Friday, May 25, 2018

Kit Kelen #875 - for fallow



875
for fallow

and makes itself away
as if waited on
in mulch
and all ferment

like winter in pyjamas
like summer on too strong

so turn
so tumble with the year
to leaf
to yellow
gone

and then some sun
looked in in socks
and then the bucket fell

all sky supposed
from which yet green
a single tendril's rise

Kerri Shying R #460 - Petting Zoo


Petting Zoo

between   standing on me    to
make me fart     eating
my pens and pencils    this cat
is gunna get it up the bracket

and   soon

there is no tie like
the tie you have with pets
it doesn’t make them hate proof

I laughed when he ate
the lipstick     smiled at me
Dame Edna    with a slow beard

tooth marks
in the vibrator   not
so much


James Walton #99 Poor Man's Chicken



Of a mountain
you are a foot fall echo
the goat’s enquiry

for the definition of ice

loose change spent
there is no news of Spring
in this we are assuaged

no reconnaissance wings by

taste the butter and pepper
now here is a final crust
fresher than birth

splinters in toes

from a porch of strangers
a circle of amanuenses
to record the shorter straw.









Thursday, May 24, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 459 - the steroid drops


the steroid drops

slopping weak tea 
each morning on winter grass

my salute to the sun
more the crazy wave

of the car yard sales 
balloon  powered by a blower

watching YouTubes  on crimes
where I know the killer

long before the re-enactment starts 
  my hobby horse

wrapped in the tight-taped bundle
of  bubble wrap  and fear

watch     a ticking clock
 so much alarm



Juan Garrido Salgado # 5 - How do you spell death in this place called Manus Island?


A fragment of a poem
How do you spell death in this place called Manus Island?

for Salim Kyawning, killed by Australia's cruel offshore detention policies:

1

If I die today at this moment

Who will bring a poem lit like a candle?

Who will bring a red carnation like my heart was?...



¿Cómo se deletrea la muerte en este lugar llamado Manus Island?

for Salim Kyawning, killed by Australia's cruel offshore detention policies:

1

Si muero hoy en este momento

¿Quién traerá un poema encendido como una vela?

¿Quién traerá un clavel rojo como fue mi corazón?

Y los podrá en la ventana de tus ojos sin lágrimas....




Kit Kelen #874 - in almost June



874
in almost June


cosy tucked
reluctant up

under a mountain near you
branches late to light

in a mistwalk morning
roses still come

more pumpkins to ripe
lemon makes yellow - a win

wash clothes first thing to catch all rays
fight the lyre for song

run other machines with the sun
be breakfasted with mandarin

then lemonade
give valencia a squeeze

take the pills
or else you're one

that same wren's at the window again
... and someday maybe in

there's more to the blue today
there's more up

mulberry can't know
does it come or go (?)

summer's in dust and done
yellow treasure now to be so shone

stretch to warm the limbs
keep some layers on

sneeze first
and blow horn later

crackle of music through
shows ways may be known

Wednesday, May 23, 2018

Rob Schackne #661 - "Railway sleepers"


Railway sleepers
it's sunny side up
that is the curved side
else the rain will rot them

you fill in the gaps
gravel contractors
political connections

the tracks of our tears
I can't share that with you
budget is a diminished crew

5mm there is 50mm here
up by the bridge near town
we remove some foliage

a horse is down at Kilmore
the track needs clearing
Lord help us all
that would be the train

Kristen de Kline #205 It makes no sense (2) - thanks Rob. S


1. It makes no sense

2. Lights swinging at the Old Duck

3. The rain trespassing across the highway

4. She said she was writing a thesis about longing

5. I watched the tower collapse

6. You wiped blood off a meat cleaver

7. And a second jet-plane fall out of the sky

8. The skies had been blue     then

9. Somebody destroyed the evidence

10. Then     you said we had been in love

11. 12. 13.
I don't know where they went

14. 
Can you feel my heart running away

Kit Kelen #873 - last drinks


873
last drinks

for Rob Schackne


we have to sue for a treaty with time
have to live with the thing

day in day out

we know this in our bones
know bones can travel on without

we have to be with the heavenly bodies
keep naming them at least

once money worried
death took a turn

now we have to end the war with time
promise a land of let live

it's like throwing stones at a wall
if one should hit, it catches
then the wall is more

old father of birth throes
won't throw in the towel

you can say river
you can say sea

time is the tree
climbed over the top
is deeper than first thirst

dust into bricks
bricks dust

up to our old tricks
always teaching new

worked years to have these years we're in
all hoping for forever

commands the whole economy

see in the glass
there's that much left
a little bird chimes

look into that sad face
clouds over like a world laid blank

out of the mouths of babes
what you'll get's endless puke

a slingshot could take out the clock
then you have spoilt time's flag for a trice
tick tock
you'll notice how we're gone
you won't

once it spread by poles and wire
or you could burn the stuff

it's one way all could haves
the other no ever or maybe not yet

nor need time ever spring to life
comes back?
do you think?

