Kerri Shying R # 347 -Fodder

Fodder

someone rewrites my history  he comes

at night  he works by daylight   near

afar            changes race  religion  bumps off

those I love            reinstates them

bumble-headed             accidents             someone

takes my painful days   repacked

into a bale of shredded wheat              as fodder

grazing cows 

 say moo  say uncle

see me bang  hand   fast as a feather

in the fine grain of your nitrate            film

nothing catches life

but me                my motion

rock            papers                        scissor

cuts  again

Kristen de Kline's 'Bumming with Ziggy' translated into Chinese by Cui Yuwei

#163

Bumming with Ziggy

Written in English by Kristen de Kline

Translated into Chinese by Cui Yuwei

I slept with her
again last night

we screamed as we came
lit up as we crashed down

we wrote poems every day
on brown paper bags

eulogies on UB40 forms
etched love letters into our flesh

we howled like Ginsberg

nobody   was   listening

we screamed even louder

again last night
I slept with her

we came as we screamed
it was just as good as the first time

when I woke up
my leather jacket was gone

the Drum tobacco pouch, emptied out
she'd even ripped off the $2 lighter

《和Ziggy睡覺》

昨晚我又

和她睡了

我們尖叫著到了

满面红光地癱軟下來

每天我們都在

棕色紙袋上寫詩

在UB40表格上写頌文

把愛的字母刻進肉體

我們像金斯伯格一樣嚎叫

沒人　在　聽

我們叫得更大聲

昨晚我又

和她睡了

尖叫著到了

和第一次一樣爽

當我醒來時

皮夾克不見了

鼓牌香煙袋，空空如也

她還順走了我2美元的打火機

Rob Schackne #508 - Burning (3)

Burning

In the aftermath
throb of an exoheart
all that remains in the air
behind me when she goes
a drowsy numbness
a beach at low tide
tears at the ebb side
where did the swing go
I wake dawn with seagulls
the wind has picked up
things gone missing

Kit Kelen #667 - Alcazar de Cordoba

667

Alcazar de Córdoba

the horse shit streets led here

in the gardens of a Sunday

come into walls for shade

slave made

blue of this vault re-fashioned each day

where kings make marble eyes at me

flowers are such care –

jasmine waft

and pines bent dreaming

I chase shade but the sun still has me

I'm all under a hat in among roses

and wilting as well

I am a slow trickle of tourist

by way of maidenhair in grottoes

come to Columbus begging

this new world sword glint, blood and gold

wasn't that great to get?

he doesn't know where he will go

but he spends his vision here

and everyone's Columbus now

all know as he surmised

though perhaps today the patience is lacking

some have thrown themselves into the picture

don't you know a king commanded this?

cats are a habit of place

all battlements above and arrow cross

where light's let

that whining sound

is Columbus begging

king and queen keep saying 'nup

India's the other way... any fool knows that'

come fish be quick

in your nowhere to swim

come pigeons dare to land

all we standing love a garden

chased out with a whistle by guards

it's the sound of water running

is best to heal the heart

Kristen de Kline #163 Bumming with Ziggy

I slept with her
again last night

we screamed as we came
lit up as we crashed down

we wrote poems every day
on brown paper bags

eulogies on UB40 forms
etched love letters into our flesh

we howled like Ginsberg

nobody   was   listening

we screamed even louder

again last night
I slept with her

we came as we screamed
it was just as good as the first time

when I woke up
my leather jacket was gone

the Drum tobacco pouch, emptied out
she'd even ripped off the $2 lighter

Kerri Shying R # 346 - two-time

two-time

where the fuck

were you

are you            have

you been              don’t tell me

my heart

can’t take             one more lie 

I swear I swear

you move away  yes I

still remember

that day the phone you said

you never had             slid down the

counterpane  between my legs              right

out of your grey work-pants pocket and

you             none the wiser   wet-mouthed             say

bye now                I found eight numbers

I did nothing

all afternoon

you never asked  I

            never gave it back

power failed

us               dancing 

bedclothes cup our warm

slack lies

Kit Kelen #666 - devil of a poem & #666a - inhabit an uncertainty

666

devil of a poem

it's come to this

and I think I know what made me do it

and who

the trouble's how to stop

666a

inhabit an uncertainty

take a look around

I might or not

I won't gainsay

ditch the map

let garden grow

consider the ways

give paws

just walk

and pave a road to hell

go to it

you have to laugh

it's not lost to be where you are

deep in the forest of wishes and wants

and will your number come up?

