BLUEPEPPER

Fall is Golden (V3) The last golden yellow apple hangs like a healing miracle bow down old apple tree winter ...

Walking the Streets of Croix After Our Argument There are a thousand bars. I could get drunk, so drunk that I...

Untitled when you lower yourself into the ocean, look outwards as if there’s no shore, no heartbeat to retur...

An Easter Rising   Poetry by priests? Who gives it more than mock attention? We read their poems, yes, author...

Stop Let's leave everything be. Let's just stop fixing. Perhaps if we let everyone settle clarity will be reveal...

Autumn Proverb walking the paddocks I saw a dog attack a bird,   take its fragile body in its jaws and shake it of a...

Margie at the Brett Whiteley Studio Sunday 22nd March, 2-3.30pm, 2 Raper St Surry Hills. MTC  Cronin has published 20 books of poetry...

My first language   My first language was split in two by a white light that   revolved around my head like...

The Hideout When my father died I remembered buried outlaw long necks of beer as tubers under the colour of hydrangeas spl...

After a good deal of patience and expense on behalf of yours truly, Bluepepper is finally back in business. Apologies to all budding "...

To all those who have submitted work in the past fortnight, I humbly apologise for my lack of response but repairs to my laptop are taking ...

The Winter Of Our Discontent     With apologies to Shakespeare and Steinbeck The rusted square metal clothes pole sits in th...

matchsticks She’s matchsticks, my baby. I’m hoping she’ll rub up on my five o’clock shadow tonight burning my dirty finge...

Nerves It’s the raw nerve. No more sex or whiplash, Just the fire underneath, The electricity. For all th...

NOCTURNAL BARRIER                                                             This unmended gate marks where my d...

Australia is suffering a crisis of leadership that goes far beyond the machinations of the Coalition party room. It is hardly a huge leap ...

Asylum sleepless, I peer through Soviet field glasses  my father gave me back in the  Cold War the dove dips  toward th...

accession the red car turns right  & heads down the hill.  in the valley the mist ponders  whether to rise or to hang ...

My Shadow Has Thinned All winter my shadow has thinned, and no longer supports my weight. The cars parked at Whole Foods gri...

1. Khoba A cowboy rolls in takes the money. his mind is certain about the job but he can't make a decision about...