Miranda’s Loss (I) In my skin there’s a butterfly forever captured dancing to the beat of my sweat. It’s dedicated to the memory of my lost child. At the moment I keep my weight constant to keep her memory alive. But if another child should arrive and make my skin stretch maybe it will be … Continue reading The Story So Far
Another from my cyclone recovery poetry series. Many of these were initially written in diaries whilst in the middle of recovery mode.
Butterflies were everywhere
Especially by the Tully hospital
Gardens there were their home.
So many trees gone in Tully and everywhere
Uprooted and turned inside out
With their skeleton roots starkly exposed
Flights of dragonflies everywhere
Clustering and descending
To adorn rocks by
Swimming pools in need of a clean
Skimming on the water
Approaching and fleeing
Varied in kaleidoscopic patterns
Attracted to handle of red net
My son is holding
Their wings – small but aerodynamically efficient
Lead me to imagine myself
One with them
I saw a Cairns Bird Wing butterfly
Dancing in the garden
Remembered how plentiful they were in Feluga
They became the slip stream
To all that has been lost.
(c) June Perkins
The creek is still here skeleton bush returns bit by bit but the swinging tree of the waterhole is gone. The tiny blue trimmed butterflies hide with the dandelions gold and brown ones nestle deep into the green grass capturing them with camera leaves them free to fly. Why do some children take the red … Continue reading What would Emily say?
'Paint me a face' said the young girl 'make it red and black stripes give me a nose and some whiskers.' 'Paint me a face,' said another 'I'd like some glitter and butterfly wings.' The artist gave them what they wanted and recalled a time when she too waited in such a line and remembered … Continue reading Paint Me a Face
I dream of being Free to soar, to dip, to glide Creative at Peace. Tonight I transform To Ulysses butterfly Brightly, lightly dance. By Pamela Galeano