#Australians #Women
Under the death of winter’s leaves… who cried to Nothing and the terri… to be his home and bread. ‘O take… the weight and waterfall ceaseless… that batters down my weakness; the…
The eyeless labourer in the night, the selfless, shapeless seed I hol… builds for its resurrection day— silent and swift and deep from sig… foresees the unimagined light.
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…
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:
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
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
The rows of cells are unroofed, a flute for the wind’s mouth, who comes with a breath of ice from the blue caves of the south. O dark and fierce day:
In the vine-shadows on the veranda… under the yellow leaves, in the co… sit two sisters. Their slow voices… like little winter creeks, dwindle… and the square of sunlight moves o…
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.
When summer days grow harsh my thoughts return to my river, fed by white mountain springs, beloved of the shy bird, the bellb… whose cry is like falling water.
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
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…
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…
He thrust his joy against the weig… climbed through, slid under those… foam— (hawthorn hedges in spring, thorns… How his brown strength drove throu…
That time of drought the embered a… burned to the roots of timber and… The crackling lime-scrub would not… and Mooni Creek was sand that yea… The dingo’s cry was strange to hea…