Kristen de Kline #239 Goodbye 1

what can be said
what can't be, it's

never convenient
a sheet over his body

crackling through on an
inter-state line - a last breath

palm trees double over
in the heat of the night

under your Wayfarers
tears streak down your

face, winding their
path around your neck

like your favourite metallic
choker with the love heart

charm hanging off deep
into the night - our wailing

thirty eight degree heat
is that sweat or more tears

where do we go with this
a few hours, you almost made it

no fireworks at midnight
no champagne no oysters

you said we weren't to cry
deep into the night, heave

hard into the phone, you said
we weren't to cry, our screens

light up with large red heart
emojis and icons of hands

clenched together in prayer
random words on Messenger:

'passing', 'thoughts', 'love' -
where do we go with this

you said we weren't to cry

Rob Schackne #842 - "The mersenne prime"

          
                       The mersenne prime
                       as high as it can go

                       more than we will count
                       divisible only by
                       the One and the All
                       (well, near enough)
                       it goes so low
                       everything is included
                       and it goes so high
                       to asteroid planets
                       it includes itself
                       and in the end
                       when the last move

                       in the puzzle
                       is completed
                       it is a metaphor
                       for nothing

Clark Gormley #77

Palms frequent front yards

Fronds turning brown as they age

Beards of shady men

Kit Kelen #1097 - velocity is terminal OR life: exponential as anything

1097

velocity is terminal

or

life: exponential as anything

have you noticed the acceleration?

meters per second per second and such

at first it was Christmas

now kingdom come

a long while since we bothered with candles

are you aware of the absence of brakes?

a paucity, let's call it

George Jetson warned of this

they trashed his flyer, but he flew out

you can't put the world in Park

it's 30ks per second

feels faster than that though

because that's just one way we're travelling

there's a thousand miles an hour

that's just around around

the headlong thing

the plummeting

dizzy yet?

once you had the whole mechanism apart

held it, disbelieving

put an ear up to

some of us can hear all of this

that's why it feels faster

must be there's somebody shoving it along

a running jump and shoulder to

remember kicking the clock to go on?

now it's a spin of seasons

and where we land

there's nobody knows

but that at last the sun expands

long after the last soul has let go

nothing more disposable than a body

that's what you're thinking, right?

a cat falls falls the full ten floors

gets gingerly up

slinks away

Kit Kelen - unnumbered senryu

uunumbered senryu

when you're the wet patch in the drought

it could just mean

you're fucked

Rob Schackne #841 - Senryu (12)

Same imperative
love, laughter & food enough
we follow the birds

Kit Kelen #1096 - a bother of gods (for godsbother)

1096

a bother of gods

for godsbother

collect in a name

or call them a mountain

never to climb

tussle too

you won't say beginning

but have a word this way

all are forgetting now

they were gods, the gods

when we believed

forests were tall in them

leaflit and lost

lightning struck for anger if

our fears were all natural

when sunbeams moted starfall

in wonderment we lay

everyone older than us

is dust!

and was

so we were the one of will-be and when

heed the prophets when they say

page full?

you'd simply scrub at the mud

there wasn't a ceiling fan to come under

no one could catch the sun

Earth sang

and all the ages under

we were yet to dig

when we were lit

how dark hearts down there

techne

I'm telling you

three girls and nine

and someone dug a trench for warfare

blood! the ghosts would come

everything was full of gods

when we were their loved, despised

shaped them then there from the mirror

as they'd cast us whole

let's say prayer's a two-way street

they were on every corner

hearth, kith to kindle

we were top of the to-do list

in clouds and parting

bolted blue

the world was a pillar once

all turtle's back balanced

came down the river

zwickelfisch floating

first snows of us fell

and we would say autumn

here's lyre pluck and we'll come to scales

pour swoon

by heart

so tell cicadas

swam once

the sea came too

every boat lifted

Ocean was river and took us away

that was run around the world

when map was speculation

days of 'who got nuttin?'

