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



Kit Kelen #870 - first draft notes for my father's language


870
first draft notes
for my father's language


he shelved it
kept a small red box
Mother of God was in there
is with me now

and then words come back
first shoots a sun brights
even though winter
and we can't know what tree

are all asides he threw
land lost
tribe gone under

how many generations ago?
those ones wished themselves away
and others wished still harder
are wishing to this day

I have the books
no embassy would want them

to me each word's a magic spell

megalapodos
alabacaflika

he gave back a sword from the war
to the war
some jungle took its trophy

I kept the bottle though

my father's language ran through his whole frame
with vengeance, like a will to live
he gave that all away

he was in deep for all the fled
the dead look after each other
dad said Jesus said

makes me custodian of something gone

those words were a journey
all the monument there can be to the lost

the known unknown
a sort of soil
we nothing ever grew

my father's words his mother's once
I never met them there

nonsense I suppose, to begin
they broke out in a fever

ornate and intricate of heart
his eyes are in it and his laugh

and gone somewhere
all of these long since

a chimney sent such words to the sky
will we be well received then?

my father's tongue was trouble
ages in the spite of time

ghost wordless in the dream
advice always in a language spoken

and often see the ache in him

here I am far from his war
from his flight
and look about
sunshone, green with thinking only ever up
with wings and singing come to light

what if he'd died for it, I'd never been?
and what if, for dad, it had been this?
and you know it is too

it's like this with mine one day
someone will guess at the page
draw a blank
to wonder what creature they are
or may be

Saturday, May 19, 2018

Rob Schackne #659 - Autumn Night

Autumn Night

Night after night
gazing at the fire
in the 44 gal. drum

where the air is contained
we will move closer
the talk veers up 
in sparks
the treachery of bosses
the worker's screwed
anger doesn't work
the driver just called in
a cow down at Violet Town
the track must be cleared
it will be moved away
we calmly change the subject
there will be no absolutes
how photography is an art
all birds are a fluke

do we get another shot
the moon sets behind the tree
water is poured on errant coals
smoke rises and dies
until tomorrow


Kerri Shying R # 456 - his black boot planted on her endless satin train


I’m at the Royal Wedding   in my knitted squares blanket
it’s jaunty   tied  at a reckless height  around my shoulders 
I wore the foot-up brace    to stop from tripping
that lame right leg      imagine    me into the back
of the bloke in the Busby   and the Domino  effect

his black boot planted on her endless satin train

it’s all about the prophylaxis   a wedding 
not doing  the stuff that fucks you up  
preparedness to commit to a position   I know
my place in line  my golden ticket     lady luck she’s
in my hand   at last

Rob Schackne #658 - "My camera this morning"


My camera this morning
steady shaking cold fingers
black & white some colour

backyard bird pied currawong
behaving like ah itself
also black & white

jumps on the fence
for a few shots I say hello
he glares with one yellow eye

hops about checks the netting
on the fruit tree makes a note
looks more kindly at me

he carols a little once
very loudly a little close
before he swoops on past

I review my excited shots
and discarding most of the bird
keep the headless ones & the heart

(my cousin Charlie
the real bird photographer
makes it look easy)


Kit Kelen #869 - let glow



869
let glow

be shone
follow the lights

let glow
a ravel

let us away with

a pour-in of morning
old bulb yellow

let off the works
be dotted
and join

electric in the body
so rounding

cliff like a tree grown
on the up and up

it's in the leaves lit
dewstruck

set
least of
hoop through
stained

new in the pages

told
as in the eye
of the aged
who know
this was the world

be shone

spark set
so sheltered

prepared
that the dark
should be

there isn't a thing to prove against
there isn't the other or one

and where the weather went

worlds independently far
(this one and picture in mind)

let glow

let by

let go

Friday, May 18, 2018

Kit Kelen #868 - good to be home



868
good to be home

among my own words
and where I've been
(still in accumulation phase)

some more degrees around this sun
here where I left off
another season sets in
and I take my rounds too

garden, all by itself, sat up
weeds wild with the idea

sun all day in attendance
stars forever and a night

and the bush
all directions --
world's last breath
we must save
to pass on

in my own woods lost
past half dark

in all my midst

with still a rattle of road to say
there's a way we've come
there's still a track away

Thursday, May 17, 2018

Sarah St Vincent Welch #370 the pivot

















the dance pivots
to a new city

turns and bows
a point, a masque

(the anti-masque
the grotesque
comes next)

holds every body
inside its steps

walls fall
the past

recasts


Kit Kelen #867 - ghost among


867
ghost among

now stand back to see
time telling

the stain could be a map
written away with

believing on was once square

to get to be

sometimes think you have a beginning
when it's already done

the pen stops
it's the music again
see how a circle was round

like a planet forming
everything is glue, collision
we're from anywhere
like anything

you come home in the evening
that is an afterlife

come to it
out of peripheral vision

over again
and touch kiss
run one up

to get to be

a sleepwalk
there's every hope
set forth on legs
and dragging broken

it's only the gone who are here

it's on me
have to take the pill yourself
have to do your own dissolve

no bones

so sing
till you become

find me a flag
and I'll leap through the flames

kings are of dust as well

Wednesday, May 16, 2018

Rob Schackne #657 - "Drifting down"


