1 Butterfly wings turn into bat wingsShe's clumsy at thingsFell over into love
2 He strums his guitarHe's down on his kneeswhere the music has fallen
3 The rain against the windowmakes me feel lonely insidenow there's puddles in the sky
4 A cool breeze stirsA conversation of flowers in the backyardA couple of married birds argue
Peta Edmonds
Poetry@facebook.twitter
They've spread their words — poets,Around this firmament; across computers,And between mutable mobile devices,Filling servers with mass poetics:The nascent urge to write poetryPossessing young Shelleys who've sprungFrom The Atoms of Democritus;This is a new revolution, and isolationIs smashed by connections, by sharing,And makes poetry, and poets anew.Good or bad, criticism is displaced,Poets, will call themselves — poets,From framed rationales to publishCalled by night's broad reveries.
B. F. Moloney
Rattle
Have this photograph.
Yes, the morning sun's shining, surf's up.Yes, my cute dog appears to be begging —paw out, nose pointed at imaginary bread.
But on the body strewn pavementsee the cardboard huts.
Digitally processed. Glossy finish.As I rattle my tin, may it rattle your conscience?
Ross Jackson
Drones
and as we move apart,impose a keyboard or a drone,do you feel pain the lessfrom word or bomb,the click of mouseand shrapnel blastif you are out of sight.The lies we tellare not caught outwhen faces can't be read,and distance builds a firewallwhich no one can delete.
Michele Fermanis-Winward
Summer reign
Dark cloudsRumblingTowards us,Tripping and falling,Spilling shards of crystalWhich melt in lowAltitude;Blurring vertical trailsAnd plunging off edges,Leaving moist silenceIn whichClocks are heard tick-tocking;Keeping odd, inhuman, time
James Rose
1 bud
bud burstgreen flags
shiver onthe brittleness
of light
2 oranges
when I bringout the glassorange squeezerten years afteryour death& squeeze the fruitfor the morningyou are therein the object's weighta life time of oranges
3 sun
& memory reststhe edges
dull eyedthe corners crusted
creased in the morningmist horizon
& on your fingerof years, a sun
4 after the eulogy
in the rattlingafternoon
a sink fullof teacups
we chooseto wash
to steamour eyes
no one is dryingJan, you fill
the chapel & the next& the one after that
Rory Harris
Peta Edmonds is studying a diploma in professional writing and editing. She came first in her novel writing class with a novel she is working on called Tramspotting.
B. F. Moloney is a bookseller based at Leith, Tasmania. He has a poetry blog called grumpy verse.
Ross Jackson is a retired school teacher from Perth. He has had poetry and short stories published locally and interstate.
Michele Fermanis-Winward lives in Blackheath in the Blue Mountains. Her poetry is influenced by a background in visual arts .
James Rose is a freelance writer based on the Sunshine Coast. His