I start each day
putting skin on
this skeleton
then I walk out
into sunshine
or rain, watching
carefully for
nails and rose
thorns, loose
stones on old
steps, low slung
branches and
those metal balls
at the back of cars.
I only have
one skin which
I take off each
night as I drift
into dreams
where skin is
optional ...
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Lies Van Gasse #122
(dag 1-121)
(afbeelding 29)
(afbeelding 30)
(afbeelding 31)
(afbeelding 32)
(afbeelding 33)
(afbeelding 34)
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(image 29)
(image 30)
(image 31)
(image 32)
(image 33)
(image 34)
(image 35)
Red Cone (LF)-#122- old haunts
old haunts
the first time I returned
I retched
now
it seems like a lifetime ago
it is
over the years
the bottom floor has had
many incarnations
blue beat shop
red cocktail bar
health juices
long ago
the kitchen table was
brought out
placed on the footpath
covered in multi coloured striped candles
poured during the week
the profits bought some food
now there are food stalls
under the overpass nearby
and most tourists carry mobile phones
to take the place of seeing
the place of many memories
Red Cone (LF)- #121- Daffodils
daffodils
drawing back the curtains
I am excited
they are there
the daffodils
bare leafed skeletal trees
the beginings of green
seen
it is spring
a sheet of paper
from a tabloid
moves lazily with the breeze
winter farewelled
with ease
Red Cone (LF)-#120-travelling with them
travelling with them
clutching her orthodox bible
her total luggage
she is diminutive
black clad
gentle
returning to Greece
to visit family
she kissed her prayer book
on landing
I did not see her again
the next leg
to very large people
brother and sister or
husband and wife
he undid the armrest
between us so he had more room
it was a strange feeling
his thigh against mine
I did not mind
I did not see them again
Mikaela Castledine #121 Cooking
The house smells of moroccan spices
couscous idling in the pot
the lamb is tender and the almonds slick
Robert Verdon, #128, 2016
the sheets on the
bunk have rippled like a microwaved pappadum
there is a whine, a
close mosquito or a distant dentist’s drill
the ship seems to be
tilting backwards as if sinking stern-first
the squall through
the porthole bristles with echidna spines of sun
the passenger-mind
is focussed by a word and the smell of burning
the engines have
stopped the day is soon calm again
Susan Hawthorne #121 nonsense
I am a
nonsense I do not exist or if I do I am illegal and should be punished killed
if need be in China I live and die in the realm of flies in my own land silence
is preferred self-suffocation of words my history is full of horizontal lines
none are vertical my position in the family is at the far end of a fragile twig
ready to break from the main stem in the desert lands my bones are broken
whipped into the centre of a sand storm vanished as if I have never existed
under dictatorships I am among the first to be crushed my independence my
nonsense a threat to social stability I fly from the trapdoors of planes no
parachute to break my fall only the sea to catch me in its hardened arms in the
cold lands they call me an artist sell my soul to that grumpy old
Mephistopheles who’s never satisfied no matter how far I go I remain exotic a
work of theatre at the centre of the empire the words are decorated with
ribbons of acceptance dissertations are mined to snuffle out meaning there’s
betrayal in those awards in so many places records are changed the
archaeologies rebuilt and reshaped to other realities today I was murdered by
someone sent by the government
Melinda Smith #30 A Valediction
 |
| So long, and thanks for all the things |
A Valediction
Now to my story.
It is about a girl who was to be married.
She said to her father,
"I shall be so nervous
I will faint as you walk me down the aisle".
Her father said: "That is a stupid way
to look at it. You will be quite all right
if you just fix your mind
on three things - the aisle,
the altar
which you are approaching
and the hymn
that the people in the church will be singing".
His daughter
replied, "That is a great idea:
I'll
alter
him".
She went down the aisle
quite bravely
with that thought in her mind.
I think we all come into the Parliament
thinking to ourselves,
"I'll alter
this and I'll
alter
that". But
things do not
always
work out
quite like that.
Some one suggested once
I ought to appear in films.
I think now that perhaps I shall
when you are watching television
you may see me
imitating
some of the things
that are done here
(From the valedictory speech
of Senator Agnes Robertson of the Country Party, on her retirement from
politics in mid-1962 after 12 years of service. At this time there were five
female Senators and no female members of the House of Representatives. In fact
there were no women in the Reps for a period of 15 years extending from 1951 to
1966.)
(c) Melinda Smith 2016
Anna Couani #119 from Seconds 1988-9 by Yannis Ritsos trans Antigone Kefala
a small white sailing boat
leaves traces on the moving water
the black comes wrapped
in white bandages
white is the emptiness
writing words on white paper
jasmine flowers on the table
on the harbour
the boats start to dock for the evening
a white feather from a cockatoo
tinged with yellow
lies on the grass
in the dusk
white butterflies
visit the roses
growing darker along the fence
the houses opposite are white
behind that the city lights
start coming on
Kit Kelen - #120 - for a series of dark ones - 1 - death, be not proud
120
for
a series of dark ones
1
death,
be not proud
we don't boil em up these days
not in cauldrons anymore
no boiling oil
the copper's gone
so's the wringer
no drawing or quartering
no garotte in the piazza
but we have our entertainments still
there's still quite a bit
of decapitation going on
flea gets the squeeze
tick drowns in hardest liquor
leech to smithereens, first salted and then
with a stone
(and see the bastard squirm its last)
lantana must be uprooted
hung in the branches
as example to its kind
likewise the privet
farmers' friends are to the flames
that's irony in these parts
don't say such deaths lack savour
we call this civilization here
Anna Couani #118 harvest
the perfect morning at the market
we tend to forget
it’s harvest time
the huge ripe persimmons
that taste like honey
some large NZ oysters
then a great find
fresh mullet roe
almost no broken membrane
always around at Easter
but hardly ever sold outside the fish
quickly salted up at home
ready for drying
some punnets of small ripe figs
into the fridge with the tofu
waiting to become agedashi
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