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How lucky, how lovely, to have
the golden sands,
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Michael Thwaites, A Brief Obituary
Michael Thwaites, poet, Naval officer and Commonwealth public servant, who died on 1 November, 2005, aged 90, was described,
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Owing to extreme pressure of work I have not been able to produce much poetry for a while and do not expect to do so for some time to come. I would, however, be
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To Britain's Greatest Living Playwright
(On the Award of the Nobel Prize to Harold Pinter)
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At the funeral of Captain L. F. W. Vickridge RANR (Retd.), April 2001
Perhaps a thousand people here today,
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Drunk or sober?
[Based on a legal report stating that most Irishmen convicted of crimes of violence were drunk, and most convicted of theft were sober]
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At a Meeting, Followed by Refreshments, of Alumni voting to Reimpose Compulsory Union Fees on Australian University Students
("Anyone who thinks he has a bet
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After the seminar she suggested
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BaskingThe basking lizardignores the kitten's huge staringeyes behind the glass.
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Summer Morning
The black kitten, discarding her toys,
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Beautiful?
"Our beautiful fruit ..." a politician's speech.
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On Subtle Cold-War Film Criticism
When he was a student at the dismal coffee end
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In Praise of Lord Alfred Douglas
Lord Alfred Douglas's nonsense rhymes
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The year was 1991.
It had finally come to pass -
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Blackwood River Evening
The river is molten gold. Wading ibis
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WARNINMG! This poem is very long. Do not start reading it unless you have plenty of time and a good attention span!
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Galilee Guesthouse
Coffee and leather armchairs, candlelit,
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Shrimps
A week submerged in summer, and the boat
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Watering-can man
In a Timor municipal square I saw
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Attending celebrations for the 100th Anniversary of the Australian flag at the old Fremantle Artillery Barracks Museum,
A sudden surprising sea of flags and f
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At the Giza Pyramids
Lingering from the temples of Pasht-Ra,
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Castle in Lebanon
The guide points through swirling cloud
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Hymn Ancient and Modern
Backwards, Christian soldiers!
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They are somewhere below the surface: Black Barty,
Morgan, Kidd, Teach and Swann, all those hearty
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Sailing to Rottnest Island
We clear the smooth bright harbour with the moon. Ahead
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The Miserable Fools
After reading too much contemporary poetry
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Scrapped Submarine near Portsmouth
Rust-red pig-barrel shape
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The Idea of the Everglades
It's the borders I think of: I imagine fields spread
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