BLUEPEPPER

Stepping into a winter sun while the spaghetti sauce cooks People will always talk. Learn to forgive. Life is hard. It rains, ...

The Sun is not Living It does not keen. It is a vast, unencompassable cauldron,  And gives us light  which we have grown eye...

Unforeseen Endings An old man lived here before our purchase, raised in this home, he became a widower years later, forced ...

 It wasn’t the sleepwalking that bothered me. I woke up outside more often than I care to remember, but still, the sleepwalking never reall...

Running II * At the end of the lane, turn right onto Coolamon Road and right again at Farrer Road. Return past the new housi...

As a platform for open and constructive expression and engagement, Bluepepper shares the international community's grave concerns for t...

Harbor Walk, South Boston It was the smell that briny elemental sweat of wizened hard rock moss tangled up in green seawee...

Mallacoota guesthouse, between States We slept in Henry Lawson’s bed in the days when the world was wide at a place where pel...

ONE Every library is a pile of seasonal leaves; amber-coloured pages crack like twigs underfoot and scent the air around my cubic...

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...