Friday, March 23, 2018

Rob Schackne #619 - "The chook raffle"

The chook raffle
lotteries won
who needs a feed
this week gets one
a crescent moon
don't get excited

jokers everywhere
your turn is next
how do we miss it
placed in a landscape
waiting to be born

Kerri Shying R # 434 - Who who who

Who who who

you told me   all people
 are the same fifty 
people    re
concocted  over decades

into new drinks  
savoury snacks
for tapas  for
brunch   apr├Ęs
the funeral  of that friend

I never met another
I’m still

Kristen de Kline # 186 Poets in a bookstore

poets in a bookstore
dangerous,    gobbling
up the end of the alphabet

outlaws chattering
loose threads

words, I can't get my head
rent is overdue

the moon is waning now
Mercury is retrograde

the mantra is to hum
chant it out - loudly

the third ray is yellow
what are they on about

pass me
another whiskey shot

read me
another poem

poets in a bookstore
lawless, dancing over
the end of the alphabet

Fifteen minutes

fifteen minutes before
my class begins
read or write
choose most pleasurable

fifteen minutes before
they arrive
to play poems with paint
move colour and shape

fifteen minutes before
my time is up
choose the mood
thoughts and words

fifteen minutes before
decisions to make
panic and pressure
not long now

fifteen minutes before
five remain
talk art stories
choose art history

fifteen minutes before
sunny day class
moving into autumn
still life set up

fifteen minutes before
they arrive
one minute to go
too late
a voice

fifteen minutes before
fifteen minutes ago
sweetly passed

Kit Kelen #812 - comes again

comes again

and after us

who knows what creeps in out of next

sky is over the road now
swimming with us here

all falling fresh
rain does a darkness in the day
and dampens all outside ambitions

that could be exciting
the grass will get away

one of those stay-in-bed jobs
though you might yet have to dig someone out

run ag pipe under the whole of the world
better to build on stumps

gravel the track to think through this
much too late for that

haven't we slept till this to now?
creek wakes

a voice to top it altogether
we're passengers of rhythm

it's come again
and after us

discover new places in the rain
always some hiding hole

and stood to attention
everyone stops for the parade
pay respects to the fallen
the falling
clouds to come

the school bus splashes through
ducks tuck in dark of it

no one barks
it's serious
full of prodigies
and omens!
this is the stuff foretold

and often eases for a breather
then buckets down again

it is a far flung better fall
than we have had long ages

still steaming where they
cattle stand
to wash in such a sky

bones of us lie under
all well rinsed by now
you're everywhere in it

puddle boots muddy again
strike up a jungle
and sing!

somewhere all above this
a sun is shining now

James Walton #92 My internet is intermittent

Half a picture loads
as though 1969 won’t let go.
The grainy of a July winter’s day
ball bearings roll a school corridor.
Smaller steps slipping,
that masquerade of orange
clinging to old photos.
Peel away the valleys
earth beats a seethe.
But you choose to live there,
is the technical advice.
Buzz Aldrin waves in fly by,
for a while
everything is clear.

Rob Schackne #618 - "Water of life"

Water of life
where sometimes
life cannot go
two sides of spirit
no argument

of deep things
the outlaws talk
the single malt
satori tomorrow
the rent is due
all the rivers
next stop
no stop

Thursday, March 22, 2018

Kristen de Kline #185 Touched by almost everything (for Rob. S)

Poets:   brother and
sister poets, I told you
it was dangerous
meeting in a bookshop:
gobbling    up
the end of the alphabet,
Citizen, conversations
snatched from commuter trains
supermarkets downtown Putin
embarrassment Trump white guilt
book launches drunken
Limited Editions linked
by hanging threads
-   words  -
I can't get enough off
falling off the walls at Collected Works:
If you meet my family ...