knock on wood

you can take the rug from my floor

but the gods fell into mechanical type

found us all up a tree

the boy bloomed

(that was a dad joke)

how very very alone

wasn't it we slept then?

someone said the end of the world

but skies were yet to fall

9 to 5 was once

and the holiday loading

sang Red Flag to a Christmas tree

it was the hidden hand all saw

a bother all this hallucination

there wasn't such a thing as luck

not a single arrow could ever arrive

that tortoise knew that hare

must have been the dream

stretch for the hell of it

everyone could

we – big enough to build a meal on

how few to worship

they were unnumbered

the numberless they are

look under and over

your pants are falling

while they're on fire

someone must have said

'grow up!'

days of the week called after

world in streets

our printed circuit

then we climbed to the top of the hour

nice fitting noose

of hopes alive

in hungry years

parents would have eaten them

so matter of fact

we were deictic

with it – stuffed!

and count such selves

it's summer to a breeze

they say

made a myth run ragged

gods of this of that

the other

filing all confused

and always chasing after love

away from the fight

taking things too far

and further now

now we have burnt

have drowned

homes built

everyone could have been welcome

pure streams were to drink

washed up

prayed to

anyone here ?

all nameless we were

as the world was wide

is and was

hadn't yet stuck

that was a guess to be blithe

they hurl boulders?

duck!

waking this morning

and a breeze blue rising

forgetting to expect

I've never seen so many webs

never seen so many spiders

Clark Gormley #76 Nature’s Choir

in this morning’s choir

there is one voice off-colour

sulphur-crested screech

Rob Schackne #840 - "Might all be order"

Might all be order
and the rocks joined
as if in pattern, you see
them, toys in a box
dripping on a rainy day
all we needed to be happy
except that this is nature
and we are singular creatures
when we go out walking
when all is not really joy
when all could be order
what it was upset you today
two butterflies separate
tell any lie you want
the forced element, swaying
and trees desperate to be left be

Tug Dumbly # 72 - Where's the Fun in That?

Where’s the Fun in That?

A poor conspiracy if JFK

was killed in the age of social media.

Everyone would have caught it,

his spatter tweeted as the

motorcade left the plaza,

the Grassy Knoll covered by  

Apples, Nokias and Samsungs,

the footage of a thousand phones

to cross-correlate and corroborate

what bullets, where, why, who and how.

Oswald would have been busted

after posting a selfie of himself
taking the shot on Instagram.

Kit Kelen #1094 - a little note to the righteous (for godsbother)

1094

a little note to the righteous

for godsbother

if one is

then they all are wrong

and here's how hard I wish

it's how the grammar sits

wash away

born

to cut and come again

in plainsong

relies on its devils

fills up all the available

and must not this that

speak its name

promise of whim

at whose expense

?

I dreamt so much

it was a truth

believe on

and you're in

and in this sleep

all ghosts to feast

by my lights

slept soundly

all do there

but a question came

and a doubt crept in

I entertained for days on end

quite a party we had

in the wishing house

in the house of fear

and all these same cards

must fall

still and all

the last words are famous

give us a booming

boost by the book

hymn the elect of us

on to a glory

won't we be kissed

good night

?

Rob Schackne #839 - "Always"

       
                                   Always 
                            never
                            sometimes
                            bloody
                            weather
                            be cool
                            it matters
                            shade
                            on the 
                            back porch
                            a change
                            coming
                            a moment
                            my body
                            sometimes
                            never 

                            always

Rob Schackne #838 - "So I grab another tinnie"

So I grab another tinnie
out of the fridge, glorious
in the infernal heat, recall
dancing in front of the cold
when naked and five years old
shaking it like I was free, now
I sit back on the porch and a bird
(ibis, egret or crane) flies away
there's just an imaginary sigh
I turn up the music on my laptop
Lucinda Williams and old blues
the hot and the cool, ice wrapped
my friends freezing in China
all want to send me ice cubes
(apologies to friends in winter)
but this is an ordinary day
please be gentle, today I found
a way to make satay sauce
with peanut butter, and a way
to make poetry last all summer

Thirty Summers #132 Claine Keily

I brave the dirty cave to show up and give my love, to be there to say, " This is all that matters."

