Kenneth Slessor

(27 March 1901 – 30 June 1971 / Orange, New South Wales)

Kenneth Slessor Poems

If you see a poem only with title, it is listed that way because of copyright reasons.
1. Rubens' Innocents 4/1/2010
2. Mephistopheles Perverted 4/1/2010
3. To Myself 4/1/2010
4. Toilet Of A Dandy 4/1/2010
5. Undine 4/1/2010
6. La Dame Du Palais De La Reine 4/1/2010
7. Winter Dawn 4/1/2010
8. Music 4/1/2010
9. Metempsychosis 4/1/2010
10. Trade Circular 4/1/2010
11. Talbingo 4/1/2010
12. Vesper-Song Of The Reverend Samuel Marsden 4/1/2010
13. To The Poetry Of Hugh Mccrae 4/1/2010
14. The Old Play 4/1/2010
15. Taoist 4/1/2010
16. The Atlas 4/1/2010
17. Next Turn 4/1/2010
18. New Magic 4/1/2010
19. The Ghost 4/1/2010
20. Rubens' Hell 4/1/2010
21. The Nabob 4/1/2010
22. Lesbia's Daughter 4/1/2010
23. Realities 4/1/2010
24. Serenade 4/1/2010
25. Waters 4/1/2010
26. Thieves' Kitchen 4/1/2010
27. Stars 4/1/2010
28. Last Trams 4/1/2010
29. Pan At Lane Cove 4/1/2010
30. The Country Ride 4/1/2010
31. Advice To Psychologists 4/1/2010
32. Crustacean Rejoinder 4/1/2010
33. Marco Polo 4/1/2010
34. Wild Grapes 4/1/2010
35. A Surrender 4/1/2010
36. Adventure Bay 4/1/2010
37. Nuremberg 4/1/2010
38. To A Friend 4/1/2010
39. Snowdrops 4/1/2010
40. In A/C With Ghosts 4/1/2010
Best Poem of Kenneth Slessor

Five Bells

Time that is moved by little fidget wheels
Is not my time, the flood that does not flow.
Between the double and the single bell
Of a ship's hour, between a round of bells
From the dark warship riding there below,
I have lived many lives, and this one life
Of Joe, long dead, who lives between five bells.

Deep and dissolving verticals of light
Ferry the falls of moonshine down. Five bells
Coldly rung out in a machine's voice. Night and water
Pour to one rip of darkness, the Harbour floats
In the air, the Cross hangs upside-down in water. ...

Read the full of Five Bells

Thief Of The Moon

Thief of the moon, thou robber of old delight,
Thy charms have stolen the star-gold, quenched the moon-
Cold, cold are the birds that, bubbling out of night,
Cried once to my ears their unremembered tune-
Dark are those orchards, their leaves no longer shine,
No orange's gold is globed like moonrise there-
O thief of the earth's old loveliness, once mine,
Why dost thou waste all beauty to make thee fair?

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