In Melbourne lane ways
the poets:  sisters   brothers
we tread on fake lawn   star
signs   being gypsies  living in satellite
towns   dislocated   an annoying drill
how far to Southern Cross? 
you speak French, are the
cockatoos in Seymour

is this
what makes
us tick:
poetry, poverty, whiskey,
salted seaweed crackers 
and     always,
another two cold Stella's   
on the tab 

Rob Schackne #617 - "The waxing moon" (for KdK)

The waxing moon
so still tonight
behind the gumtree
no birds tonight
my new binoculars
I feel my sister poets
shopping for books
they write poems
under the lights
and my brother poets
find old whisky bottles

a little noisy
two-thirds full
the cold mountains
the warm clothes
the hope and waiting
it comes and goes
and we are touched
by almost everything

Kerri Shying R # 433 - Evolver


I saw a dog loving himself sick
  all up in the back of a ute
wind-surfing  down Industrial Drive
 doing eighty   Doberman mouth
open   that was some sweet deal

done by canines   when they crept
 up by the fires  man tooting
his own horn   how
 premature   the winners
cross the line

KIt Kelen #811 - grey


hat headed
suited so
the day
down drain
or puddle sat

a frog has come this colour
such socks will never dry

this is the grey
won't go

like wick
but there's no candle comes

concrete of forms filled
of the filing away

this is the grey that bites
is shaped to flight

from blood begetting
you'll see right through these wings

all arrows point grey

things crawl in out of it

insects find themselves indoors
grey of who can blame them (?)

of a certain tide
hymned in some thunder

thing I acknowledge mine

of the wall
of the flag
saluted for a sky

sometimes the sun strikes through it
like an arrow in the heart

it's grey
of the green got
how else up?

Wednesday, March 21, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 432 - The change

The change

what is the taste of lollipop   left
beside the bed   to bond along
the bare  blonde boards
a trick  left-over from the summer
hoarding-up  of sweetness

winter treacle sites itself
firmly  under fat

Kit Kelen #810 - live in the midst

live in the midst

it itches here
as often told
as if this were
an ever after

you won't remember that

in thunder
too early to tell

in throes of
the event
(in flagrante delicto)

culpable in
years, seasons

spoken till
the wind stills

woven in the web

spit of the garden
blessed down to size

never knowing
how worlds get on without

but here we are
limber in lower

the storm lives here

there's someone always visiting
on all fours crawl
get thee behind me
go hard

a great persistence
whoever we are

it's grown up all around
I grew up as well

you balance this
on the head of a pin
roar of the road

there has to be a twist
fate fiddle

in all the dream of waking
this has to have been it

stray from stars
light falls to us

imagine very very far
you might just get a glimpse

Tuesday, March 20, 2018

Rob Schackne #616 - Yesterday


It meets the eye
yesterday we met
migrants walking

on the beach
out of sight
they turned

waxing crescent
yesterday we met
they came back
there was a boat

that's not it
what meets the eye
yesterday we met
a bloodbath
yesterday we met
at the poetry shop
yesterday we met

on the beach
waxing crescent
there was a boat
clouds gathered

what killers
yesterday we met
what meets the eye
that's not it

Kristen de Kline #184 Fish 'n' chips (For Rob. S & The Migrants)

I've bought
too many
chips, it's
easy to do,
the hoki
is fine
but they
always go
with the fries

it's been a long time
since I've heard the stories
... we ran for our lives
thought the end of the world was upon us
good men died, bad ones survived
the clothes we stood up in ...

was fumbling with newsprint
I didn't say a word
the chips up
into a

she says:
my father died of starvation

no indents
no pauses
no extra spaces
between words

temporarily, my son stops
his SnapChat session
I unfurl more waxed
paper, live-streaming into sepia
news: Jacinda Adern talking
about her first weeks in office
splattered with grease

it doesn't matter
that we've enlarged
the only photo
breathed colour
back into him
mounted the shot
in a sturdy frame

it all comes down
to the fish'n'chips

what we can't    do
migrants   walking off boats
at the old domestic terminal
what we can't    say
clouds       gathering
what we won't know
more birds      falling
out of the skies, searching
for stray chips
on sandy beaches