you can sleep through

if you don't love yourself, who will?

there's nothing we have to do

one moment in our heaven
a thousand years paid down

Tuesday, May 22, 2018

Rob Schackne #660 - "They mean lucky"


They mean lucky
I mean I am lucky
a few sticks & leaves
cast like the I Ching

in the bush and me
picking a way along
till someone trips

on black the camera
or snared on a wire
like taking a leopard
for a short walk
but this is no war zone

never seen that before
I am embedded
in places we don't see

how far this goes
& something coming
straight at me


Kristen de Kline #204 It makes no sense

It makes no sense

1. Lights swinging at the Old Duck

2. The rain trespassing across the highway

3. She said she was writing a thesis about longing

4. I watched the tower collapse

5. You wiped blood off a meat cleaver

6. And a second jet-plane fall out of the sky

7.  The skies had been blue     then

8.  Somebody destroyed the evidence

9. Then     you said we had been in love

10. 11. 12.
I don't know where they went.

Can you feel
my heart
running
away







Red Cone (LF) #346 The lake


the lake
dull silver
grey blue
something Russian
about it
fresh water
reflects the
sleepy full clouds
yellow ochre reeds
hug the shore
alongside round
grey green bundles
russet streaks
intercept the stripes
and violet
challenges nature
field limestone houses
from another century
lie abandoned
and the wind blows
gently

Kit Kelen #872 - silence of the grave



872
silence of the grave


the truth
is a maze in the blood
consists entirely of what you were told

so is the river run through

let's play forget
apocalypse, messiah

you'll get the holy haunting yet
all you can believe

for the price
of what they're calling the soul

and later burn a heretic
so as to form the habit

the ancestors at large in me
just won't shut up
each of them is telling tales

my father's uncles
his father too
the ones who lost the family
lost the war
fell under another

then they go proverbial
o where is thy sting?

tomorrow they will say the sky

today has a date
they all do

but will an object keep to its meaning?
you think of it a bloodless thing

I followed a trail to here

devout of tribe
it's the many mansions of us
went out in just pyjamas

grandmother must be mother of God
if I never met her
that's how a family works

though this heaven has been figured

here are the bereaved
and here's the manner of forsaking

call names
they're all ghost vanishing
gone for the greater good

I live in a garden of this

Monday, May 21, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 458 - it was the charts retailed the story back


I had the shot of morphine   didn’t  know   a thing
about it   it was right after I said     don’t think I’m crazy
but I have to take these pants off     struggling down in bay 14  
to liberate some stinging weals      they were running neck to neck
with epigastric pain      I held my knitted blanket    like Linus

it was the charts retailed   the story    back

like a shouted joke   in a canyon   reverberate
 the days     after   the morphine
that never knocked me on my arse   the mast cells blooming
  on my thigh   they were the rockery   that ripped the engine out
 of all the goings on   and then some

Red Cone (LF) #345 Asleep


Asleep
I dream
I am awake

In the shower
the water
spirals
through the
hole

A spider
is caught in
a web
of its own
making

Grey clouds
consider
unloading
and galahs
flap and screech
between trees

my puppy
snuggles up

I think I am
awake



Kit Kelen #871 - production for use or shooting the children again


871
production for use
or
shooting the children again


kids do it
even kids can

end each other
and others too

because
some little jealousy
or fit of pique
a bully grudge
back at ya

double barrelled
or assault
just like in a game
a war

now will never pass

get one at Wallmart
hock it when you need

fit for purpose
fit for use
which of us is not?

what a way to go out
to be remembered
in paradise this way as well

and sometimes they can't kill themselves
just too much of an ask
then all pay to see them rot
soul outwards
or not to see but know

we're all guilt, denial

they have a special place for this
where it is safe to do

isn't it religion
when we say

'taken from the father
who owned the weapon legally'
?

Sunday, May 20, 2018

Kristen de Kline #203 Sundays

Sundays are really
strange sort of feels
like we should just
stay in bed in our
Peter Alexander PJs
balance a plunger of
coffee between the
triangle shaped cushions
while the dog groans
with a human sigh
and produces offerings
from the back yard:
headless leopards
plastic flower pots
and a gnawed
wooden-handled hammer
I can smell you burn
the streaky bacon
then smother it with
Canadian maple syrup
just how I like it
we talk about
getting out of bed
some time   
soon
just not   
now




Kerri Shying R # 457- that grave earth-scented tutor I write


slid beneath  my weighted blanket    heal 
the sorrows   of   outside
 pressing  moments    the wreckage fears for future   
are not below   this slice    I am
the soil below the road   

that grave earth-scented  tutor    I write

letters praising daylight     the  brisk air
  and circulating  tendrils  seek cracks
becoming   all the woven  mats of
nurture      my clay   expressed     small-lidded  silent    
listening for the morning  light