humanity, tyrant and saint will be juxtaposed, their time at hand.

Instant contact scrapes the barnacles of blight handily.
The stroke of fingertip to keyboard or keypad depressed
sends ignorance fleeing, freeing the knowledge hungry;
showing the way out, the way up, the key. Light-heartedly
heads bow in prayer, the we will rock you will revolt.
Let tyranny be eaten, and righteousness wake.

On the egg of earth, we float in celestial wakes.
Solar tides stir the shards of glass raising death’s hand.
Round and round the top spins each revolution
forced by the pumping thump of nuclear rods depressed,
rods magnetized or charged with lightening
will energize the populous for we all hunger.

Evolution brings revolution, each thirst quenched brings new hunger.
Repression will never depress the desire to wake,
nor, will the fisted hand ever bring the light.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

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                                                Two men on horseback 
                                                hidden from authorities
                                                in Australian bush 
                                                On the creek that flows slowly
                                                their eyes are drowned in the sky


Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

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Divine Intervention


While flying from Uruguay to America,
I experienced some fearful problems,
Some were real and some nightmares.
I was tossing my handbag left and right
I heard a sermon my mother used to sing
I was quite engrossed for a few minutes
Forgetting all the problems I was worried about.
Hey, my co-traveler said, “your tape is running”
I remembered recording my mother’s voice
I think my mother came as protecting force
Giving an edge over my imaginative problems.
A mother is next to godliness, God personified.

An event of March, 2010 confirms my belief.
An Australian mum brings her premature baby son
Back to life by loving cuddles when chances none.
The doctors battled for twenty minutes gave up
Of saving her lifeless baby boy of 27 weeks.
Doctors gave the child to the mother to say goodbye
The grieving mother cuddled him tightly two hours
Bringing back her son to life, weighing 2 lbs.
Twenty minutes of science, two hours of love.
I bet it is nothing else but divine intervention

September 19, 2014
Form: Free Verse

***Second part of the poem relates to a miracle happened in Australia. Anyone interested to read more, here is the link*** 

Copyright © Dr.Ram Mehta | Year Posted 2014

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Immigration Policy

All immigrants or persons migrating into Australia shall be extended no more courtesy that the average Australian unless unusual circumstances can be justified
No financial aid will be offered to any person migrating to Australia unless unusual circumstances can be justified
24 months after becoming an Australian citizen will be first time a migrant shall be allowed to claim for any financial assistance of any sort from the Australian government unless unusual circumstances can be justified
All Australian traditions, icons, beliefs, and religions shall not be defaced in any way; if they are then the person or persons responsible shall be required to leave Australia and citizenship and passport will be revoked unless unusual circumstances can be justified
All immigrants shall follow Australian law
No employer shall be allowed to pay a migrant a lower rate of pay than an ordinary Australian would receive in the same position in accordance to the award wage. If an employer is found guilty of underpaying workers they shall be shipped to PNG and passport revoked after reimbursing twice the amount of money owed unless unusual circumstances can be justified

Copyright © Gordon Andrews | Year Posted 2013

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Thoughts on Citizenship day

    Thoughts on Citizenship day.

                               Frank Halliwell

Can you hear the trumpet fanfare?
And the crowd shouting "hooray"?
Cause they're making me a citizen
Down at the hall today!

Who will make the presentation?
Will it really be the ones
Who have the greatest claim on it,
Or those who had the guns...

To wrest it from those peaceful blacks
Who owned this ancient land
To make a place for criminals,
...The thief and the brigand!

But I'll front up for the paper
And attend the little bash
While the pollies in Canberra
Dip their fingers in the cash...

...And fly around the country 
Visiting ficticious joints
While the Australian taxpayer
Funds their "frequent flyer" points!

"Matilda" always stirs my soul
A song without compare!
But I have reservations on 
"Advance Australia where?"

But I love this land of blue skies
And I have for decades past,
And when the dealer calls my hand
It's here I'll breathe my last...

Where sparkling diamonds fill the night
And nothing dulls the gloss,
Of paradise in southern seas
Beneath the southern cross!

