#Australians #Women
Along the road the magpies walk with hands in pockets, left and ri… They tilt their heads, and stroll… In their well-fitted black and whi… They look like certain gentlemen
We meet and part now over all the… we, the lost company, take hands together in the night,… the night in our brief happiness,… We, who sought many things, throw…
The day was clear as fire, the birds sang frail as glass, when thirsty I came to the creek and fell by its side in the grass. My breast on the bright moss
All things conspire to hold me fro… even my love, since that would mask you and unna… till merely woman and man we live. All men wear arms against the rebe…
Tunnelling through the night, the… in a splendour of power, with a so… shaking the orchards, waking the young from a dream, scattering… the old mens’ sleep, laying
Now my five senses gather into a meaning all acts, all presences; and as a lily gathers the elements together,
The small blue Arab stallion danc… like a glancing breaker, like a st… In his prick-ears, the wind, that… sings of the dunes of Arabia, lion… The small blue stallion poses like…
In the olive darkness of the sally… silently moved the air from night… The summer-grass was thick with ho… where he, a curled god, a red Jupi… heavy with power among his women l…
If the year is meditating a suitab… I should like it to be the attitud… of my great—great—grandmother, legendary devotee of the arts, who having eight children
This is not I. I had no body once… only what served my need to laugh… and stare at stars and tentatively… on the fringe of foam and wave and… Eyes loved, hands reached for me,…
The song is gone; the dance is secret with the dancers in the… the ritual useless, and the tribal… lost in an alien tale. Only the grass stands up
Once as I travelled through a qui… I saw a pool, jet-black and mirror… Beyond, the slender paperbarks sto… each on its own white image looked… and nothing moved but thirty egret…
So here, twisted in steel, and spo… your sunlight hide, smelling of de… they crushed out your throat the t… you sang in the dark ranges. With… you mourned him! - the drinker of…
The moon drained white by day lifts from the hill where the old pear-tree fallen in… springs up in blossom still. Women believe in the moon:
Over the west side of the mountain… that’s lyrebird country. I could go down there, they say, i… and I’d see them, I’d hear them. Ten years, and I have never gone.