Long Australian Poems
Long Australian Poems. Below are the most popular long Australian by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Australian poems by poem length and keyword.
Erudite at night verbose by day,
altho', I can't speak for others when I say,
"Shooting fish in a barrel of monkeys
(such primates rate a damn good spanking),
it seems to me, would not be fun at all,
there's no challenge, where's the reward?
It's enough to make an Australian crawl.
And, if Aussies ate nothing but eucalyptus,
as somnolent, lethargic koalas do,
would their breath also smell
as tho' they've been chewing cough drops too?
Do emu wonder why they have wings,
well, can they really have barrels of oil?
As, if it's to be sold or bought, how's it plumbed,
scooped off the top when they're brought to the boil?
And not to knock the fearless quokka,
cute tho' they may be,
the world's happiest animal
is not really smiling at you or even me.
What does the kookaburra have to laugh about
when they're feeling crook,
that Australia's wider than the moon?
Akubra hat's off, that's a fun one for the books.
Boo... meringues are fun, as is surfing thru' tubes,
but, me, I'd be a wombat, who actually do poo cubes!
"The Beautiful Drowning"
Barefeet
dancing in the sand
the warm ocean licks
insolent toes
to its command
whispers its secrets
calling us in deeper
indolently caressing
our naked futures away
legs wrapped around
warm bodies, we are far gone
way past the markers
we swim like koi
treasure sought, a kiss taken
salty sweet given,
then drifting like poets
coquettishly brazen,
seductive we
softly graze the forgotten,
fingers trace the lines
of neck and silky waist
we cling to the concept of
diving for pearls
way past the marks
the old safety buoys,
no need for words
to read the other,
now wanton laughter,
primitive currents
towards the cool world
of another
feet leaving gravity
we venture forward
listing like a welcome mistake
into the great hereafter
becoming one thought
each consumed by the other
music pulses in our co-joined form
we move like tides
pulling into each other
ever closer
waves wash over us
we become;
submerged
in the beautiful
drowning
of it all,
we are far from
safe harbour
in the soup
with wild things
we forget creatures
with sharp teeth and fins
when we’re skinny dipping
scribbling
the night away
diving for pearls
and other
tricky things
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
"Love in Motion"/ Icehouse
https://youtu.be/RB1G3hdg9vI
“Primitive Man” Full Album, Icehouse
https://youtu.be/BbEZ9wRPO80
Is buoy pronounced boy?
"If you've grown up in the USA, you may be wondering why we're discussing these words together. After all, “boy” is pronounced to rhyme with “toy,” while “buoy” is pronounced “boo-ee,” so they don't sound alike. However, in other English dialects, such as British and Australian English, “boy” and “buoy” are homophones."
thankfully I retain a sense of humour -
and I'm still here. What's a girl to do? ;) Xx
We don't see the stars as we once did.
We've lost contact now,
we live indoors.
We've lost the mythology of stars,
our ancestors once had.
They were glued to the celestial display at night,
and the stories and omens it told them.
Even when city-dwellers venture out at night,
to gaze and peer up at the night-sky of lights,
their view is dimmed by city lights, so bright.
Perhaps we should get out more at night,
and relearn what the ancients knew,
and what the stars told them.
It makes more sense than what we are told by science
much of which is quite frankly beyond belief.
In one Australian Aboriginal culture,
the Sun is female while the Moon is male.
"The Sun is a lovely old lady called Walu Yolngu"
She arises each morn and puts on her red ochre
this is why the sunrise is red.
Then the sun, sets a stringy bark tree on fire
and carries it across the sky and giving us daylight,
At day's end the sun puts out
the flaming stringy bark tree, and it's night till dawn.
The Moon is a bad person, called Ngalindi,
He is lazy, does nothing around the camp,
and becomes big and round and fat,
like the full moon.
His kin get so angry with his laziness
that they chop bits off him off each night.
So he gets thinner and thinner in phases.
Eventually he dies and disappears
completely for three nights in a row.
Then, he returns as a new full, fat new moon.
His is still, just as lazy, and loses his bits in phases.
This is charming, and makes much more sense
than what we are told in school.
We should get out more at night,
with our torches to read the ancient texts.
To relearn the lovely ancient stories again.
To put the heavenly soul back in the night sky.
There's a lot more out at night.
An abecedarian Australian animal activist
Bagged bodacious big bucks
Caustically criticizing crocodiles,
Driving darling dragons
Essentially extinct. Eschewing
Fact, fabricating fanciful fiction,
Grifting gloriously,
He haughtily held hostage
Important, instructive information,
Juxtaposed jaundiced, junk
Kangaroo kills,
Leveling large lizard libel,
Manufacturing marsupial misinformation malevolently.
On other ominous occasions,
Preferring pernicious propaganda,
Quickly, querulously, quashed
Real, rational reports, rather,
Substituted several substantially
Tarnished technical travesties,
Undermining unified understanding.
Very vociferously, viciously
Wrote works without warrant,
Xenophobic xenotypic
yarns, yammering yellow-bellied yawps,
Zombie-like, zealously.
STOP THE ROT
By
Kevin L Fairbrother
Who am I to judge or make comment?