straw short?

inhabit an uncertainty

do we not, each of us, come from such?

let every miracle of here be so

we must let be what is

… or not

there's all the could be would be too

just take a moment like this leads on

in bells lost count

we live the strange time past the clock

closer to seasons so

I always dream who I can be

middle of the journey

thing to another

let me address you as such

look up a clear night

and see so far

that was all before us

and look again

do you recognise?

this is the place where you were born

all changed, changed utterly now

Kerri Shying R # 345 - One time

One time

It’s time

to succumb

again            to that  knife edge

of pain             management and

forward motion              slender grey

as aliens               on the row

here on remand  we

the   waiting

take the knuckle-under

hard to heart      the sight of

ninja turtles                        guards

in full kit                         taking you out

counts me in

steadier than

the second hand

I used to see go

tick

Rob Schackne #507 - Undertitled

Undertitled

Hands up everyone who likes their body!

There is only one woman and me
we get stared at must be how we look
my ass grows skinnier by the day
I dance I fall down I crawl
one side weaker than the other
scars I've long lost track of
sit around a fire telling the story

brain in jury spine in fury ooh you survived
feet are duck's the ears grow potatoes
my teeth like a rabbit nibbles a frog
my generative pendulum
has to stop frequently for a rest 
I forget to say I am almost ghost
boot hill rough deal flexitime shut down
a knuckle dusting heckle and jeckle thrill
stay out of my fucking way kind of body
she looks my way eyes are smiling

Kerri Shying R # 344 - Undergrounded

Undergrounded

the night the plane crashed

I thought

the dope fields 

could find no way

to search

imagined

all the meta data

arrows point

at me

trotting little horsie

bobbing knocking dinghy

you the boat

Mr Stallion don’t

let me trip you up

your super power

stealthy

wisdom cocky shit

kaboom  as ever

someone else

not you

Kit Kelen #665 - a mission (Mezquita, Cordoba)

665

a mission

Mezquita, Córdoba

you go slow

to be in a place

my mission in Europe –

to give no more money to the Catholic Church

(not that they're less deserving than others

just that they have enough)

it's being told in German, in French

in English – the glories are told

of the artisans, their backs broken to this

we hardly here a whisper

look what these paupers own!

apart from wars and auto-da-fé

inquisitions all sorts, epochal pederasty

gaze upon the marble hardware!

the skulls and crossbones in the floor

here I am in a stolen mosque

reconquered don't you know

and it is true the Visigoths had pillaged together

a little church before

your decent barbarian knocks the thing down

for a comfortable little humpy – it's tribal

this is all of the story owned

I know about Sancta Sofia in Istanbul

two wrongs not making a right and so

as a child I got into trouble drawing a bunch of them

boiled in a pot when one of our teachers went off to Africa

I guess you'd call that racism

I thought it was good clean fun

(they were boiled up in a copper after all)

I could see the point of feeding the lions – cruel pagan that I was

it fills their hearts with anger still

burned at the stake, boiled in a pot

seems like quid pro quo

in the forest of columns

so many names are trodden

they paid and they were saved

for this dumb show of the devout

you see the itch of it in them

you won't get to sit in the rich bastards' seats

those in marble still live

and don't they glory in the story

as if no other trumpet told

but I love a prince of peace

and Jesus has to love me

it's in the job description

I just think his religion's been a little overdone

there is a surfeit of sunlight outside

you can read it as a wood indoors

and it looks as if a fire passed through

generations of worshippers time took for undergrowth

they're the ashes swept out

there will be closing time for us too

I'm just thinking this place would make an incredible pool hall

in Macao this would be more gaming rooms – with authentic atmosphere

(a wonder they haven't built it already)

I could have come for the free hour in the morning

but sometimes you have to pay

for a cool place to pace out day's middle

the church is always a winner

these pigeons to the outside clinging

they have a shot at the sun

unsure of the symbolic price 

 

Rob Schackne #506 - "Love was king" (2)

Love was king
the skies were blue
the wind was coming up
when I found me

beside the highway
and love was 
just a little heart
a thumb sticking out
talking to the birds

