James Walton #32 Swiss formula minus milk

I’m a man

not a budgerigar

the first time

my father saw muesli

in reflective failure

to live up to

post war expectations

Kit Kelen #392 - at a bus stop - third day of the Rooster Year

392

at a bus-stop

third day of the Rooster Year

it's pissed-off day

out here on the street

everyone's over it

the new year again so what

they're complaining about everything

the name of the place they say

so's to disparage

it's become a curse

why did they come here?

everybody wants an explanation

but they're not giving up

no way not yet

apologies are overdue

nor are they forthcoming

everyone's shouting

no taxi stops

the buses never come

no rain

no wind

it's rather warm

but all of this can change

some cruel truth

is sinking in

but they're not giving up

not yet no way

some of course seem stoic

but that must be a front

more of them are pointing at

and some punch the air

look at the way they look at each other

they don't want to hear another excuse

this was a family once

it still is

how smartly they're dressed

speak all at once

and over each other

red in the face

it's all 'if only' business

faster and faster

louder and louder

you can't call it talk anymore

if only if only

but they're not giving up

not today not now

if only thinking

taken too far

leads back to wishing

one hadn't been born

there's a lot to be said ofr staying at home

if they weren't already drunk

I'd say they need a drink

the key word is recrimination

the situation is somebody's fault

the lulls that come suit spitting

one descends into a nervous twitch

another looks as if to strike

laughter would be cruel

and then it won't let up

laughter dissolves them

guilt splits however many ways

and then the day, grim day, remains

but they're not giving up

not yet no way

here's Misery and Company

and how's their conversation?

all furtive glances from a screen

the real world has them each in hand

make a list begins with dignity

with self-esteem, with pride

the miracle waited for them

but had to give up

they have lost everything

there's nothing left to lose

but they're not giving up

not yet no way

they're going back to the casino now

they teach a kind of calm

Kerri Shying R - # 187 - AUTOCRACY

Autocracy

Hate the people make up part of me I hate

the people make up things I left behind  that might

have been a part of all the ladder climbing rock wall

grabbing  panoply of the myth   ass fighter

here in this now space  in this not virtual  real real

real reality   that monkey gets shot right into space

man  that sucker left behind  obliterated  makes me cringe

he’s the fingernails on blackboard me    stand near it  you

will die

I remember fifth grade the whole year all the

girls they wouldn’t speak to me   the problem I had the same

hair colour as Penny  Stillweed   hate the part of

you I see

it’s me

Rob Schackne #230 - Non-theory (1)

Non-theory (1)


Did that really happen to you
no of course not
yes of course it did
another department of reality
it's Santa Claus and Snow White
did that really happen to you
I thought so
and (alright) it's Buddha and Jesus
if you've been paying attention
you'll see the same souls returning
do you ask yourself why
I thought so
you picked up the book
you ought to know
the difference
did that really happen to you

Incision # 60 Claine Keily

After the initial incision
he drew the knife in lines
while I stood
at the other side
of the table
watching
as afterward he
removed his opal
cuff links

I tried to grin furiously
the way father had taught me
as he gathered the interior
looking at me
seeking my approval
while the television
rattled, unattended

I was unable to move
as he asked me to help
roll up the starched white
sleeves of his suit

Kerri Shying R - # 186 Bury The Lede

Bury the Lede

We  are our own stories now    unpinned from places    times

  sans the facts   minus the figures  

people trade    in futures    please don’t    tell them  anymore

 rustic hocus pocus  superstition  fit for peasants  those  that

don’t have one foot    stuck hard   in the IT  door   so the element

 of suspense   drained   

 a once-wetland of wonder

shoved into the twenty-four-hour news cycle   day in day out

 no rinse    all spin    

when you take the delicates from the

pillowcase   where they used to hang    it all just looks tawdry

the story it is me   the story it is me and you   the story it is   

 how I feel   about    me-and-you-against -the world   who I say the world is

 what I  see from this pile   this stuff and nonsense heap   minus a yard and

give or take these   forty acres and a mule    sacred flag   they fought

  for freedom    other ways to measure land     fibre   air and sea  no space 

but here   inside   

  hell   what a balcony  

  

 out here on the terrace   we sit   

 exclaiming

   what a view

Rob Schackne #229 - "Parker's Tonic"