And the animal waiting and dark, but towards me only wanting my presence while the afternoon rain hammers every leaf around us.

High above us a man who knows he falls short does what he can, shines lights suited to hunting into rooms below him to rob women of their sleep. I plant blindfolds covered in cherry coloured flowers over my face and sleep with my hands embedded in the warm fur of those who love me. Then I forget his noise and his blackened plans.

Kit Kelen #1093 - dawns upon me

1093

dawns upon me

bellowing thing

bright spoken first

webs now shine

with the work

who's that singing?

leaflit to turn

day has a mind

of music too

a centre is the thing

that's edged

lit in

and now let out

otherworldly we were

as from the mirror come

bird into it now

night's scuttle come still

you can see

why the questions

who points at everything?

who paints it all?

the answer is no one

no one at all

makes the blue

and rain to fall

feel it on the skin

not touch

but truth

of where we are

dawns on me

the bones are mine

rattle a tune

of words then

in this kingdom

under construction

no one reigns long

no one rules at all

yet the work is signed

there is always a riddle so struck

dawns on me

it's I'm here now

no clock has ever come so far

heart open to all hours

Clark Gormley #75 Occupy George St

Light rail has occupied George St, completely blocking vehicular movement in both directions.  The protest, which is now into its fifth month, has been causing havoc to traffic flow in Sydney’s CBD.

The group claims to be protesting against social and economic inequality, greed, corruption and the undue influence of corporations on government.  They aim to achieve their objectives through direct action.  A spokesperson for the group said “In our case, we achieve direct action by physically impeding cars. What could be more direct than that?  Not only that, at the same time we are building vital public transport infrastructure.”

However critics have pointed out that the movement, calling itself CBD and South East Light Rail, is in fact privately owned by a conglomerate of foreign investors.  Furthermore, they have unearthed documents implicating that ‘the project’ is in fact backed by the incumbent state government.

When asked to explain, CBD and South East Light Rail provided the following statement:-

“Around here, radical activism is ineffective without state approval, kickbacks, call it what you will”.

Rob Schackne #837 - Senryu (11)

You sprayed for pay
crop dusted my little heart
the rash has cleared up

(police want to have a word
about what you left behind)

unnunmbered

he attempts a senryu
clueless, no concept
how to connect the parts

Kit Kelen #1091 - in among the days of it

1092

in among the days of it

webbed in the paths of timber

wind fallen

moonless till the morning

wrapped unwrapped returned redeemed

an infinite number of days until

love in our laps and spread

struck with a so sudden star

   gift-wise

in all these nothing Sundays, months

still sugar-hit

still soaked

Christmas is always elsewhere minded

dream snow

and pray for a breeze

I hear them

summer – vast acreage of song

let's altogether in our rounds

so many larded deaths to line

as tar of the boiling road expand

we

filled with the spirit

if faithless

still float

NOTICE TO ALL

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Please do not post
- old work (and particularly work already published elsewhere, although new revisions are acceptable)
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orright!!!??!!

Tug Dumbly # 71 - Tankman

Tankman*

They finally found him –

that anonymous guy

who faced down a line of tanks

in Tiananmen square

that day in 1989

in that shot

that stopped the world

in its tracks

and seared the Globe

like a soldering iron     

to the eye

and made you chew your lip

like jerky

at what actual courage

looked like –

just a skinny crazy guy  

so way out and alone

and far beyond mercy

poking a beautiful brave

blood flower down the barrel

of old Mao’s faceless metal beast.

Yeah, Tankman!

They found him!

And now he’s found an agent

and done Oprah

and ghostwrote a bestseller

and they’re making the film

with Jackie Chan

and he’s putting his name

to a Revolutionary Clothing Brand

with a cute little tank logo, and …

         

… and it’s nice he didn’t die.

