Sunday, October 22, 2017

Rob Schackne #500 - "Eating bitterness"


Eating bitterness
it will taste sweet
kicked out of China
15 years teaching there
moans turn to laughter

did you teach me well?
but it's not like when
I left Austin Casualty
after 5 years
and 10 thousand seconds
of empathizing

did you teach me well?
or I sat the bloody exam
started Monash Arts/Law
till the English dept took over
smartest people I ever met
urged me to keep thinking

did you teach me well?
or Broadmeadow AMES
where I failed to justify
in political English
what I'd been doing there
for the last 6 years

did you teach me well?

Saturday, October 21, 2017

Kerri Shying R #340 - Other


Other

another hour
discovery   these students
think they write the world
online                stay still
defenders              rise

outside             in space 
the definition of production
what we call
collision             has the grey slacks
the work shirts
of physics              eager seeing

alchemy   creation
 production               so much
more than kids    typing
 on a screen
 their piffle train  inches  on

a closed line
 goods  trans-shipped
transferring pride             the ownership    
those donkey brays


makers vs takers
who gets milked  who sucks the teat
then speaks
and says
you cow

Kit Kelen #658 - the light is coming for me



658
the light is coming for me

I will be shown up

stairs of a tumble
rise before

sometimes shines right through me
or you're the light to world it
wing

keep drawing the curtains to concentrate
but get that glint
a glut of the stuff congealed

it comes on
in us

it's because there are heavenly bodies
it's because an explosion is still going on

it's because I see all
reel with the seeing

stairs of a tumble
rise before

I will be shown up

the light is coming for me

Rob Schackne #499 - 'I'm sitting across"


I'm sitting across
from the devil
we're both twitching

neither of us can sleep
he's got a silver spoon
I'm holding a silver knife
what's this wall about

why are we laughing
I'm a Mexican too
walk out into the shadows

he's got the knife
I have a wooden spoon
we haven't seen
the moon for days

where are you now sweet Marie

Friday, October 20, 2017

Kit Kelen #657 - old lag



657
old lag

you won't remember what you saw
you call it by your own name

there is a line in seeing
it's how the eye goes round

feel it snap back to a dark
a trick

nothing here is how we came
water is applause
if someone snores
then that's a train

everything is telling
no one's here to know

sleep always was

how did I ever think of a border
it's dark of one, a magic door
slip it in, slip by

you have to shut, not see
eyes wide with
effort's useless here
you float
but where's the anchor hold?

funeral baked meats and marriage tables
who is in attendance?

I know a little pill you rhyme
but that's forgotten too

sometimes it's spotted and chase just the tail
good for a poem in vanishing paint

a mantra may
and wish to drown
to jump
to be taken there

where's my forest?

a trance – one always dreams of waking

you dream a thing till true

go inside out
roll over rub

and all of that – you too

the balancing's too much
I'm too far along the wall

talk the thing away
just listen to myself
so shallow
shabby
shambling on like this

can I be less here?
can I be ball and roll away?

slip the ring
will be the bride to kiss
all a wink and sly suggestion

let tide over nose
me under
I don't need the air

save the floaties for your finned friends
I'd be happy here

sleep's only known from waking

let sirens sing me
I'll join in
no need to keep time

I think it's a millennium and harrowing
more colour and a choir to come

that would be the trick –
to slow
till this one bird wings it
till we take the air
our home

Kerri Shying R #339 - Sleep


Sleep

I can feel my bones
my tiny splits of wrist
      bones  fiery  spinning
striking midnight
      thigh bones
heavy with deep blows

It is the ends   the centres            
 not the same place
 twice   forever   banging
 on the pot lid
 beside my knees unload
the truck of steel bars 
drop the dolly      clatter
be the industry
of pain              tell me

smile

James Walton #79 Southern Entry Leongatha, October




The paddocks have changed.
A praying mantis trellis
of snow peas covers banked soil.
On the other road side,
early silage is wrapped garishly
sited like spilled marbles.
White clover counts in threes,
the sky is coffee grounds.
A Norse thunder hooves its way;
the pickers clasp satchels
their non la’s lift off and spinnaker.
Rain calls them to shelter,
in utes the station plays Orbison.
Holiday traffic slows to read
the stacked rounds broadcasting,
Farmer Looking For Partner
and Carn Dogs 2018.




Rob Schackne #498 - "Crazy white cat"


Crazy white cat

argument every night
the swings we rode

poems you rubbished 
I couldn't publish
Monk on piano
like me on you

so many years ago
humming bees
then the dancing
then the dreaming
no more than I can do

Thursday, October 19, 2017

Kit Kelen #656 - Helsinki set --- 1. Athenaeum

656
Helsinki set

1
Athenaeum


nakedness in the north
must mainly be indoors
it's warm
where winter warm holds the rain high
it's like a proof the heating goes
the roof is snug
all gawk
here's summer on the rocks preserved
very fin de si├Ęcle

someone has to have rowed them here
so maidenly recumbent
and men – you can't tell foreskins – stretch

skating all wool
for the ice lit moon

how dour the clad
all bible and coffin
their waiting dark under itch

a kind of dance as if winter set war

the smoke from a church pours truth

with women's lust just quietly
is how we are here

mosquitoes take the summer lake
let's none of that pictured

a faun awakens
rudely thought
a shepherdess' surprise

all spring close knit
with her and colour

nakedness is a season beyond
as if we would yet come to our senses

joy in the limbs
fleshed forth
how little of that lasts
hay day make us to scythe
well sung

