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Papatoetoe Poems by Tony Beyer

1 Early Days the billy that rang empty on its hook against the gate post last thing at night was full of the colour of starlight at dawn 2 Originals them kumaras is really gallopin now Mr Kilgour in...

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Sangan River Meditations: Spring, by Susan Musgrave

What I most want is to spring out of this personality, then to sit apart from that leaping. I've lived too long where I can be reached. Rumi  "Unseen Rain" (i) In another life, this place was my home....

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At Koukourarata/Port Levy by John O'Connor

with Alistair Te Ariki Campbell, Helen Jacobs & Mark Pirie, June 3 2001 we parked the car by the memorial to Taawao, the Ngapuhi missionary which greets you as you arrive on the final flat that...

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"My Last Duchess" by Robert Browning, 1812 - 1889

My Last Duchess. FERRARA That’s my last Duchess painted on the wall, Looking as if she were alive. I call That piece a wonder, now: Frà Pandolf’s hands Worked busily a day, and there she stands. Will...

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"Anna God Remembers" by Eileen Moeller

. Anna God Remembers the time she followed in her father’s footsteps, tiptoeing through the night behind him as he left for the barn. She was only two years old but she remembers how the front door...

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"Tourist—Limerick" by Libby Hart

 . The cry of a gull from God-knows-where And the church bells And the cars forever passing And the girl screaming at the stopped car And the horns tooting And the girl saying: That’s crap, that is And...

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Two short poems by Vincent O'Sullivan

Skol A man I talked with in a bar in Berlin once read poetry, he said, with passion, served with distinction in an army he loathed. Beyond which he said little. He drank Schnapps. He advised, as we...

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Speaking of the Balloonist by Janis Freegard

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What Heartbreak Felt Like, by Annabel Hawkins

A full stop. In the middle of a sentence. Not enough water in the jug for a cup of tea, and all the milk's run out for good. Fumbling for your keys in your bag at night. No-one remembered to switch...

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The Topography Of Wellington, by Jennifer Compton

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The Fox by Bernadette Hall

The fox is a single red stroke that cuts across the clearing. The colour seems to hang like smoke, you can almost see where she has come from. Her musk (though you can smell nothing) is specific like a...

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History: the Horse, by C. K. Stead

Recall those wartime draught horses pulling carts around our suburb - milk, bread, firewood – like the record of something irretrievably lost, the way for example the beast would stand, one rear leg...

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A letter to Jim Harrison by Lindsay Pope

. It may be of no surprise to you that the day your book arrived the waxeyes at my feeder were noisier, more nervous and more abundant than usual. On the global face, I live on the lower cheek of the...

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The Great Dying by Kathleen Jones

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Before by Janette Pieloor

.......................© J Pieloor .......................Published by Walleah Press .......................Reproduced on The Tuesday Poem with permission .......................Editor: P. S. Cottier...

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Yawn by Sarah Rice

Funny how a yawn travels through a room a pied piper gathering all the rats In that instant we all draw from the same source a great swallowed gasp shoved into our lungs like socks stuffed in a bag...

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Wild Daisies by Bub Bridger

If you love me Bring me flowers Wild daisies Clutched in your fist Like a torch No orchids or roses Or carnations No florist's bow Just daisies Steal them Risk your life for them Up the sharp hills In...

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Excerpt from 'Glaciers' by Sarah Jane Barnett

She notes down the time, opens the aquifer sample taken from a farm west of Hastings, a saturated and fertile zone of nested multilevel wells. She pours it into the debubbler. The team used a direct...

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Like a Reed Boat by William S. Rea

Like a reed boat that slipped its mooring Set drifting on the current Or the heaping up of ripened grain In the time of harvest He was farewelled Gone, in the fullness of his time But that final...

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That girl, by Heidi North-Bailey

She rides side-saddle into her own cliché her heart is pumping smoke boots heavy with things unsaid sunset flecked with mud she’s breathing fire flames curl from her lips slow-dancing lovers with...

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Abdullah, The Servant of God – by Wade Bishop

He was not a handsome man not even in possession of a face that was easy to look into it was journey twisted and wrinkled like a baby at birth ........

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Ngawhatu by Maggie Rainey-Smith

On the Richmond bus to Nelson passing Polstead Road you only had to say it, and everyone knew, unspoken we almost dared not look, it stirred such potent thoughts caused laughter, mocking, and a deeply...

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"Ring of Fire" by Mary Eliza Crane

At the wane of a long season of heat filled yellow sky, fire consumes mountain forests infested, decimated by bark beetles feasting in their own changing world. I swim deliciously in a warmer river...

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“Morte D’Arthur” (Partial) by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

. So all day long the noise of battle roll’d Among the mountains by the winter sea; Until King Arthur’s table, man by man, Had fallen in Lyonnesse about their Lord, King Arthur: then, because his wound...

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And I know now what I didn't know then by the Tuesday Poets

So now you are privy to a thousand thousand things.        Jennifer Compton The geology of the region, the path rain takes under the earth, the black areas of nitrate.        Sarah Jane Barnett There...

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