Thursday, November 23, 2017

Kit Kelen #691 - my bolts my blue


691
my bolts my blue


(hubris study)

today I am reinventing the wheel
mine's so much rounder than the one before

anyway as you can imagine
I'm on a roll
and so far today
I have come up with breakfast
more roof overhead

elevenses suggests a clock
take it for a spin

I'm thinking of covering myself
to stay warm
or keep off the sun

top of the head
could be something round too!

how about a pill?

I'm coming to first principles
and I'll get there in the end

this world I'm working on's all oyster

I'm squaring the circle
I've go the peg to fit
I believe I have found the north west passage
(you can see it clearly on the map)

I'm an untying the trickiest knot
I've made up some riddles for a sphinx

unstoppable!

I just had a thought - the flower!
don't know how I do it
but I keep all of this stuff in my head

and you can see them sprayed up on a wall

take this thing I've made called music
it fills out the empty air

tonight I will invent the bed
then consider dream

and love - let's make that
and next - picture

you might think the words are spoken for us
but every day it's a new language I make

imagine the screen where just everything is

thought is the best thing I've come up with so far

but then there's the pension and Christmas

of course I am always inventing myself
I pick all the gods on my team

you, of course, are my favourite fiction

you know that I am inventing the world
you realize it could be rounder

yes there's a risk of going under
but it hasn't stopped me so far

I'll be putting the trees on the leaf tomorrow

and I will come to fire
and I will come to rain

Wednesday, November 22, 2017

Kristen de Kline #173 God, the fifth day (after R.S)

God, the fifth day
passed

and I didn't

think of you

in another poem
about nothing

there's a memory of standing
on a Honolulu hotel balcony

your arm   around me
screen shots of blurred highways

and palms, bent double
around me   still   your arm

the airport shuttle takes
another wrong turn

Victor, the driver, says:
I've got no idea where you're leading me
what the fuck you're talking about

God, the fifth day
passed

I almost missed the flight

recovering bodies

hold me tighter

storm is coming

dig faster

























Rob Schackne #526 - "We generally hated"


We generally hated
pop music forever
but would you
as soon recoil
from a hit poem
even as you wrote it


The ends are mawkish
the middle somewhat soft
but oh so gloriously loved
like a national anthem
how long did I avoid it
and how does the song go

God, the eighth day
we never went to sleep
the bird attacks the window
a little something you won't forget
something something sexy flower
it'll come to me in a minute

Kit Kelen #690 - another note on the method



690
another note on the method

live off
first anxiety

where will I find a shape
my line?

it's black
the night
we dream

and day is
too much lit

so bright
too much to see

must squint
if to see stars in the day

and join the dots
for constellation

where will I find my line
how follow?

no one tells me
I'm all ears

and then I see
the mark that's there already
must have been me made that

I'm away

lie with the lines first thing
and curl, uncoil

all fall in
queue
all raggedly

I'm well fed with

now I'm not saying inspiration
yet as I live and breathe

something will suggest itself
there's nextness in among it all

perhaps because I've been before

no time to wait
for praise

I scratch a way
and so

call a poem
in the end

that's how a draft's
let in

Tuesday, November 21, 2017

Kerri Shying R # 360 Light Rail, baby


Light Rail, baby

at Star City the gamblers got off   all sour-faced    expressions stolen
we eased into their spaces    exhaling our unshackled air    where there
just now     the gambler stood   pretending we had known
all along    that this was what they were    shifting in the temperate zone
morals    up the sides follicles burst spontaneously from the ovaries
of the barren  allelujah    cells of gratitude knowing    that their bread was going to  one day need some butter    and it is better    to go to the fridge than smear packet after packet of 7g devondales saved up in a suit pocket from a complimentary breakfast at a casino    these were the embryos preparing to be born     some few stops away   beyond the markets and the centre      out where the Glebe Estates began

Kit Kelen #689 - bower bird attacks my window


689
bower bird attacks my window

does that make me blue?

I'm something spirited
off for a charm

someone shakes my bed in the night
(so real, as if a proof)
that was a tour of haunted Iceland
where trolls have the roads away

lost in the moss
the rodents quiet
I hope python has them

what's got the frogs so loud?
or is it just the one
under verandah

that was night

and now the bower bird
attacks its archetype
mon semblable, mon frère
self-efficacy issue here

myself must face
the day has come at last

Monday, November 20, 2017

Rob Schackne #525 - "The semifactual experiment"


The semifactual experiment
e.g. if he’d tripped left instead
of right with the ball dribbling
at that speed would he still have
scored an own-goal, is essential
in clinical sportswriting. Now,
of course this can be extended
to ponder other types of situations.
Tonight the writer spares you that.


