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.
41. Polarities 4/1/2010
42. Realities 4/1/2010
43. Rubens' Hell 4/1/2010
44. Rubens' Innocents 4/1/2010
45. Sensuality 4/1/2010
46. Serenade 4/1/2010
47. Sleep 1/1/2004
48. Snowdrops 4/1/2010
49. South Country 1/1/2004
50. Stars 4/1/2010
51. Talbingo 4/1/2010
52. Taoist 4/1/2010
53. The Atlas 4/1/2010
54. The Country Ride 4/1/2010
55. The Ghost 4/1/2010
56. The Knife 4/1/2010
57. The Nabob 4/1/2010
58. The Night Ride 4/1/2010
59. The Old Play 4/1/2010
60. Thief Of The Moon 1/1/2004
61. Thieves' Kitchen 4/1/2010
62. To A Friend 4/1/2010
63. To Myself 4/1/2010
64. To The Poetry Of Hugh Mccrae 4/1/2010
65. Toilet Of A Dandy 4/1/2010
66. Trade Circular 4/1/2010
67. Undine 4/1/2010
68. Vesper-Song Of The Reverend Samuel Marsden 4/1/2010
69. Waters 4/1/2010
70. Wild Grapes 4/1/2010
71. William Street 1/1/2004
72. Winter Dawn 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

William Street

The red globe of light, the liquor green,
the pulsing arrows and the running fire
spilt on the stones, go deeper than a stream;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely

Ghosts' trousers, like the dangle of hung men,
in pawn-shop windows, bumping knee by knee,
but none inside to suffer or condemn;
You find this ugly, I find it lovely.

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