Kit Kelen #664 - the chosen, their rapture

664

the chosen, their rapture

general ekphrastic, Córdoba

these eyes up hungry for light

all gold in halo after

the arrow stuck

those put to the sword

or fallen on

those with their heads on plates

or visited with angels

who speak with the air

beatific in milky breasts (don't bite!)

those burned for witches

whose hearts glowed true

cherubs, seraphs

those great in quill

or nose in tome

flagellants

the great ones with a church in hand

or better, a cathedral

those hailing each own revelation

those lifted as in flight

the one who's nailed up upside down

these now the skeletal remains

or even just a toenail left

these well lit

the priestly

and the ones at war

the swooners

all well wept

who dreamt the big dream

whom animals, as children, adore

the lamb

the fish

the dove

ones falling

and ones risen as up in a thermal

the heaven sent or lent

the one baptising with the linen hat

the one to take the plunge

the grey beard papa looking on

the cloud-through peering angels fog

so many with their faces half gone

all cracked with time

the bowed

the unbreasted

horse drawn

and rocket launched

hands prayer clenched

silent ones so much seen

so certain

who were forgiven

because they asked

so proud of their humility

what can this world be to them?

this moment is their glory

Kerri Shying R # 343 - paddlepop and melting

paddlepop and melting

fooze ball  on the roadside beckon

rubber hand-grips               hold me sweet

on all the murmured streets

of children            sighing shiver

seek    love’s swirled cornetto   down

by history    look the seashells

here Mum   see   my           

somersaults     cartwheels

rolling snake eyes  that’s a double

roll again   you never get

a chance like that     and

life is longer than the ribbons

on Dad’s Morris dancing hat

there are no more   spectacles

events have overtaken

everything like them

Rob Schackne #505 - "I slept with her" (1)

I slept with her
again last night
her head on my chest

dreaming of 

an old suitcase

at the side of the road

no one stopped

I meet Sophia Loren
in her tight levis
I meet Hitler again
calmly sleeping

it does no good
listening to the lies

I am restless

all those roads

Kristen de Kline #162 Dancing & dreaming (aka Hotel California)

first we danced
mirrors on the ceiling

hearts on sleeves
then we dreamt

pink champagne on ice
closer to mine, your

body swayed as
we clinked glasses

teeth in my hands
we walked past

the end of the world
stepped over suitcases

abandoned down at Lawless
lay back in the Valiant

limbs, outstretched
on a tartan picnic rug

rumour has it
we fell asleep

dancing,   footsteps
everywhere

the ground
falling out
from under
our feet

rumour has it
we dreamt
in black and white
nodded off
to white noise
slept for
a thousand years

Kit Kelen #663 - Cordoba 25.X.17

663

Córdoba

25.X.17

you may yet come to turn

through these eyes in the book

of course there's the chance no one will read

I'm the eyes wide

I love to find where wandering brings

keep loose – a pleasure not knowing

better still – be lost

then let the map appear at my feet

because I merely nosed a way

I found a way to read

there are no monuments here know me

but mutts poke out on balconies

sniff streets

so many dogs have this view of below

the youngsters are kissing as they go

tight in skins together

thief thick they are

and honest in poverty

some days walk just as far as a poem

then so I sit where the street will pass

Plaza de las Tendillas, 7.23 pm, 24°

the oranges in the square, big and green

the bomberos park in the street that runs through

lights on, motors running

they ease out, embrace

and chew the fat

drive on still chatting

nothing to see here

the rested knee goes on – a reconquest!

how could they be so crazy for churches

for bells, for so long

a fountain will always remind me to drink

acanthus makes marble

let all of my age come grey for their charm

so many stand their quizzical corners

eyes drill into screens

taxi sighs by

I come to this town as an un-familiar

by magic to any other age

speaking of which

friends and I ask you – this everywhere Jesus

as white as the pigeons have polished – all grey

how many times can you crucify God?

and still the bad penny turns up

low life we're talking

some speak up to windows

or down to pram travellers

also the dogled

then the respectable

the whistling is opera

I don't know this place at all

some days I walk just as far as a poem

I'm the eyes wide

then let the map appear at my feet

better still – be lost

keep loose the pleasure of not knowing

I love to find what wondering brings

I'm the eyes wide

and the eyes in the book

you may come to turn through yet

let all my ruins be Roman

let my dancing thoughts be Greek