Wednesday, April 26, 2017

Kerri Shying R # 226 - Be my back up

Be my back up

some backs   are heaped  up  
pack animals of the bunch

no question of a straw
 being thrown on 

you snap

it’s all take
that   and  that    that  that  and that

some backs
 get up fast

 srr zirr  
 the cat backs 

all claws and
fussy bowl placement             

some backs are quarter backs
 padded up

and hell bent
for the touch down

back me up baby 
when I’m jackknifed  
a box trailer 

 far from elegant
jack me up baby

get the spare

Stuart Rawlinson #13 - Waiting Room Blues

Sixty minutes
Give or take
A century or two
In the hospital waiting
Room. The senseless room
Where appointments are
Like one way streets
Strip lights buzz
Taxi phones flash
The unemployed in
Occupational therapy
The notice board
Starts a heart attack
Don't drink
Don't smoke or
You'll be back in
No time - there's 
Always enough time in 
The waiting room

Rob Schackne #313 - "It follows poets"

It follows poets
& you don't know
(not personally)
the thing itself
what do you do
ratbags everywhere
origin (of course) unknown
don't fash yourself
probably won't lose much
(except the thing)
look both ways
cross the lawless road
don't give up your heart

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

Kristen de Kline #91 - chrome car corpses

flapping birds look down on red
wheel barrows     white
cats     stalk along a hot tin
roof    fidget under bonnets of chrome car

the man with hollow bones and white sugar
breath     tells you that someone has slashed the Zephyr
tyres     the world is
spun     children drain her
blood     kisses leave no
traces     his heart is giving

Kit Kelen #475 - just pretending

just pretending

dust gathers us
in a house of paper

so many names
the disappeared

time runs backwards to
it's not a place

whoever lived in a story is here
all the broken hearts and the mended

a list of fears
gone missing

why are we?
how far will we read?

there isn't a password
the garden is waiting

with what you want now
the past is alive

it's never the same
but it's the story

beginning again

Silences # 99 Claine Keily

In the air conditioned car
she removed her sunglasses
this was the last of it
now her new nails would be
used to open straw bags
like none she had ever seen
in an American television program

In secret
she picked the figs
in her neighbour's garden
all because she
could no longer bear
her work
showing people
the same thing each day
until her heart became a
sack of overly ripe grain
lost forever to the dark
and only a doctor
could be used
to interpret
her silences

Kit Kelen #474 - one more time

one more time

is all tricks

we fall for it
step up

is there an arrow only?

our time is elsewhere now
and it will come

we have appeared out of nowhere
serendipitous it was

we're lost to it
and make it up

look into the mirror
see ourselves before

'please stop', we say
when it's too much

we make up time
and it will tell

it presses on
in the teeth of truth

sand flows
the river's still

dust gathers over
until now

that puddle in which leaves
reflect seasons

take the vanishing point
come to the bare limbs

bear with
all things past which
we live

Kerri Shying R - #225 - Cremains


ought not be labeled like cranberries in the cupboard
I am one of those houseguests   who rises early    likes to do a little yoga

without wakening the host                        I was seeking something nice
something vegan     to smear across the  dryness of the gluten free

toast               cremains            so French              with marmalade - took me for a ride
later when I asked you if it was the plant-based version of an ash brie

there was that sound                        the earth turning            followed by air            tearing
I’m so sorry I ate your prized Pomeranian            she was a sweety             and I hope

this won’t change             our plans for Bali
in the Spring

Stuart Rawlinson #12 - Mr Milquetoast

Spineless, wishy-washy
Feeble and thin, he disappears

Between slim bleached
Lines and neutered passions

His pale words muffled and
Silenced, but never with accurate

Aim. Careful to miss the
Target in case the target

Takes offence. Pussyfooting
Namby-pamby little

Pageboy. He stood – not
For nothing, but for other people’s

Ideals, while his own designs
Re-aligned beneath his opaque

Skin. Trembling lips
Quirks and ticks – watch

His feet tap as he, speechless
Communicates unseen what

He doesn’t even believe

Rob Schackne #312 - A Good Question

A Good Question

                   "If a trip to Mars/you earn/remember friend/there's no return."  
                            (Old Burma-Shave jingle)

A good question
you really want
a different life

a pound of leaves
a pound of bunnies

forget the showers
if a trip to Mars
is what you want
there's no return
the lie starts at dawn
the sun is falling

half a field away
everything arranged
tested near to death

forget the answers
there's no return
we leave in a hurry

and strewn behind
the smoking trees
the bodies I don’t know
what it was to know

                    ANZAC Day 2017

Monday, April 24, 2017

Kerri Shying R # 224 - Slot B

Slot B

the phone calls they crept up
in price    at first  the STD call

 we husbanded as sheep
I am old enough              I heard the pip pip pip

of the three minute tone
some            would simply ring off            mid sentence  I was

 born to local calls that went along for hours             for twenty cents           
 so much so            that Dad told the love-lorn in our ranks