Drifting down
this river
trailing the hand
without the camera
in the water

do we see beauty
only once
along the jungle banks
or will this boat 

break down
and a truck transport us
back up the track

to the landing
where we get on
another boat
to eternity
again


Rob Schackne #656 - Too & More

Too & More


Over coffee & lunch
in the courtyard recently
we talked about
how people perceive
similar situations
one reason is lost
while another is lost too

you'd think you're in love
later I listen to a Nigerian
speak of the dangers
of the single story
look around you
she said read more
and listen listen more
more complex than you think
every normal day

each normal heart

Kit Kelen #866 - gospel

866
gospel

every country is a gaol
it's how we're kept and count

the ancestors are locked away
a people wants forgiving

every doctrine is a drug
each hell a DIY war

every dream a web of wonder
every death a day

light pours in from God-knows-where
every god's a wall inscribed and scrubbed

and go again … every self a someone ghost
every wall's a track of clamber

think a way out
but the border comes too

come to the bones and they're bare
every word a wish

every moment's lived within
shelves have to be climbed

every book's a mountain
you have to write your own passport

think a way out
and the border comes with you

every question is a world
no need to take it from me

every poem's rocket ship
bears us fast away


Tuesday, May 15, 2018

Kristen de Kline #202 The third degree

+
when you wake me up, early
your rogue arm captures my torso
the smell of rain, outside
lazy kisses dance down

+
it's in the mid morning
after I've pulverized the coffee beans
with the spice stick
that's when I feel it the most:
swinging through the smoke
your absence
those light bulbs
swaying at the Old Duck

+
put me on the witness stand
fire up your red dictionary
gobble up the alphabet
give me the third degree
how does it taste
was it love
did it hurt

+
go to the end
search for the beginning










Kit Kelen #865 - inglorious

865
inglorious 

 


here all among the bung ones
this trinket fiddle
some euphemise for tea

a winter cough would take them off

once in a world change
striding
what bearing!
and bearing into this world!

the love of them for us
ours now
seasons come around

I have seen them
myself feeble with
sad into those eyes
so seeing

we sing a song
for words from you
aeroplane jelly for me

they know more than the tree does
less than the possum to climb

there isn't an end to wish for here

are they alive?
they are

Monday, May 14, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 455 - uncomfortable the small slice of alone


buying unworn boots from Narre Warren  a find
on Facebook marketplace   thinking  that the ring
of Ammonite  would hurt     if you took a smack
from it    clean on the cheek   wait on  for the water
on the boil  the potato  peas  the tea

uncomfortable the small slice   of alone

wriggly in our own skins   another day
then payday   I say you have the thing  full
spent   and the dreamways   are connecting
the caravans  of longing  to the asinine opinions
to dots you haven’t met

Rob Schackne #655 - "Back to artisanal days"


Back to artisanal days
no two were the same
there was beauty in difference
we were on an island
there was thunder
I said your ears were perfect
your breasts a perfect shape
it started to rain
you looked at me a long time
the steady gaze of an artist
(the first I'd ever seen)
another bottle of wine
cold when we took off our clothes


Kit Kelen #864 - obey a pain

864
obey a pain

winter comes into these bones

cloud upon cloud
mist bitten
made ghost

not so far down we're stone

music comes to me
and all afloat

you know the trees
are reach
touch and all
take time

you were in the other world
when this one was waking

what are the odds of us then
what are the chances we are?

first thing up rotate a world
it's date line and equator

the everywhere ache
is winter got in

take the pill
and swallow


Sunday, May 13, 2018

Kristen de Kline #201 The Faux Fireplace

+
you can turn off the heat
that blows out the front

and watch the embers
glow
like a new flat-screen

the dog seems scared
the cat digs in his claws

+
outside by the kerb
you find:

a silver knife
a wooden spoon
an old suitcase
a red dictionary
an ocean with teeth

you think
they might
have fallen
off a truck
or out of a poem

+
inside you watch
red coals burst out
of the living room wall

it's strangely mesmerizing
watching faux flames
sitting here with you
drinking Lazy Yak
and Mud House

(not) killing time






Rob Schackne #654 - "& adrift"


& adrift
among the stars
you might say
I left earth
years ago
& dream
of dancing
on the sand

ukelele tunes
the sun again

the moon again
she looked at me
we held each other tight

I try
to visit
regularly


Kit Kelen #863 - no pets (Kingdom of Atarax)


863
no pets
(Kingdom of Atarax)


he makes himself a zoo
he wears a shirt all week

every other animal parties
passes through

it's only he obeys the borders
rounds on them

ants have the posts
with a side of time

he knows where the line was dotted
each moment more fabulous

and creatures come to see
he calls the give and take a 'garden'

makes tinkle of piano
drips the the rain till slow

self-arresting all these ways
gathers winter to a fire

he puts himself up a tree
he digs himself a hole

feels like a kept creature here
sometimes demons will have the run of him

ever skyward gazing
he's the third person you know

such days as set aside
he keeps a team of calendar

all beasts smaller than you see
he expects their admiration

nor should they admonish
the animals won't notice the zoo

take him for event
they are all travels through

turning of a world integral
he only knows the pictures shown

he only sees the zoo
skies across this brief

a new enclosure is going up
what will he be there?

a coffin for the gone
down in the under zoo

these acres
this the chosen block

zoo just for one
and the others won't see

he puts himself up a tree
he digs a hole sometimes

the animals have stolen it all
a certain stretch of limbs

here in the allotted time
the country

as if a gift