I've bought too many chips
that's    not    it

Kit Kelen #809 - creatures


here we all are
open to

cover the allotted

with ceremony
and display

kingly queenly
jungle crowned

so much skin
wave arms about
and still the bastards land

waking where we
lay me down

come in the last shower

we are in the vast
wool over

only just arriving

turns take

fleshed and pumped
best dressed for bliss

quite a climb to be

unnoticed in the upper branches

aren't we under all

we run the rug
rake rafters

sit up straight
bow heads of prayer

inside out to snooze

and all a body should
wry meeting
with a heigh and ho

so light of limb
and lithe
must mean
we are up to tricks

stroll the rooftops for some height

beckoned, weren't we (?)
to be here
followed, winged along
or it was an old tune drew

some skin to scribble
still in all to do

sprung up
when well watered

coiled spring
two bob watch
you tell me

some roar like traffic
some set light

we only figure speech

from time to time
is how we're here

and we give

we creatures
we are on the way

catch all the light
that falls to us

though mainly must forget

a breeze will bear us all off

we tend where we have touched

much loved
and roll to rub
let weather other-end us

follow a trail
you'll sniff us down

fall off the radar some day
and sometimes off the back of a truck

have to walk from there
it's sobering

every creature is to bliss
as all of elsewhere in us

heir to
vale of slings
and stings

and make a deal
today we're good

carnival creatures tomorrow

by mask met
so you'll never know

but be my pet
this once
o stroke
and come to the cliff
sad after

every animal is

oh well for the fisherman, so on...
then chocolate in the after-Lent

juggle the selves
till creature come home

be blessed

grass grew up through our fingers

here we are
death beckoned

wear specs
for a better look

make mine manna
touch the wind

and we were led
by lightning

that's how struck
the heart

Monday, March 19, 2018

Rob Schackne #615 - Once The Migrants Came

Once The Migrants Came

They looked around
so miserable really

those refugee detectives
who tricked them

they stared at you
ten minutes to find out
if you're from your hometown
they answered
till they misremembered
the street names 
why they took their kids
to run for their lives

the blood and bandages
these very languages

Kristen de Kline #183 Past Tense: The time of my life

When I woke up,  drenched
in dreams   (blood? tears?)
I was in a cubicle, lying
looking over at an ugly floral curtain
my belongings - paused - on the tiles:
Mosquito jeans
Che Guevara t-shirt
red Ugh boots
five editions of Bukowski
favourite title on top,
You Get So Alone At Times That It Just Makes Sense
a handful of Annie Sprinkle's
Postmodern Pleasure Playing Cards
two hand-stitched toiletry bags:
mini tubes of whitening toothpaste
three KFC sachet face wipes
a block of soap with a message from God:
We must love the sinner but not accept the sin
that's about it
hey I'm having
the time of my life
really, I am

Kristen de Kline #182 Almost

I almost catch them:
the dumb flies,   waltzing
through the bamboo beads
the post it notes,   straying
sunburst buttons
I'm out of breath
ruined shirts
what are they playing at?

The sonnets caught in a
cross-fire, tangled with
garbage   heart   seaweed
on the last mile home
I carry it close to my own
your carved out heart
listen to a language
we don't understand
pen fugitive lines
still can't breathe
on a paper bag, thin

I didn't mean 

a word 

I take it


Kit Kelen #808 - patch of wonders (first crack at)

patch of wonders
first crack at

then redbill at the border twitch
vanish in the hour

last sun of it
should there be water, sit

cup hands
round tin in tank

in the forest lost of words
loose leafed

of course there is a rise of ants
days telling out the rain

still swim
and tree is half the view

all a stretch to begin
in this skin

a week of weather comes to us
we learn the legends now

these next extents of cave
are my indoors

in wisdom of all ages lined
and halfway here by luck

by luck alone
(the comic opera)

