Saturday, July 20, 2019

Frances Carleton #45 - finger

face contorted 
middle finger extended
flicking flipping
off that man - 
controlling own pleasure 


Kit Kelen #1297 - nightlines (jetlag series)

for the jetlag series

after a tin day
airborne in drink
all hours and any

I am the ship and the sea

often adrift
or lets say self

and after decipher

where in the world
and not

fall from the mirror
or lose it

run waves
in themselves

slip away slip away

never see yourself gone

certain lines are sung
to be remembered
but I forget them here

nowhere now
the unknown for complexity
there cannot be a clock

dreaming knew
cant know whats lost

it was your not properly
pursuing attention

fall out of the world to begin  

so small
I cant be far from sleep
I cant be very far

Kerri Shying R #648 - half mast

Half mast

I would say some things    I would say
at 57      two decades out from
a genocide   I watch the photos

from the 4 real holidays in
Cambodia    on insta       itch
my eye where the   punks
made complaint     my first
Kampuchean   I recall his
feet his hair   his eyeglasses
the reason he was in the camps

nothing is beyond      is my
knowing  if you keep the cash
flowing      and    

no-one is coming
for you    unless    it's to ensure
your corpses don't   pile too
high    in plain sight

Frances Carleton #44 - 3am

Staring at shadows on the ceiling
I curse your name
Recalling our last encounter
Six hours ago

I request, not knowing
size or what will be presented
you always fit my hand
Thawing resolve to give you up

My black beauty
arriving with intoxicating perfume
embracing all of me

Clasping your girth
Taking glass, ceramic, silicon sheath
to my lips
creamy warmth glides
down my throat
heart beats faster
my skin flushes
excitement builds
… to satisfaction

You always leave me
wanting more ...
but unable to appease my need
… for sleep

Oh you’re harsh
Mistress Co-ffee

Sent from my iPhone

Friday, July 19, 2019

Kit Kelen #1296 - calligraph


yes the river is big
we all know how it goes
so many have been here before
and punting, under sail, putt putt along

snows and a hillside of houses
some sage sits in spare strokes of a tree

and theres your truth
it floats
like heavens bridge over the real
so that we may cross

which opening
leans by oneself where
naked in the forks
drift mind from writing
to signs unknown

freeway falls

things are as we make them broken
find ourselves in this
the more and more
gather, toss, gather
choke down

so seas are lost and rise

pencil lines lead on towards
we come from pixel mist
under the wave
a forest is feathered
with just such words

Macao again
pictures of consumption
sky of old thunder tricks
all consuming

kindly doom we populate
under ourselves
never get over

but if one swims the street
takes moon at face value
if one scratches until
then the wreckage shows
so we must know who we are 

Jeffree Michael #91 Landed

At first they came from the south
later all directions

undercover squatters
ambitious freeloaders

them who couldn't pay or could still
unable to make a go on the otherside

landed moored invaded they
descended clippers steamers docked

in ports cities and small towns already
loaded so flooded and flocked inland

the smell of promise so strong compelled
the arrivers to take new Eden as their own

what lay ahead unfurled cruel and hidden hardships
heartbreak dispossession to all who live inside her

although time and time again they had walked on
country and sang the tracks and trails into being culture

the lore and knowledge and one sun and ancient history
remains unimaginable to those who claimed it theirs

the blinded landed cannot really see or know
or walk with her again as one again and again


learn sorry poetry
dance sing share
sit down
go back

revolution is earthed

image: The Bridge /  acrylic paint, perspex, oil paint, found gold seal, silk, braid on canvas 30x30cm  /  JMS 

Kerri Shying R - # 647 - out breath

out breath

the sight of you is updraft
to the ache  the night crawler
right below the skin  that
somehow   all the nests
were emptied  yellow chicks
supplanted   by the hotness
that brought us wave
upon wave of koels

the north    again
potent invader
efficient   in managing
resources towards
the big the loud
were we all worn out
by the end
by the time the useless rain
fell down

or did someone gather
up   the tiniest of
the leavings   to nest

Thursday, July 18, 2019

Kit Kelen #1295 - splash animal / ekphrastic - Jackson Pollock's #14

splash animal

Jackson Pollocks #14

youre dark as ink
where day wont touch

under the monster sundial palette  

in the drink
you come to this

death fronted

no teeth and yet
shape framed to prowl and growl

something threatened
a little nap

it looms
and bleeds the weave

a wraith writhe round
this some say soul

soaked in the stink

and having come this far
must sink  

Frances Carleton #43 - group therapy

in the circle
he sits ankles crossed
after reflection
old wounds heal -
forgiveness for self


Kerri Shying R # 646 - my bird

my bird

bring me back   wriggling grub
in beak   my yellow wattle bird

arriving timely as the batmobile
one now two   call out thrips from

top of tree to where I stand these
sun-warm linens    gathered

yes I hear you    call me on
gentle voices    time is ever


Jeffree Michael #90 Didgeridoo

We call it breathing
up filling on oxygen
keeping one spare
holding tight any leaks
intaking new breath
releasing ever so slowly
not now
this en-torso
modus operandi
re sounds
oral estuaries
masterfully so
what was once
just air

dog bark

Wednesday, July 17, 2019

Frances Carleton #42 - white mark

he sits alone
travelling for business
she dines solo
a meal prepared for her -
wedding ring removed


