He kept dreaming of a tree, dreaming of a tree, dreaming of a tree and its sound like a hush, and it seemed he could open his mouth when he...

Chickens in a shed with screens to let in air, a small door for them to step in and out, not an inch to spare. All things in their pla...

If poets die young they bequeath two thirds of their life to the critics to graze and grow fat in visionary grass. If poets die in old ...

I shall come back Very quietly, very softly, A little brown shadow. I shall not come When the moon is white like a bone, And the house-dog...

The bones of his piano have fallen out of a tune, their shape stacked in loose arrangements of body parts. He has spaced the ivory keys...

Enough. Take your feathers dead or alive and flutter into oblivion. I'm done with the fractured wing, the punctured lung, severed spi...

Where the first pear slug hasn’t won, the first frost has. Gaunt the hawthorn’s lichened boughs rise to cloudless skies and for once no ...

Te hinganga o te Totara haemata o te waotapunui a Tane — a mighty tree has fallen in the forest of Tane. One of our Tuesday Poets, Harvey ...

Greetings TP readers.  Consider today's invitation to enter the Caselberg Trust's inaugural competition a comma in Tuesday Poem...

James Brown is great live. He has had a lot of success, having published several collections of his funny, satirical and clever poetry w...

Early spring, and a cold wet morning.      The wind mooches about outside,           planning a home invasion. It’s Mary’s birthday, our...