Copyright © frank halliwell | Year Posted 2013

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One Country, One World

Which nation of the world
Do I belong?
I belong to the nation 
Of unity,
No transgression,
And freedom for all.

I belong to the nation 
Of  Equalities-
Equality between 
Proletariat and aristocracy
Disabled and abled
Woman and man
Young and old
Black and colored
People and nation
Right and rule...

I belong to the nation of peace
Across the land, the sea and the sky.
And peaceful stretch to the arboreal.
And Peace of souls,
Of bodies
And minds.

My belonging
Is my strength-
The rhythm that keeps me growing.
Though I was born a Nigerian.
Not I neglects being call
American, Ghanaian, Portuguese
Chinese, Korean, Indian...
Though I'm by virtue 
Of land mass
An African      
Not do I dismiss 
In unison unit 
That type me Asian,
North American,
South American,
And Antarctica.

I belong to
A nation,
A voice...
One country,
One world.

Copyright © Abdulhafeez Oyewole | Year Posted 2013

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Tapioca - Knights Crusade

Tapioca  (Free Verse)

I’ll always be thoughtful and treat you well
Mi amor
If you want for food, it will always be there
Mi amor
I’d protect you from the gates of hell
Mi amor
Whatever you desire is yours
Mi amor
But you cannot have my tapioca
Feb. 6,  2003

The Knight’s Crusade  (Villanelle)

Dearest damsel, thou art my life
If thou want for food, it will always be there
I will offer comfit and other gourmet fare

Whatever jewels ye desire I present to you
Be it Australian opals or Colombian gold 
Dearest damsel, thou art are my life

The ravages of nature may threaten thee
But I’ll cool thee in the brutal heat
and warm thee in the bitter cold

I will slay where all the dragons dwell
I'll protect thee from the gates of hell
Dearest damsel, thou art my life

My strength and resolve to win thy love
I will defy the gods above
Until my labors bring fruition

all these enumerations that I have stated
I promise thee with all my heart
Dearest damsel, thou art my life
But thou cannot have my Tapioca

May 4, 2014

Makeover Contest Roy Jerden
Ralph Sergi  March 26, 2015

Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2015

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A Life Well lived

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By Robert (Bob) Moore  (©2015)

The old man sat at the window, staring into space
people could only wonder, at the smile upon his face
but they had not been where he had been, and behind that wrinkled brow 
they could not see what he had seen, or what he was seeing now

He was back again in England, on a cold and frosty day
heading for the Pennines, where he would make his way
into the hills round Kinder Scout, or maybe up Scafell
following the wanderers tracks, and pathways he knew well

He may be back at Gorton Mount, or maybe Spurley Hey
reliving all his schooldays, the learning and the play
Rugby with Pete Hesketh, or football as fullback
but definitely not cricket, too dangerous playing that

Or perhaps he’s back in Gorton, round the Suttons Dwelling Trust
riding bikes out in the rain, till they fell apart with rust
there’s Jack and Cliff, and Keswick, the pals he hung round with
for friendship and companionship which only true friends give.

He’s camping on the Isle of Man, in the August holiday
trying to get a sunburn, to prove he’d been away
and drinking hard with Scottish lads, who congregated there
and we’ll come up and see you, in Glasgow he would swear.

Or again, he’s leaving England, heading for another land
a place where dad had told us, the living would be grand
with sun and sand and lots of work, we’d make our fortune there
and live life to the fullest, with fun, and little care

Now he’s landed in Australia, mam and dad are there
him and his three sisters, standing in the sun shine glare
not knowing how their life will be, or if it will turn out
as dad had promised to us all, but there really was no doubt

This was a cleaner, brighter land, than England had become
his dad had fought in 2 wars, and now he wanted some
place to raise his family, in prosperity and peace
a place where all the worry, and the arguing would cease.