I acknowledge a sadness to the tree
this will to all the world

as if the winter were a fire
past where the river ran

come to a rise
hills sweep away

to be here as I am
watchful and minded

well past the not-yet
pond for wingflit

all ilk of creature come
visible, not

as in wallaby watching
the walkers fluff a tail

in all the dream-divided
yoga-ended day

it's Sunday still
with afternoon

and the great heat sinking

in praise of primitive systems
circle not quite

but I improve myself with turning
and fare the way just here

even life was too perfect for us
so now we know

it's time to start
catching the sky

James Walton #91 Place in A Landscape

Another shirt ruined
the new calf breathing with me
ear to heart
my head on the tree fern curve
each of us too tired to rise
the gully folded about us
sliding down the steepness
to the road’s bend
over to the yards
her mother calling
a mouth finds my finger
searching for milk
eyes wide between
fear and comfort
sepia beyond words
she lets me hold her face
this world slips into gear
resting on the back veranda
arms round my knees
in a hello
the king parrots hang upside down
a shelf of splashed paints
fall to pick the ground
my toes disappointing seeds.

Sunday, March 18, 2018

Mother # 123 Claine Keily

I am my own house
but this is something she never taught me
so as I too could be like her
all gold before me
yet sleeping on an ill lit landing
until she made sure I knew
she was could make a puppet of my panic

Kerri Shying R #431 - Buttons


mending Winter skirts
sunburst buttons
call back Spring

Kit Kelen #807 - the fan all night

the fan all night

with punkah sped

mango sticky
from the the fridge

a train
and blizzard wind

tunnel and the chase
of paparazzi

cobweb blow
till jetlag storm

and ship at light
this breath

the sea beat
sails with filled

round round
a roulette Russian

poison spies with ill wind
poms make sunset chum

walla, spit and lick
dry three sheets to

goes and comes around
the gale of life is tinny to us

Bob's your uncle - wave!
so more Britannia foam

squeeze notes from a box
a pound a puff

hash here - no weatherman
but which way?

in the dark
you wouldn't know

marauding nomad vector

wake and lapse
to dream again

a sound of blinds
go up

then sunshine's where
we heard the rain

and summer's
true to blue

Saturday, March 17, 2018

Rob Schackne #614 "the country"

the country
the music
let's sketch
the gumbo
the line
the wisp
look at this
let's walk
easy angles
sing home

Kerri Shying R # 430 - Rose-apple Lilli Pilli

Rose-apple Lilli Pilli

six seasons   suit the birds   for all
the world  a bath   the air  lime warm

small rockets  ear to ear   the count
your families   home for the berries

all clustered five  to the bract
at night the soughing  of the bats

and clatter  wake me  love
this   change of shift

sing to me   suburb   drag
the wheels   of your  three bins

shonk against the asphalt
more than mowers  more than

Hills Hoists   I hear    the colours
rotate  we meet in passing   us

the people of the green waste
the yellow crush recycle   we

drag the shrunken red rubbish bin
kerbside   front and centre

what week is it   where I see you
unexpected  in your shorts at 8am

on the wrong day   and store it
in my memory   I’m standing talking

to the lady    in the middle of us  
and her baby is suddenly walking

  eating lilli pilli

off the footpath   we are all eyes
instead of ears    you are a post it note

of the future
  if you stray

Kit Kelen #806 - hail (continuing on a politics of the sky)


over us

cloud for itself
now no one's conducting

the all to scratch
laid still

worm on the way
and ant along

rise of the bodies in dreamlight


someone has a question to ask

sometimes you make yourself a problem
just so you'll have to solve

kookaburra catch

my lie is a listening truth
of someone's story told


page gone from the dictionary
there's the world torn out

yet loved here
we rely on weather

in mysteries we wonder
and exercise a doubt


haunt a home after
with all that you've done

so soon so soon we're gone
and I will always be here
deep in your forgetting


world good for another few billion

hail every such confusion as self


and starring night
this distance
which is time
and where we are


all hail
this over-us heaven

no one's conducting
let's jam