Kit Kelen #1294 - jamais vu too

jamais vu too

do you ever look at todays date
and think that must be a long time ago
but I must have missed it somehow 
something about the numbers
as if they have already been
that or we are far in the future

it could be the market, exam score
heartrate  numbers to which
we can never count

days we cant be where we are
moments that cannot be now

Clark Gormley #107 fata morgana

unaltered pixels
proof of the impossible
that’s what floats my boat

Tuesday, July 16, 2019

Kit Kelen #1293 my déjà voodoo

my déjà voodoo

a little poem for Geoff Page

won’t ever be finishing itself
a piece of work one might say
but cut and come again
head like the song you know already

tree and stone and stream and sky
out of the blue clouds come over   
just for instance or music sets off
hard line through a fog of chord

all the familiar crew
these rag and bone creatures
were sometime my pets
run the circus now

it’s only in echoes we live
only through the mirror we find what’s to give

midnight’s that glimmer
where the dream forgets me
leave inklings where I’ve been, will be
I can’t remember here

a stretch so slow of the imagination
might not notice you’re among
the most familiar things
where always you have been before

in picnic woods of somebody’s porridge
old friend sunlight shows
glad that you’ve already met so many
I hope you’ll come again

all of us are waiting here
that the journey might begin  

Frances Carleton #41 - After Rob Schackne #974 'Violence'

i can't watch
horror towards others
brings comfort through ignorance -
another species extinct


Monday, July 15, 2019

Kit Kelen #1292 - porthole piece

porthole piece

a bare coast jog along
stone the colour of
grey steel, mud at times

horizon of islands slip by
lean out to
wish not to miss
so glue the eye
and slosh
then a port in the hole

all decked in passengers and crew
that’s time to time
through narrow straits
past sandy bars

a porthole moves around too
never knows which side of the ship
I think it’s Felix’s magic hole
from the bag of tricks

portable porthole always to otherworlds
somehow still just runs by
everything moment to moment and gone

time away from the glass is lost
sift through
and we are the little dark roundness
passed out of port
someone hoses us there

rock dots like a planet speck
blue dust
say sea
and one white sail
that’s for horizon
where the sun once lit a way

think of it lamp
and the morning comes in
or midnight sun might be

a porthole comes with its own storms
barometer in the round as of

we touch dip
rust with
salt ourselves
this little run

a most remarkable lighthouse mid-sea

is there a fever in here?
and sometimes stay below decks

one whittled to a town’s shape
here we are in a bottle of wash
all timbers to the tempest

imagine an arm out
just on Plimsoll
and lower the boats  we’ll leap

love the little tugs of a port
lost as clouds to me

salute to always a slope to the sea
edge from which topple from
where we worldlings fall  

once farms ran up these hillsides
now trees come down to meet
a tractor roof and walls
fields bailed whiter than this mist

think of a face in a porthole
a porthole fills with clouds
so we float

goes anywhere that there’s to go

eyes of the ship-cum-creature
deeper than the deep blue green
gone azure too

a certain amount of hoving and heaving to
ropes and my she was yare

so much of us almost the sea
old salts
and sunshine strikes
at the snifter hour

in everywhere the moving view
tyre decked, hills high with houses and gone

islets, buoys, stand up to see
stone down to the water
then grey
upon grey

on tiptoes
of an ocean open

a little rowboat
leaves the day
still with its wish for fish

sometimes swanning ourselves unseen

I want the porthole opening
and Marilyn leaning out to deck
stuck half way so I can help
standing under a long blanket coat
with only my small delicate hand out
growl for my passing kindness
‘stop that’
hover on swift wings then
so that my sherry would come  

Frances Carleton #40 - after Kit Kelen 'midnight sun at sea'

in bobbing waves
dad drops the line
off the boat
his wallet follows -
so does my brother


Isle of Wight circa 1980 - he retrieved the wallet.

Jeffree Michael #89 Already written

Everything I say
is already written
pleasure is lunch today

writ gold

such is life some say
no amount of worry
ever does

old handles break

walk in here
every pore approves
instill wet gardens

free and fecund an appetite

humming toes entwine
prewriting new stories
what unbecomes mystery

Sunday, July 14, 2019

Kit Kelen #1291 - the Strulbrugs afloat

the Strulbrugs afloat

fighting to suck on the same cigar
you meet the worst kind of people
not really  all mirages
next week we were never here

on rivers and on silent seas
thin mirrors in the cabins
the frenzy is feeding again

islands into continents
sail for say, Avalon
air of quintillion souls

breakfast till lunch until dinner
more coastline each day
albatross for luck
need a ship to carry them off
convenient we’re here
on the buffet express

now and then on terra firma
walk the port
we are a problem for the map
the ship is a souvenir

take a picture, post it
this is the legacy they spent
paws on a place and gone

without the knowledge of evil
took the island away with
hunting and all aprowl

Isle of Apples, where the sword was forged
for the fortunate
Land of Promise
of Otherworld and all delights

every Jill helpmete
every Jack man of them
first one here
Gulliver, Robinson

baked Alaska, fish from

hearts will not grow old

in cabins the Struldbrugs
get half a leg over
then something’s announced

all afloat
are prisoners of it
menus printed to keep

so these many selves of sea

home to Luggnag
forgotten not forgiven
that’s how it will be

and here’s the trompe l’oeill
at the Academy of Lagado
professor with the everything bag
toting this old world round