He could not see all of the things that would happen in his life
how he would raise a family, with his Australian wife
they’d drift apart, the kids would grow, and start lives of their own
and now there are grandchildren, and the family has grown

Now he’s thinking of his second wife, who looks after him
he’s not easy to live with, he knows this deep within
she ignores him when he’s cranky, but he loves her more than gold
some say that he has mellowed, others say he just got old

Copyright © Bob Moore | Year Posted 2016

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Ned Kelly bush ranger

Ned Kelly, bush ranger.

An Australian bush ranger
Of Irish descent
He roamed through our ranges
With evil intent.

His name was Ned Kelly
He earned so much fame
Teaming up with his brothers
To rob was their game

He killed him, some policemen
There were three of them
And so repercussions 
From this evil did stem

When one day there came
 Knocking at his door
Some men of Authority
The arm of the law.

His life was cut short
They hung him one day
In old Melbourne town
His life slipped away

Now he is a legend
Most hold him on high
To me he was evil
And evil must die.

Vera Duggan 4 July 2014

Copyright © Vera Duggan | Year Posted 2014

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A Gift Horse

In Australian vernacular
he was a ‘flea-bitten’ grey.
Not dappled like a dream horse
but speckled like a rock and not a 
fine large horse like Tom Cable’s
roman-nosed, “Major.”

Dad, had traded for him- two rolls of barbed wire
and a fence strainer.  He came with a used saddle
 and bridle and the high spirits of
 the seldom ridden.

Before he would let us mount him, Dad
knew he had to take the 'curry' out of him.
 Rode him hard, through a ploughed paddock.
Rode him until he stood in a foaming sweat
ears sideways, subdued.

I can’t forget being led, those first few rides
“Don’t let go of his head, Dad” I’m not ready
yet,” and I knew the horse sensed the trembling
 in my being, until one day his bone- jarring trot
 became a solved puzzle.
I felt a gathering- a sense of balance between the 
pony’s mouth, the stirrups and the reins
and from a secret fulcrum
I was posting, “Let him go now, Dad”
I shouted, and my heart and  soul were
 floated to some rhythmic magic.
Around the homestead once and back
I cantered
I pulled the reins, “Whoa boy!”

That first halt, obeyed,  filled my head
for days and days.

Suzanne Delaney

Copyright © Suzanne Delaney | Year Posted 2013

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3 things I take with

         Gifted with 3 things  on a deserted Island what do I bring .
           Having clothes on,   a smart phone wet not smart at all
              For you have hope in store when you can not make a call ..

         ~ A sharpest of knives that starts fire 
               Ugg boots Australian built resilient  
                  A pot to boil water pure from the salt  ~
         This being a hard choice for it's these I desire  ~
           Belgium chocolate,  coffee with evaporated milk
               Tea  & sugar to last a decade , paper , pen 
                  A goose down blanket under stars ,warming like silk

           my favorite books , The four agreements 
                A working I pod, guitar, for music is my muse ..

          A Bible to read so I can keep my faith higher ~
          After becoming one with all nature I call this my own
             Now bring me a prozac and a cell phone 
            "   A special forces man ...oh no , temptation,  I may not come home ! "
           Yet being true to self , and my soul unfolds..
      ~ For I love and miss my children , what is life without them to hold ~
      "written for Shadows contest on 10-8-13"

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

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Dont Ascertain When You Dont Know

Self knowledge equated to the encyclopedia and perceived facts, products of personal reasoning the efficacy of thoughts should not be questioned and assumptions simply made real and absolute Typical of such a thought stamps on convictions that the banana and plantain are the same a superior race surely exist leg size has a great correlation with the male’s genital the measure of one’s success is solely factored in his accumulation of wealth and money is the root of all evil. This mindset can walk on hot coal just to prove these points Columbus was the first European to visit the Americas bulls are colour blind and bats are completely blind women are subordinates to men and a pure heart is one which covers its body from head to toe This mind can even tear its clothes to rags in displeasure to your opposition to issues such as Sydney is Australia’s capital the earth’s evolution is the cause of day and night Africa is a country and its inhabitants exchange morning greetings with the Lion and the Chimpanzee and Neil Armstrong is the first human to journey into out space Despite carrying the internet even to the dreams and having global captions mixed with daily breath assumptions such as these are nurtured religiously, with rigidity and military acceptance the biggest illiterate of the 21st century is one who cannot learn, unlearn and relearn so said Alvin Toffler, the Australian Educationist. Oh sorry! The American futurist

Copyright © Funom Makama | Year Posted 2015

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The Thinker

Koala the Australian version of. “The Thinker”, sits high. Ponders the spicy tang of his next meal then, he’ll sleep for hours. People gawk at him, as he munches eucalyptus.