Kerri Shying R - # 359 - Mrs Agapanthus


Mrs Agapanthus

A week you labour
 out the front    alone
in the bed of succulents
 pod split
purple multigravida
 my fingers   itch
to peel you back
 take your silver
hymen   bring you
 here   to born

Kit Kelen #688 - the clocks are singing again


688
the clocks are singing again

sun blinds through

all sleep past

it's only truth they tell

it strikes in my head
this tick
and this tock

I must not
must not
listen

the clocks are singing again

when they stop

all sigh for time lost
to forever

Sunday, November 19, 2017

Rob Schackne #524 - "By the 5th day" (after KdK)


By the 5th day
from a distance


recovering bodies

what we failed
to recognize

run out of words

storm is coming
digging faster

Kristen de Kline #172 Recovering bodies

listening to songs of love
don't hold back the tears

his mother throws
herself into the river

the artist sleeps
with one eye open

two weeks later
they recover her body

she burns a double page
newspaper, mops the floor

fills up a chrome bowl
with an aluminum kettle

he lights a candle, carries
the wick into another room

wavers it over a pair of shoes
neatly lined up on the floor

the artist poses in a bowler hat
smokes an old fashioned pipe

an Unidentified Man
looks you in the eye

the ghosts are dead or
dying     that's about all

I've   got to say   I've
run out of words

don't hold back
those tears
 
switch the station
find another poem

to tune into, throw
a blanket over the body

shut both eyes

don't look back



Kristen de Kline #171 Distance

I

a whole country
between
us

is not
enough


II

I soaked up old Sydney town
that whore, she gobbled me

whole
 
a solar panel glitters in the sky
Redfern Chippendale Newtown

down at Circular Quay, sea spray 
flirts with the side of my face

a man painted in silver, corpse-like
collects coins in a fisherman's hat

again   I can    breathe 

again


III

in roof-top bars and lane ways
prawn laksa, cold pints of Stella on tap

hit and run kisses
fleeing in the night air

lip-stick prints
on a Jeststar boarding pass

can I miss my plane

do I have to come
down


IV

an entire country

is not far enough

away




Kit Kelen #687 - so the rain's created


687
so the rain's created

and a roof's to hear it fall
it's out of nothing cloud

well within this
thought extols
and memory

as of a cloudless blue
then come horizon
herring knit
or just a little anvil floats
till archipelago

see out a window fogged
each third leaf atwitch with it
then every one
and all

how the aching joints foretold!

the rain arrives
sometimes from a season's want
and feels a way at first

as if below there must be Earth
the planet of sweet rain!

you could rot from it
or rise up singing

the rain calls
just for a minute
you might have missed
there isn't a card on the tray

though ink outside
is one drop blurred
already dry

it's not just the one instrument

the rain has come
it syncopates
makes anarchy of rhythm

it has fallen
no one heard it
no one saw
it was out of the dream

now we're shone

how we reach into the rain
and lift
green
for a sun
to know

as if below there must be Earth
the planet of sweet rain!

Saturday, November 18, 2017

Rob Schackne #523 - "Pomegranate"


Pomegranate
pomegranate
through a seed
why is it

so dark
she threads
the needle
her left hand
my mountain
who needs
a poetry of hell
november
in the rain
some silence
there was trance
some distance
shit doesn't 
make me
a scientist


Stuart Rawlinson #85 - Disappeared

The window was left open
words wore away
at the bare paper
pull the blinds
unscrew the top
set a timer to remind
you of missing action
sleep. dream
something besides
accentuated eyes
the bees caught in mesh
the hives unbuilt
a breeze rolls
up the half-cut hill
carrying a wordless message
and another poem
about nothing

Rob Schackne #522 - Osiris Has A Word (redux)

Osiris Has A Word

Plenty of chances
to get me on the phone
and test your nerve
never hit & miss
this shit is very lawless
twice roll the bones
hippopotamus and leopard

three times it's broken
the crocodiles are vicious
look at your road
built up bombed out
must've been dreaming
let me state it gently
fuck it up again
if pain's your thing
make me righteous
your heart is weighed
against the feather


Kit Kelen #686 - a clock for Magdalena Ball


686
a clock for Magdalena Ball

I'm looking into your clock again
it points all directions for me

it's the one horizon
globe shown flat
a city's in it
bid

times passes
sits up in the morning
you'll see

soft like a penis
when it's hard
the clock is always pointing

it's a warning
it's a lesson

the clock stings where it strikes
it's a map as well
of been and go

tricks stitches saving days
and makes the past
all go away

look
and it's now!