But I dunno, maybe some things

are best left to the imagination

where they’re free to live bigger, richer lives.  

Like, I never want to know

who Jack the Ripper ‘really’ was.

Would be happier if the Titanic

had been left to lie

undiscovered, encrusting mystery

in the depths of mind.

I mean good luck to Tankman

plucked from obscurity like he was  

from flipping eggs in that Shandong Diner.

He’s big now, a ‘brand ambassador’.

Only careful what you wish for.

We wanted him and now he’s here –     

moved on from that old massacre

to doing ads for Tourism China.

* This poem appears in my debut poetry book, Son Songs, just out through Flying Islands Press. If you're interested in getting a copy, please email me at tugdumbly@gmail.com, or message me through Facebook. Thanks!

Michele Elliot #37 Skylines 6 (after Lizz Murphy Poem 379)

I tell the moon the time is now

she rises in magnificent silence

I ask the tree for shelter

in her green shawl

Rob Schackne #836 - "Summer is"

                        

                                                  (pace Leigh Jordan)
    
                Summer is
                a bit of rusty wire
                on hot gravel
                waiting for some rain
                a pebble spun from a car wheel
                that lands nearby
                wonders what it's for
                what's all the fuss
                the crew just
                says wait for the wind
                we are rusted in greyscale
                and ready to snap

Tug Dumbly # 70 - Who Put the Mock in Democracy?

Who Put the Mock in Democracy?*

Classless my arse.

Body is class entirely.

The beach a leveller?

Well it is. Just depends

who’s levelling.

The hierarchy military,

flesh ranked sharp  

as a hammer smashed thumb

a crashing inner parade

of fascist boobs and abs,           

flashing meat medallions

of bella donna beach bitch

polarized Il Duce.

          

Washboards versus Beachballs.

Some hang it out

others squeeze it in

like accordions

wheezing on the sand.

Ain’t it grand?

Our great egalitarian skyte

a seagull gargling

at a bone white sky:

GAAAAARRR!

But topography down it’s a lip-serve lie.

The beauty spot’s gone carco,

a crazy traverse of stretch-mark scars  

trench lines barb-wired by birth,

backs to crossbows bent,

burnt and striped as the English flag.

Ah, it’s not so bad.

Beyond the gym’s panel beater

bomby cars park beside lamb bikinis   

puff-pastry picnics next to body shop buffets,

maybe swap a pleasantry  

over the scenery, the cricket.

Still, everyone knows the score, hey?

We slap like pavlovas into waves.

They shoot the boogie board ballet.

At heart you don’t give a stitch,

but skin deep still curse

that genetic bitch

and walnut finished son, gliding down

the burning white carpet of the beach,

oiled and glistening as machine guns.

* This poem appears in my debut poetry book, Son Songs, just out through Flying Islands Press. If you're interested in getting a copy, please email me at tugdumbly@gmail.com, or message me through Facebook. Thanks!

Kit Kelen #1091 - the secrets and the treasures

1091

the secrets and the treasures

days have chased us here

it's not that we were looking

things meaning

for the hands passed through

time it was when

we each were unwrapped

under such a tree

dearly beloved

we are gathered in dust

like the idea surviving

the groundless belief

truth in such hearts

the year unwound

and years

because we lived the wish to be

everything lit is already known

it's we who are in the dream

nothing fits

each is of its kind

take cliff

or pool

dinner table

each finds a self

sometimes a mere succession of us

brilliant fizzle

then try a little further back

knock on the past of this door

here where Christmas was

back in the box

breeze to guess south

fills our televised sails

and find another continent yet

the house

for a running down clock

you trip over

try to remember

back into

notes to carry a tune

start down

swim the tears

train is a tunnel's yellowing end

daylight will find us consumed

deeper then the ache till love

this is how memory will be

ghosts of the living still sing

everything is already known

weep for the past

that it is passing

as we ourselves soon will be