Copyright © M. L. Kiser | Year Posted 2014

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EPS Syndrome

My Dogs have the dreaded multiseasonal EPS syndrome “Eat-Poop-Sleep”.
But not my Dragon, so clever, he’s added mischief to this illustrious heap.
He has our Australian Cattle dog herding the penguins up the street.
The Gutter frogs hop along, checking out future gutters for to keep.

The little Closet Trolls are weighing in, to help exercise the lot down the sidewalks!
They’ve even saddled up our cats, so we can add them, too. What an amazing shock!
Our forest friends and even the friendly bear, disturbs his sleep each day, for this walk.
You ought to see the neighbors run when we come on parade, right down the block.

Tho, it might be Hubby’s Basement Trolls who scare them, as we walk the street.
They’re bringing up the rear. Yes, on Pooper scooping patrol. They are so sweet!
And the little Closet Trolls have convinced every squirrel to taunt the dogs…
By running across the street, and yes, up every single tree, to make them, jump and jog!

Dragon has everyone involved as he wears a sign… for his new project and job…
The sign: “Pet Walking for every pet! We Don’t come Cheap, but we’re not snobs!”
Surprisingly, we now, find pets tied up at all the neighborhood doors…
With money in their collars… waiting to join in all the walks, for sure…

We wander down the street, thru the park, and to the ice cream parlor, with its allure.
Wind, rain, snow, and cold… does not stop this glorious prevail, on it’s tour.
For Dragon loves his ice cream…and the others they do, too, those tasty treats, to procure.
I come along to make sure no one is left out… in this quest for ice cream, de jure.

Eat, Poop, Sleep…Well, to this: I say my lovely peeps…
“Piddle Dee Dee… and Piddle De Dum”
Look Out for Dragon’s business… For Here We Come!
The Dog days of winter… are no longer Hum Drum!

Remember: a dream, using a mind… can create something, quite sublime!

Copyright © Carol Eastman | Year Posted 2014

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And Introducing 
The arch enemy:
((Political Correctness and Health and Safety))

Ladies and Gentlemen: boys and girls. Peter Pan is set to strike again.

A sequel to J.M. Barrie’s classic tale will be published in the very near future, in which Tinkerbell will be replaced by a male fairy named Firefly, the Darling little children are all grown up, Neverland is blighted by pollution and Nana the dog, is sadly dead. 

Darryl Ashton has obtained this exclusive interview with Peter Pan to find out what went wrong. Peter says: “What has the world come to when someone like me is no longer allowed in children’s bedrooms? OK, so at first inspection things don’t sound too great.
I am someone who climbs secretly through children’s  bedroom windows. I have a friend called Tinkerbell who is, yes, a ‘Fairy’. The two of us tell the little Darlings’ to forget about their parents and come away with us on a big adventure to Neverland. But relax, will you! 
Looking’ back I guess my problems really began when I started planning this return trip to Britain after some 100 years. Do you know how hard it is for a guy like me to get the paper work together? By the time Childcare Agencies, Social Services and The Criminal Records Bureau had vetted me, the magic was wearing pretty thin, I can tell you.

Was I self – employed? Or were Tinkerbell and I in a VAT – registered partnership? Did I have a pilot’s licence, which met all compliance standards? Did I have the relevant Visa for tourists from Non – EU countries? Questions, questions! Don’t all these regulations get you down? Anyway, as Tinks and I soon came to discover, Britain has changed beyond all recognition in the years we have been away.
Our first discovery, much to our horror, was Wendy, and her brothers John and Michael, were some time ago taken into foster care. We learnt that their parents, who were in the habit of leaving them in the care of Nana the dog, had been stripped of access to the children.