a camera catch
just air it turns
but we find it meaning

and under glass
sometimes shines

some sing
or chime

and a fist comes down
first thing in the morning
that's the clock to bits

how it was made of numbers once!
spun from oil
all tick and tock
the two of them!

portal of day
it is an ash whirl grey

all slough
the rocket stages fall
you find the wanting measure

you'll never have to remember the clock
it winds you wombwards
winds you up

the skin will show as well
but you'll need stronger glasses
thank God

yes it is a lesson
too late! too late!
it mainly says

rhymes days of the month
with an arrow
always falling short

the sun is set somewhere
but stay awake and stare it out

make moons of a mystery

sometimes the clock is flaming
or a noose until black rag
runs counter to our intuition

take the dog
stare wrist
tongues out for medicine
so tuned

grit drips
or something heaven slants
telling of the former age

you'd like to let go
clock's got a grip

tears through the dream plan
hands splash up

every circle is a clock to swim

all this in the same boat
set on
circumnavigation

there's one that blows up in your face
find right wire!

one ticks to dust

and here's the clock
that's rope to climb

have a heart
and try to beat as one

all under eternity's eye

soft like a poem
when it's opaque

see all our selves in there


Friday, November 17, 2017

Kit Kelen #685 - doggy


685
doggy

for Beth Spencer's Birthday 4 (or maybe 5)



I like to throw myself a stick
and fetch it back tomorrow

in dreams I'm burying
and have a fleece for gold

of all ages past, best the bones

it always takes time to be back
so roll on

slippery slobbery some days

black are some
untold with sorrow

for Beth Spencer's Birthday 4 (or maybe 5)
I like to throw myself a stick
and fetch it back tomorrow

chase a shadow
chase a tail
chase a fly around

just the one line
bark it out

around the ring
say tooth and claw
these are my special talent

legend of persistence, me
guard camp and fire ten thousand years
before that I run out of paws
is all I can remember

you'll find your way around the book
with my big ears

rug on the back seat
who doesn't moult?

or cage me
I'm a little lion

I'm not a cat for birthdays
and certain ones are mine

once in a moon must howl
and I like a wolfing down

lick the bowl till shine

for Beth Spencer's Birthday 4 (or maybe 5)
all innocent and look around
see me stretch - that's morning

I like to roll around in it
and take a splash for pond
love mud
and shake

stand by
you can reflect my glory

your road may be my mere appendage
draw joint too tight - you'll dick it

and there's how sometimes we get stuck
and bitch about it
(if you want more dogs...)
all innocent then look around
because we must kill time

a tail between the legs then
and yap yap yap
there might be rabbit

always something you can switch off
there -- that's better

bring me the biscuit
I'll sing

how once upon a Sputnik
saw what never dog has wished

I won't know the words yet
but a song is in the deeps of dog

I won't say die
or speak at all

to beg
you'll just sit up

it's one love

I'd lead the blind some times
hail fellows and well met

follow down at heel
and in the mouth hang
manger too

chase a fly
chase your shadow
chase myself around

I like to roll over for a rub
and nuzzle up
come pup
hither

let's be wild with the wind
and rain
whiff
follow trail
roll eyes
point ears

get by on a lift and sniff basis

slippery slobbery some days

black are some
untold with sorrow

please please
look up
look back for me

I like to throw myself a stick
and fetch it back tomorrow

Rob Schackne #521 - "Jesus Christ, flowing robe"


Jesus Christ, 
flowing robe
vitarka mudrā and orb
a Da Vinci for $450 million
auctioned at Christie's 
in New York City, look
it's not the Salvator Mundi

(it's really nothing like)
last seen at the rubbish tip
where hope slipped away
this is a poem of aliens
tempest, flood and union
it means all this apocalypse
still in our robes at noon


Thursday, November 16, 2017

Kit Kelen #684 - just to remind myself why I'm here on Earth


684
just to remind myself why I'm here on Earth

(on a certain special day)

I look at
pictures of the animals at it
and us in throes of
light this
light up

I pass beyond
I build
to bury

lithe limb for tangle
hard where soft
much stroke and suck
rouse raise

I am out of a thicket
of law

here by means of
what may come
and often need a wash

I smoke
I find a straw to clutch

I shine the thing
I listen

make midst of much
and love the wrong word found

all of those numbers have to be money
how high can I count by lights out?

furl up in bed
as last flag flown

ontology's a leaf twirl
and I like to touch

just to remind myself why
I hang my heart
with all our shame

I'm here to rust
and rasp with chorus

just for this first kiss
so linger

a smile
a laugh
some magic
me

each to the other's beating heart

yes
these are the reasons
I have to be here

there's no other world for me

say yes
say yes
say yes

*

coda:
purple barrels of 76 --
there's still a bit of that glow