                                 "Parker's Tonic"

Kit Kelen #391 - goats can climb anywhere

391

goats can climb anywhere

I suppose

you feel sorry for the one

with still so little distance to go

you think I must wait

or run with the clock

useless to run counter

or off into another world

I think that's what you think

I address this to a younger self

of whom now I ask

do you cast your lot in with the road

to go with whoever may pass?

not enough light to see in here now

you fiddle with the thing

pick at it

no avoiding that

you're round the edge of

where it lifts

I have to pity your ignorance

even as of yesterday

and going forward

follow the lines on my face

I can't see them myself

but I know

that they lead

to the vanishing place

my fantasy's to find you there

Rob Schackne #228 - "Tangled up"

Tangled up in blue
when I paint my masterpiece
Dylan's Nobel speech
a hard rain's a-gonna fall
but don't think twice it's alright

Licence # 59 Claine Keily

She was left
to wrap up the
leftovers
each afternoon
alone in the apartment
her hair sticking to her temples
as she had closed the door
to block out the flies

The suit
shoulder padded and black
that she wore to work
was now cast aside
next to her transparent stockings
as he spoke to her
about how much their life had improved
since he had attained his licence
then pressed the chrome
buttons to change her choice
of television stations

Kit Kelen #390 - trying to let that be my comfort

390

trying to let that be my comfort

I'm just trying to roll with the punches

trying to keep my shirt on

keep my hair on

keep my pants on

keep abreast

head down

tail up

trying to keep up my end of the bargain

trying to keep my nose clean

up and at em

(if I'm able)

I'm just trying thing at a time

get it all off my chest

I think I can

I think I can

I'm trying to get the measure

roll with the punches

stay off the ropes

trying to breathe with my head between

the foot pressing down and the mat

trying for a bit of a bounce

trying not to choke on the fumes

or bile of spite

trying to get my question heard

I'm trying to shift my weight along

I'm pushing the shit uphill

just sayin

against all the odds

I'm trying to press on

everyone has days like this

if I'm lucky my last day will be so

I know there's nothing – not a thing – at the end

but the tunnel is lighted this way

Rob Schackne #227 - "Come closer"

“Come closer”


Come closer
look away from they
who want dominion
over all the pretty things
let’s put them off the trace
with beautiful extremes
an old ship’s mast
an old log of claims
a poem hard to fathom
many hours on the phone
some thorny music
some priapic joy
a list as long as a waterfall
the trees on a ridge
the birds are singing
and there’s so much light
it all zips itself in you.

Car # 58 Claine Keily

In the car
they drove to a late lunch
talked of Eliot
and Proust
his lips pressed
to her slippered feet
anything to drown out
the thought of
her mother
sleeping at home
serving them yogurt
dressed in sneakers
hovering always
on the far side
of their bedroom door

Kristen de Kline #56 - teenage boys

my house smells of teenage boys trails of grease
meander across the cooktop and granite benches where the boys
nab the blue and white flecked plates we used to
snort lines on and stack them up with bacon eggs
macaroni cheese too much salt

my son offers me a drag of his Bond Street Red
as if he's discovered something
     new wild wonderful
the black boxes they're lined up in
splash out
     body parts
spit out
     organs:
cancerous tongues
gangrene toes
a lung with emphysema
young toddler strapped up in a breathing mask
corpse like body of Byran Lee Curtis, who died aged 34,
he's a dead men talking but nobody's listening