TV crews chased Mr and Mrs Darling down the street and a police guard had to be placed outside their door to prevent vigilante gangs from attacking them. Well, that was all too much for Nana the dog who was carted off to an RSPCA hospital, where she was soon being seen by a strange Australian man with a beard and a didgeridoo, who said he could make her a star, on, Animal Hospital.  

Nana said she’d rather be put down, so after a quick call to an assisted suicide group called Dognitas, the old dear’s now pushing up the daises next to Shep in Blue Peter’s garden. Such a waste, she’d been trained by Norland, you know. 
But I don’t suppose that means much these days.

Unsurprisingly, the Darling children went rapidly down hill from there. Shunted from one foster home to another, they fell in with the wrong crowd. Before long, Michael was wearing a hoodie and worse, hanging out with Prince Harry’s lot. As for little John, without any proper father figure to look after him, he found solace in a new faith, changed his name to Sinbad, and was last heard of heading for the Afghan hills for a spiritual vacation. Which is why Wendy got back in touch with yours truly.

So with no one else left to help her, Wendy closed her eyes tight and sent a wish to her old mate Peter Pan. I must confess, when her message first popped up on my Blackberry, I winced. Is there nowhere the office can’t reach me these days? Even Neverland? So I made a few calls, and whaddya know? Hookie agreed to help me out. Yes, I know he’s a rogue and bounder who has polluted the whole of Neverland, after swapping the Jolly Roger for a fleet of turbo charged jet skis. 

Big mistake. We’d scarcely set foot in London before the anti – terrorism squad and Hookie was carted off to Belmarsh. You should have heard him shouting when they took him away! “I am Hook, one time bosom to Blackbeard. The only man to send a shiver up the wooden stump of, Long John Silver. The only consolation for the poor Captain was that the crocodile never made it through the security checks at Neverland Airport”. The other passengers heard that clock ticking in its belly and said they would not travel unless the croc was chucked off the flight.

As for Tinkerbell, no sooner had she returned to her old haunts than a gay rights group called Stonewall said it was totally unacceptable for her old name to be retained. When asked for an explanation, they just threw their eyebrows to the ceiling, sucked in their lips like lemon quarters and gasped: Firely was so much more ‘now’. They even wanted Tinks to change her gender, but we’re still negotiating on that. The Elf’s trade union is pretty sticky on that sort of alteration.

The fairy costumes had to go too, something to do with stereotyping. But when I showed Tinks her new thong, her little pilot light went out altogether, and I’m afraid no amount of Polish plumbers can get it started again. So now I’m stranded and alone, with only my shadow for company. Even Wendy has cut off contact after getting a six – figure deal to appear on a Celebrity show---get me out of here! All of this I can tell you, is incredibly upsetting.

What has happened to Britain these days? I know Neverlands not perfect, but it’s a place where time stands still – and innocence is preserved and I like it that way. Today’s inspectors and officials all say that they’re only interested in protecting children. But by imagining the worst of people they are only wrecking the very innocence they presume to defend.

As I was telling the tooth fairy the other day: “You know Gums, sometimes I wonder if childhood itself is vanishing”. And do you know what she said in reply: “Sorry Pete, I’ve gone private. If you want a consultation, you’ll have to pay up front”.
How about ‘Pay – as – you – go? Sorry Pete, it’ll Neverland!

DARRYL ASHTON                                                      


Copyright © Darryl Ashton | Year Posted 2014

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Who controls our banking?
Ruinous fees for money lending.
Who questions their investing?
Why so dear for money lending?
Who does profit from accounting?
Our finances they're controlling,
While our economy they're ruining,
They're amassing fortunes pecuniary,
Big business for them, commercially.
Let's questions their accountability
For our faceless Australian economy,
Profits overseas they're sending---
So much for Australian banking!!!!!!

Copyright © Julie Grenness | Year Posted 2016