1 Butterfly wings turn into bat wings
She's clumsy at things
Fell over into love
2 He strums his guitar
He's down on his knees
where the music has fallen
3 The rain against the window
makes me feel lonely inside
now there's puddles in the sky
4 A cool breeze stirs
A conversation of flowers in the backyard
A couple of married birds argue
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 poetry
Possessing young Shelleys who've sprung
From The Atoms of Democritus;
This is a new revolution, and isolation
Is 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 publish
Called by night's broad reveries.
B. F. Moloney
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 pavement
see the cardboard huts.
Digitally processed. Glossy finish.
As I rattle my tin, may it rattle your conscience?
and as we move apart,
impose a keyboard or a drone,
do you feel pain the less
from word or bomb,
the click of mouse
and shrapnel blast
if you are out of sight.
The lies we tell
are not caught out
when faces can't be read,
and distance builds a firewall
which no one can delete.
Tripping and falling,
Spilling shards of crystal
Which melt in low
Blurring vertical trails
And plunging off edges,
Leaving moist silence
Clocks are heard tick-tocking;
Keeping odd, inhuman, time
when I bring
out the glass
ten years after
& squeeze the fruit
for the morning
you are there
in the object's weight
a life time of oranges
& memory rests
the corners crusted
creased in the morning
& on your finger
of years, a sun
4 after the eulogy
in the rattling
a sink full
no one is drying
Jan, you fill
the chapel & the next
& the one after that
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 latest novel Virus was released in 2011.
Rory Harris is a poet from Largs Bay, SA. He teaches at CBC Wakefield Street, South Australia.