my son turns off the flame but leaves on
the gas, unaware of all the famous female poets who used that method
to kill themselves, penning notes: I feel certain that I am going mad
again, I shan't recover this time, I can't fight any longer ...
my son thrashes out Stairway to Heaven as he washes the plates bubbles spill
like foaming lava in the sink, he drops
half a cigarette onto the outdoor sofa it simmers
slowly, almost politely,
rings of smoke through the trees burn a small hole in my heart
the size of a fifty cent coin

in the morning
     you find two nicks on your designer beer glasses
in the morning
     you can hear the forests still echoing with laughter

when you first walked out you would lie on the double bed in the shelter
     watching
random images projected across a white screen:
stray headlights pacing up the driveway
whispering winds
tall shadows
a dead man chasing you in dreams
a ring of smoke
     simmering
a small hole
     burning

when you first walked out
     you couldn't smell the gas
bacon & eggs teenage boys
     you couldn't hear the chords of Stairway to Heaven
the songbird who sings the voices of those who stood looking

in the morning
     the boys' laughter wraps you up, warmly comforting
reverberating downstairs to the burnt-out sofa where you lie
with a plunger of coffee and a sense
     that anything, living, anything
is possible
     in the morning
   

Kit Kelen #389 - the idea of it

389

the idea of it

or

guess who the winner is

will it weary

is it a pendulum

goes truth to lie

does it turn the world

can it be willed

is it a ball

bounced down to flat

will it roll off to a corner

is there a picture of it you can see through

does it reflect reality

are other worlds all reached this way

inside out

or upside down

is it the wrong way round

golden egg goose

or well won't run dry

is it a bird

is it a plane

can it keep count

can it spell

does it have a territory

is it a state of nature

the road that brought us

was rebuilt

contractors must tender

does it love this planet truly

group hug

is there a rough beast slouching

can we get to it on-line

what if we go against

world's destiny

will it propel us

can we guess yet

is it the smoking gun

the floor falls out from under you

the walls are closing in

an endless list

of what might be questions

simple thing

so hard to make out

it's like amoeba expanding

cause why

cause does

it's words and more

and ugly faces

jeers and jibes and slur

if we vote against it

will it go away

how was it won

what was before

it isn't even a flag to fly

it doesn't have a shrine

everyone sneezes at it

everyone's sneezing right now

it's the same cold

you can't wash your hands enough

heads together for a pill

somebody else invents

we live in the middle

just try not to guess

it's a dare

it's all echoes

like a conversation you can't end

two vans with loudspeakers

slow through the streets

how many hearts each way today

it's always giving a speech

always stretching imagination

where you stand accused

this glass half empty

with a head on it

cause nobody really knows

how to pour

stumps at dusk

resume tomorrow

if you can find the pitch

there's weather

who won't you admit to it

who has to be us

when it kills

at least it's all of us killing

though I dissent, I do

or cast myself informally

vanish into my own illusion

there's every chance it turns on you

yes there are doubts

what works better than this

does anyone really know what it's worth

does anyone remember

where is its panoply

soft touch

how I have loved unthinking here

and have I loved too much

it's bitter to lose

when winning is work

is it better to watch

a legion of such unbelievers

believe themselves in a state of freedom

there's always a weapon with that

like abandoning the carnival

that grows up all around

who thinks that they can walk away

will make themselves a ghost

a lonely job for each of us

to cast ourselves this way

Béatrice Machet # 349 About Shadows

# 349

a shadow settles quietly on a word

on a look

it’s a will of saying

the attempt to write

heavier the word loses its speed and cannot grasp

the life’s momentum which has nothing to say

and has no interest in writing

one misses another one by almost nothing almost nothing

but if the settled shadow is of love

the difference inside the desire

between living or writing

is erased

une ombre se dépose sur un mot

un regard

une volonté de dire

la tentative d’écrire

plus lourd il n’a plus la rapidité de saisir

l’élan de la vie qui n’a rien à dire

et se fiche d’écrire

on se rate de si peu de si peu

mais si l’ombre posée est une ombre d’amour

la différence dans le désir

entre vivre ou écrire

se trouve gommée