Poems: Age of Reason; Highway, Shepparton; Found Photo

Screenshot of Eureka Street websiteHooray, three poems appear in the ever-lovely Eureka Street:

  • ‘Age of reason’
  • ‘Highway, Shepparton’
  • ‘Found photo’

Find them at ‘War-room of a child’s mind’, Eureka Street, 20 June 2016.

Poem: Pulled Teeth, Age 36

New poem in Island:

Poem: Men

The London Magazine

A poem, ‘Men’, appears on The London Magazine website:

  • ‘Men’, The London Magazine website, 23 May 2016

Down with men!! The title should be read slightly overloud with a scoff. 😀

Poems: Lust, Siren, Letters home

I’m featured poet in Orbis #173 – poems ‘Lust’, ‘Siren’ and ‘Letters home’ appear.:)

Hey hey it's Orbis issue 173 in which I'm feature poet. 'Lust', 'Siren' and 'Letters home' appear.

A photo posted by Belinda (@thebelrog) on

Poem: Evening

Hooray, I have a poem in the latest Westerly:

‘The loved body’ runner-up in the Ada Cambridge Poetry Prize 2015

Huzzah, my poem ‘The loved body’ came runner-up in the Williamstown Literary Festival’s Ada Cambridge Poetry Prize 2015 – it can be read in the anthology for the prize.

Poem: On waking with the pain

Delighted to announce another poem in Cordite Poetry Review:

Poem: The Things the Mind Sees Happen

Delighted to have a poem in the March issue of Australian Book Review:

Poem: Curator

Hooray, a new poem in Cordite’s ‘Obsolete’ issue:

  • Curator‘, Cordite Poetry Review, 1 Feb 2015

Poem: Who made the bird drop

This poem originally appeared in Islet, Winter 2010. Islet was a project of Island Magazine, which later ceased publishing it and did not retain the archives. I was sad that the poem, which is one of my personal favourites, was no longer available anywhere, so have republished it here.


Who made the bird drop

by Belinda Rule (c)

On the occasion of a funeral.


Who made the bird drop
into the valley like a stone,
scything the air in halves
sweet as a peach?
Who made the valley fall away
so sharp and sweet, the earth bitten open
avid and deep? Who fluffed the plush
canopy of the trees
and inked the black beneath?

Is this yours: distant thunder of laughter
from the lights behind the glass
as I stand here in the dark, apart?
What about this stone like a sickle,
small as a coin? This leaf like a tongue?
This roaring across the valley that could be
anything. Is that you?