Kenneth Slessor

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

Kenneth Slessor Poems

41. Wild Grapes 4/1/2010
42. Cock-Crow 4/1/2010
43. Chessmen 4/1/2010
44. A Bushranger 4/1/2010
45. An Inscription For Dog River 4/1/2010
46. The Knife 4/1/2010
47. Full Orchestra 4/1/2010
48. Burying Friends 4/1/2010
49. Earth-Visitors 4/1/2010
50. Cannibal Street 4/1/2010
51. A Sunset 4/1/2010
52. Glubbdubdrib 4/1/2010
53. Fixed Ideas 4/1/2010
54. Heine In Paris 4/1/2010
55. Five Visions Of Captain Cook 4/1/2010
56. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
57. Gulliver 4/1/2010
58. Captain Dobbin 4/1/2010
59. Elegy In A Botanic Gardens 4/1/2010
60. City Nightfall 4/1/2010
61. Polarities 4/1/2010
62. Country Towns 4/1/2010
63. Out Of Time 4/1/2010
64. Crow Country 4/1/2010
65. The Night Ride 4/1/2010
66. South Country 1/1/2004
67. Mangroves 1/1/2004
68. Thief Of The Moon 1/1/2004
69. North Country 1/1/2004
70. Beach Burial 4/1/2010
71. Sleep 1/1/2004
72. William Street 1/1/2004
73. Five Bells 1/1/2004

Comments about Kenneth Slessor

  • Luke Perich (7/28/2014 6:26:00 AM)

    Slessor was a disgrace to humanity. He now rots in hell.

    81 person liked.
    36 person did not like.
  • Robert Alexander (11/16/2013 10:36:00 PM)

    I reckon Slessor was a sicko. Slessor was a bloody sicko. Probably got abused when he was still weeny.

    19 person liked.
    54 person did not like.
  • Robert Alexander (11/16/2013 10:36:00 PM)

    I reckon Slessor was a sicko. Slessor was a bloody sicko. Probably got abused when he was still weeny.

    15 person liked.
    46 person did not like.
Best Poem of Kenneth Slessor

Beach Burial

Softly and humbly to the Gulf of Arabs
The convoys of dead sailors come;
At night they sway and wander in the waters far under,
But morning rolls them in the foam.

Between the sob and clubbing of the gunfire
Someone, it seems, has time for this,
To pluck them from the shallows and bury them in burrows
And tread the sand upon their nakedness;

And each cross, the driven stake of tidewood,
Bears the last signature of men,
Written with such perplexity, with such bewildered pity,
The words choke as they begin -

'Unknown seaman' - the ...

Read the full of Beach Burial

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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