under the clothes one knows of course
but too polite to say

this pagan fling – still moment
of its own eternity

it's as if the dead hand of God's truth would lift

light is an island the sun shows to
night is surely coming

Wednesday, October 18, 2017

Kit Kelen #655 - the useless contend again


655
the useless contend again

after and for Felicity Plunkett
(without the numbers this time)

deep in the nation of psyche
grey dog eared poem
monsters the deep

fold and tear along
the tune
and fold again
see smoke rise

surprise me with who wrote it
will you?
I'm not the one to judge

give it the slipper kick
nudge me along
be tragic for

prescription –
take off the head hurts

a jetlagged dream
is not at all

greetings from Helsinki

select this one
it glows

Rob Schackne #497 - "Just a bed"


J
ust a bed 
under my feet
a day before 
the floor
above it all 
my head
a blue sky
which has no motive

say thanks
lord it's falling
rightist road 
speak in lawless
buried deep
animals 
raise our voices

Tuesday, October 17, 2017

Kristen de Kline #159 The day before

the day before Court
ninth appearance not

counting   poets with priors
proliferating   the lawless

chatter deep into the night
invoke the law by daylight

affidavits collected - sworn,
sealed, stamped - they'll do

the trick   your lawyer says
not to worry police case is

flimsy witnesses unreliable
nobody has ever drunken

the whiskey, I can hear my son
playing Supertramp in the shower:
"Crime of the Century"

there are times
when all the world's asleep
dusk before dawn
the questions run too deep
clouds before storms

a lot can happen in a year

she can be talked down off
light-fittings talked up off
train-tracks he can not
wash for five days sit in his
apartment eating foil bags of
potato crisps drinking Corona,
chilled, with lemon wedges,
splintering down
the bottleneck 
gasping
for   air

the lawless chatter

hollow bones
peppermint breath
riffs from Supertramp
bloody well right
bones hollow
breath peppermint

chattering
lawlessly

the day before Court









Kerri Shying R # 338 - white cat Hank high above and flying

white cat Hank high above and flying



I saw Hank
preening
along

your windows
open to the bright
sweetness of the Sunday
air   we

here down below
the flats above the closed
shopfronts  of the
post-financial crisis
fixers  job-getters
for the poor  we
see you

soak up future
paint
on a scrap
a rag still printed
with the same teddy pattern
purchased 
just before your birth

in my mending basket
blanky 
with some retreads
of skeletons
of spaceships
 star wars future

yet to fill
my hours

Kristen de Kline #158 Lakeside

Down at Lakeside
things, life seems

possible     again
green and brown reeds

surface in the water,  clear
and deep ripples on the surface

indicate movement    ducks
black swans   joggers   boys

in an aluminium dingy, tight
fluoro yellow vests     and

skies, moody blue   tinged
with white     everywhere   

skies

more ripples in the water
foliage    worn planks nailed

down, weathered hard
like those days,   darkest

light splatters across the
beams     a shadow tangles

across the play of blonde
on the wooden planks

down at Lakeside you post
on Facebook: chilled energized

and happy   seventeen friends
send you red love hearts, ten

fire off big thumbs up   things,
life seems do-able     again

possible   

everywhere

skies


Kit Kelen #654 - people-rise


654
people-rise

a sun behind them
not up yet

each sudden, as from chrysalis
with hardly an 'I'm here'

and they forget the other world
know the way already

the flower
this loving glance for friends

who can know what told them?

the people rise

they have been all-wishful
now from sleep
they conjure light

day comes through curtains
to the already risen

it was as if breakfast called
when cosy would have lain together

each is a citizen of weather
does one conduct
or are they each their every way?
in each other's?

the people rise
all tremble at

some bump into another, stay
and there are vanishings in

some dream curls from each every day

the people-rise a world embrace
heard here

should we watch
as from another world?

there ought to be a postcard of it
on the brink of an idea

you, in every song and dance
could be the breeze begun

a people rise
mean nothing by it
all the old is swept away

they drift like continents
so clouds around them come
like capes

this one sun stares for the ant scatter of
contending and out

will such a tide dim?

sleep fells
like a good intention
then all fall to feed

know by their secret signs

longer that way
tall with story
often woken to the news

from harmless 'in your dreams' they say
world girdling
all the one wave
out and doing
up and at

it's all fine-tune here on in
and world watch out
too late!

all wonders stand in them
and often brush aside
the people rise
observe!
all heavenly bodies obey

James Walton #78 Cootamundra Wattle




You’re too daggy now
once so ubiquitous
along with hydrangeas
the pairing almost a haiku

every second child fell out
of that shivering font of annunciation
all Alice through hay fever
the broken skin your other variety

Jason’s crew cleaned their bodies
with oil from a familiar orchard
your head tossed its fleece
over the weight of so many plantings.

You’re confined these days
to grandparents’ gardens
in forgotten suburbs of lustrous hubris
gummy excretions from pruning

not fitting the clean lines of Rubik cube domesticity

shepherded back to the great plains
an origin where like the elephants
wandering in grand eloquent possessives
as seedling shields howl out resistance

mimosa florets precious as saffron
lay over the trails to graveyards
the leaves finely cut venetian blinds
all frayed by the incisions of golden offspring.