 take it on the heel and toe across the road

to the public phone booth
 to croon  and strategise            

we could look out and see a brother perched up on the shelf for phone books       
glowing in the night            a pile of platypus  by  Slot A

 it was fair      nobody would have ever gotten through to our house
not in twenty years            now            now in this day  we don’t call houses    

 there are no houses       there are just people
uncollected            all free    awaiting algorithmic selection

all  timing            by the second  
     these days

 I have lost my tilt with time 
 drift through  seven hundred things to watch  on youtube           

find nothing   lost in interest
the world begs of me an outraged mind            matchless by reply           

unbuilt               my space     unwrapped     my time            
all the while beguiled

 this  high cost
here  keeping   of touch

Kristen de Kline #90 at the edge of Lawless

chattering away in darkness dead men leave their hollow bones
by the milk bar     hoist up the closed sign      hack away
hold me tightly     into flesh and bone     shredded

thinly     dead men sells cigars to the boss from the factory
stockpile milk bottles pineapple chunks spearmint thick shakes bottles of L&P
an old edition of Truth 

the empty waiting room     sighs
is that your heart     giving up

on you     hold me tightly      breathe colour  
backwards     splash ink into the


spoons bend     cars rust     that's just the way it is
hanging by the neck at the edge of Lawless     seeping

through the stalled traffic in the wrecker's yard     disassembled
cars hoisted up on wooden beer crates like carcasses, gasping

for air     the trees are finished    the leaves done  
slashed tyres     roll down the hill     extinguished, almost

everything is packed     he says     the world is spun

you hear a woman laughing     in present time now    the world is waiting
for a     head tearing     claws falling     from

amethyst skies     heads, claws collect in a  blue and white porcelain bowl, neatly
white cats     wait      beneath the car under-carriage

out at Lawless a man with hollow bones     smelling of white sugar
breath    tries to kiss you     The Jam refrains slice through the
fly-wire     rope

burns     cuts like paper    the lines don't add up
was he scared of dying    he says it's so

life       like a  

caterpillar     walking hands
collecting firewood     possums with insomnia
children drink her
blood     is that your heart

Stuart Rawlinson #11 - AM Spectrum

Warm air coils up the half-lit wall
As morning flicks the room awake
5am colours are mute outside
Fence slits split the spectrum

Shadows focus and unfocus
In the morning's potential
The currents are accelerating

Chlorophyll draws into the leaf tips
Greens thicken and bulge
Blues deepen and smother
Twigs stiffen like rusted springs
Let us begin, let us begin 

Rob Schackne #311 - "I preview" (for KdK)

I preview
the possums awake
attacking the factories
a thousand poems high
sitting there in trees
looking at me and you
writing this across

the shaky valleys
armed to the teeth
then the white cat 
a million miles away
waiting under the car
art against the empire
passes on the 13th hour
joins us in felicity
for once it was a rout
well it looked like one
fighting another day
for the treasure
you understand
my dear

Sunday, April 23, 2017

Contentment # 98 Claine Keily

As he talked
he smoked cigarettes
and then crushed the ends
in the empty glass of wine
before her
so as when they slept
she could smell the smoke
mingled with the last of the red

He told her of his past
of how he had played tennis
then when this became boring
he entertained himself
by imitating the accents
in American movies
then finding that others were impressed by this
he became an actor

Despite his age
he kept his ribs visible
through his skin
she found his vanity touching
and watched him as he slept
rich with a contentment
she wished she herself had

Rob Schackne #310 - "Your sewing I know"

Your sewing I know
and can almost feel it
double thread moving 

through the linen dress
but I can’t really know
or see as much as that

it was written after all
it’s white Irish dresses
unless I use my eyes
to see the fingers pulling
with the beam on high
batteries sometimes low
the natural machine's on
for too long you know
sometimes strains to see

one dream that's finished
what was frayed to repair
worn upon a perfect mind

Kerri Shying R # 223 - Revitalise my cityscape

Revitalise my cityscape

stop saying rebirth              about the place             when what you mean
is you are ripping us a new arse            how much more

of this indignity             should we have to take             always
making us agree at each stage             just be a Visigoth              a vandal

get the thing over with and done             all this internecine what-nottery
so bad for all the sandstone               and the flouro paint soaks in    the  sad

air drifts down along my street            we have ceased to make our gardens
self-conscious  to be twee    to be the we              we were before              tell us

again              how good it’s going to be

Kit Kelen #473 - birds tell

birds tell

night to be over
and the day to come

the firstness of light
is in fits
as slept

the river runs to life
it's crossed
with shore to shore
the calling

we have gathered round a fire
each name remembered as gone

someone stands
in the bows
brought even this far

so we commemorate

you smile up to
some certain notes
a clutch of song

brought on

soon sun is falling
with night to be over
and the day to come

the whole world
is waiting for this

Stuart Rawlinson #10 - No Man's Land

No man’s land, no untamed
Tamed - whether weeds in between
The gaps in the flags on the garden
Path, nor the unbordered
Wilderness with its endless
Internal roots of renewal

Imagine brambles grown
Up to your chest - so every
Breath is a nick and a scratch
As you count to a thousand and
Hope an early death. Instead
No solace in numbers on the long

Count up. The mountains around
You vibrate on their shelves
Clouds slide behind them, mist
Slips down the valleys -
The whole scene is recorded
Stop motion, stop start.

