Touch of the Butterfly

Ever watch a butterfly touch down?
There’s no screech of tyres or smoke puff,
just the fractional stopping of time
as the selected leaf or red bud
trembles imperceptibly and
braces for this,
the softest
kiss.


Glen Phillips (Western Australia)
From Glen's forthcoming book Crouching Tigers: China Poems 1

Oblivion

morning has to come
at some point.

you are the sole pedestrian
measuring the length of the body
trailing your shadow
under the street lights.

it all belongs to you.
the night sky and vacant streets.
the passing cars that do not stop for you.
and the voices whispering
into the distance, especially.

and when it begins to rain
you will not seek cover
or turn back towards the room
where you are living.

you know that no one can help you.
at this distance everyone is gone
and the rain is telling you something.


Robbie Coburn (Victoria)

Salt

It all comes down to
the division of land
the subtraction of trees
the addition of fertilisers
the multiplication of wheat
the sum total of salt


Horst Kornberger (Western Australia)

Syria

This is Omran. He is alive.
He sits, face bloodied and tearless.
He sits, his five year old body too little
For the orange ambulance seat.
His legs too short to reach the floor.

This is Omran. He is alive.
His knees and legs are dusty from the rubble
That his family may still be buried under.

This is Omran. He is alive.
He sits mute, alone, still.
All around, the sounds of war, sirens,
Traffic, men shouting.

This is Omran. He is alive.
One minute playing with a toy truck at home.
The next, bloodied and buried.
This is Omran. He is alive.

This is Omran. He is alive.


Jhilmil Breckenridge (India)