BLUEPEPPER

Owen's Water Chimes The rain spatters against the window and I am taken back to his dingy room in that old flophouse on t...

Lilacs Have I written enough poems for one lifetime? Do I really need to search for words for this breath they breathe out a...

The first blue spring days  The Magnolia dawns! Misting over the sultry fields…  That Chagallian mood bleeds Through to the ...

The genius of the fish (for the Dutch poet Joop Bersee) My mother was a woman who cut a striking figure in  blue jeans even ...

hyde park bugger all degrees of separation for cattle ticks and the bush bred wondering if don walker ever ran across gr...

Moon Full just each other’s night to sing just each other’s warmth and elegance as if formed from moonlight your nipples dark...

Darkness. Orange. Circa 1966 this darkness so thick     you can raise an arm         and reach into it night clouds cover m...

My bleeding fingers I don't know. I must have caught them somewhere. I was  distracted, unpacking the car in the country...

Field of Vision The sash window divides the view equally. Above the meeting rail, pure sky – pale blue, cloudless, divine. ...

Gentle Winds                        (i.m. Les A. Murray) Stretched out reclining in a chair pensive poet, vale yes, might...

The Transmission of Leaves This is the transmission of leaves the eatings worth of physillids a dusting of nigella seed with...

Bluepepper wishes to mark the passing of an, at times, seemingly immovable object in Australian poetry. A colossal talent and a per...

Just to Say Says the Janitor Says the janitor each day I learn something new how happiness works with a golden...

Paella There was the stray white cat that we fed paella to. For point of reference, we had to give it a nickname but could not agree on...

The Last View of Sea There was a prize for whoever saw it first a dense blue sliver between two low hills at sea level, the...

Pandora and now they're out for good released and at large not going back underground not leaving either red-hot and s...

Remembering The Stairs - for Julie Pendleton I grew old and winded stairs reminded me of swings of rhythm and raucous play ...

As it was in the beginning 'Is now and ever shall be' as you rise from bended knee do you see a stained glass windo...

Summer Weekends On the weekends my grandfather rose early, dressing himself in his old weekend clothes. Then with tapered-fin...