Tell a story about the past and present
When I live and work in Australia
And can’t claim this place as my home
…
For the original inhabitants, indigenous people
Claim Australia as theirs, say it was stolen
Forget about the white folk and what they have achieved
This great land of plenty should be shared by all
…
I feel we should live as one nation with a united voice
Share the spoils and reap the rewards for all
Live and let live in peace and harmony
Treat all as equals in all things Australian
…
Australian born and bred for 70 years plus
Living in a country divided flying two flags
I have no choice this place is home to me
But feel alienated in a foreign land
…
To segregate, alienate, divide and cause disharmony
Resentment and abuse of the law of the land
Governments must show courage, lead by example
Not favor one people over another for political gain
We will pay dearly for saying sorry for deeds of the past
If the original inhabitants have their way
We should not be held to ransom for the past
By those with an agenda to divide this nation
…
Let commonsense prevail, put the past to bed
Whilst remembering the wrongs that took place
Join the two flags to signify a nation as one
Let this be the crux that heals the rift that exists
…
Maybe then the rot will stop
George Floyd
Name of the time
To remove the obnoxious word
"RACE, CASTE"
From the world dictionary of unkind,
From the scripture of beastly mind
Yes
George Floyd
Name of the rub out forever
The killer ism "RACISM, APARTHEID"
Distressful human forgets
The dangerous nCoV-19
There died many, dying and will die.....
Nevertheless
None afraid of that saboteur virus
They are on the street of protest
By the slogan for humanity
Through the procession of unity
Cause there everyone knows-
RACISM is the most hazardous than any other virus
Oh the sky is very sulky
The ground is alive bitterly
Weather playing there unscrupulous death role
Dwellers choke human rights forgetting timing goal
No, no way to live safe
For a peaceful world please come
Have to come to rub out
the word "HATE" forever
Have to forget, yes,
have to forget to say-
"I hate you because
You are a Hindu
You are a Buddhist
You are a Jew
You are a Christian
You are a Muslim.......
You are a black or a white
You are an African or an Asian or an Australian or an American or a European....."
06.06.2020 Chattogram
In June of 1886,
A German sailor tossed
A bottle with a message
Overboard, where it got lost.
The ship, en route to Indonesia,
Left from Cardiff, Wales,
The bottle an experiment
To track the currents’ trails.
A woman walking on the shore
This January glanced
Upon the sand and what she saw
Immediately entranced –
An old glass bottle poking through
A stark Australian beach;
She brought it home and found inside
A scroll that she could reach.
She dried it in the oven
And the message was revealed,
One hundred thirty-one long years
From when it first was sealed.
It merely told where it was from
And asked for its return,
So scientists could analyze
Its journey and could learn.
A message in a bottle
Has a singular mystique,
Like a hole cut in the fabric
Of the past, where we can peek.
Once upon a summer’s sandwich, over in Birdgum Hollow, the one from the old kingdom, not new.
There lived two birds, one glam, a falconet, and one an Australian blue-grayish cock-eyed Cockatoo.
Freddy, the falconet was a quirky, slow-witted, conclosed and obstinate bird,
He liked to strut, and preen and crow, without the penalty of learning any new kind of word.
Galah, who was raised an only, with no mind for his own, was completely closed to ideas that fell.
It was his family’s wishes, so his wishes as well, and it worked for him on Earth, extremely well.
They were furious bird-emies from kindergarten on, neither realizing the solution was no Mr. Airy,
It was simple, it was easy, all they needed was reading, and a common old ordinary red dictionary
“I hate him!” Galah would say. To those who listened. “He’s a Francophile!” And Galah would say this to lots of us who heard.
Freddy was equally verbal about Galah being a Gallophile, a word that struck terror in his oatmeal curd.
Neither realized until they got to heaven and saw the fibriform sign “Gallophiile and Francophiles here,”
That they could have been friends for a lifetime, except for their silly, ridiculous, racially motivated fears.
For you see, my reader, and I know this will delight you in advance.
A Gallophile and a Francophile are both people who love France.
So skip through your day, and enjoy this knowledge on me.
If there’s one thing I like, it’s to enlighten at least three.
Every two months in dear old Australia
A shark attacks a man without failure
Now this very disturbing statistic
Might seem overly simplistic.
But it’s time the nation acted
And had all sharks’ teeth extracted
I know that this might sound rough
But the poor bloke’s just had enough.
Every time he goes for a dip
A bloody shark decides to let rip
He’s got bites on his bum some on the hand
He’s been bitten at sea bitten on land.
Lucky not to be in a shark’s tummy
Bandaged that much he looks like a mummy
Australian men are pretty tough
But this poor bugger’s just had enough.
When it comes to being
called other name's by
people
Sometimes they ain't all that
half bad at all and can even
leave one feeling rather glad
instead
Like when i first heard the
name of someone called
Chris Ozzy
Spoken of in such glowing
terms of affection i myself
wanted and wondered why
i had never met him
Until 1 day with no 1 stood
beside or behind me Kevin
said Chris Ozzy is here
And it finally dawned on me
and i realized i was in fact
Chris Ozzy
Which Kevin named me simply
because i had a foreign not
scouse accent
And i have loved every single
day and more since because
it has a far better ring to it
than Chris S.A
And everyone still laughs to
this day when the origins of
this story is told to them
When people realize i am not Australian never actually been
nor related to anyone from
And best of latter out 1 day
whilst shopping with my
mother
We bumped into no other
than Kevin the man himself
And once after introducing
them we parted companies
with Kevin waving my Mum
a fond farewell
Saying goodbye very nice
to meet you
Mrs Ozzy , Chris Ozzy mum
And now she laughs and
love's it just as much as i do