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
this is no war zone

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

how far this goes
a 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



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