Saturday, April 22, 2017

Rob Schackne #309 - Fire At Strange Piano

Fire At Strange Piano

                  "The human operator would turn pages by hand—no machine
                  could be as quick and gentle—and fire the cameras by pressing
                  a foot pedal, as though playing at a strange piano." 

                             James Somers, in The Atlantic (20/4/17)

The human operator
none as gentle
when it wants to be
as pedlar
as though poor
at other times
beautiful writer
I heard it again tonight
like a caterpillar
walking hands
collecting firewood
to make light enough
to read your book
come quick
come slow
falling autumn camera
fire at strange piano
all we touch

Mute # 97 Claine Keily

Mute she watches the white cats play
too tired now for music even
each day at the school
children drink her blood
then she brings home the money
and picks flowers
barefoot in the dark

Stuart Rawlinson #9 - Special Finest Tippy Golden Flowery Orange Pekoe One

Bright, still
Meniscus climbs up the
White porcelain bowl
The spoon is blemished
Stained by memory
Fragrant vessels
Lift up
Suspension in the elbow
Liquor ripples
Complex compounds
Pursed lips
Inhale the amber liquid
Floral Head
Peaty bodies unrotten
Burnt sugar breath

Kerri Shying R - #222 - Durrawan


your time of year  has been and gone  we look down
instead of clutching at our heads   waiting                         for the head tearing

claws  from out the sky   that’s you  Durrawan 
 taking on the postie                         who has a hockey stick inside the crossbar            

no currawong is afraid of anything 
I want to be that too

Kit Kelen #472 - vortex


come to a moment
so long coming
you're in it
and you're gone

everything is packed
like ripples out around you
so many skirts
and all eyes at

every day of the moment
knowing to do
it's to the distance you go

tomorrow in the time foretold
here's the tail
and what's your chase?

the moment!
it's come after you
insatiable demands!

what a monster of lust
the moment is
in almost everyone's conception
that is ancient history now

everyone is listening so
you go to the moment and ask
there's no time for a question though

an end of us is there
so every stone says
'gone to the moment
a long time coming'

the moment is untold of course
it cannot be divided
and every instrument is playing
all skies have gathered here

without which was
no this at all

it's where the world's spun to as yet

focus on it
know you're there

come to the moment
so long coming

everything is packed
like ripples out around you
so many skirts
and all eyes at

make yourself known
to the moment

it's you that's in it
and you're gone

you must have been the splash

Rob Schackne #308 - This War

This War

How the years poked
sense & poetry spiked
why would you look back
babylon looked like paper
it was just a factory
the end of an old road
the trees were finished
the leaves were done

this war killed them
we’d killed them too
hold me tightly
whose metres swayed
hold me tightly

leaves are growing
how can this be true
unless you're a bird
& stating the obvious is
the same as you don't listen

Friday, April 21, 2017

Kit Kelen #471 - LCD


the under ones are flabby
in the head as well
thrown to thought
and lust as others
let's not mention BMI

they are always seeping through
they keep the streets in traffic
they have been known to vote
and hang by the neck
until there are more
bring us to a better world

their crimes are as the rest
each with the identical cross
the unidentified remains

their hearts are just as full as ours
they've got it wrong as well
as much
they're always looking up

once you could smell them a mile away
and retch
and smell their betters too
just as whiffy but

how was it we came to believe in them?
how did that habit slough?

we stood to attention for them once
glimpsed through the dark glass
if they were in their cups
sine qua non so we salute
they were the cenotaph

the under ones
love handled
when they climb on top
be blissed
lay back

they are the puddle stain of coitus
that's a country in the crutch

they too have read a way to here
and must have dreamt themselves

they love their children just as much
sometimes you will hear them sing
and have a radio for that

their struggles for balance
through generations
how other-like
fuzzy upstairs
it's dimlit

the masses
come up on scans
and have to be watched
the doctor says

slip in among them for a crowd

of birthday bliss
at the casino
they're the full candle scammed

and Christmas will be one of theirs
industry is all the creatures

how they must miscegenate!

do you consider their aches less
or their griefs less telling?

aren't they a question hung?
whom clocks have dazzled
to meal, bath, bed

they are the long apprentices
of light

we sell to them
they whistle up our arguments
we bring the evidence required

what if we were them
or they were us?

scratch that
we're the favourites

they're the life unpacked

even if they're of a mind
go like the clappers
till out of steam
it's with their own thoughts they steady

there's no behind the scenes
though they invent intrigue

the extras
most difficult of customers
and still agreement nods in them

a far far better thing they do

if anything they're too well washed