Tuesday, June 19, 2018

Kit Kelen #901 - honour all spirits


on Day 901
honour all spirits
of this kingdom said

trudge and be muddied top of the block
make inventory of every thing dreamt
of all the structures taken to night
never were woken to be

cloud me principalities of light
of hop and skip and

honour the ones who were before
because that's how we're here

track dried in caked out wheel-went

the crown, the staff are laid aside

fresh still with the winter
now finding sun
caught kindling fallen

in a tiny house
for couch
eyes on the greatest tree
neighbour of mine
salute the hundred years or so
of you

not counting
hoping

bear breeze among the lain-down skies

honour the still standing
the stood

sun perfect
like tea of an afternoon

mulberry sittings
for the kookaburra tribe
you can still say their name
though it's winter for the fauna
so many near to gone

honour them by name
the wordless
who call to us
but cannot come

bury the book with everything written

and Biscuit pays a visit
the dog come as old as time

the solar chinwag
in failing dim

herbs gather me for dinner then
and light let all where we will
till fire
and hearth along
sung so
to sneeze at

honour the ones
who have fished in the mirror
seen themselves in fire

honour the ones
found word to here

unsigned
on the table
an abdication
lies

I come to it in time

Monday, June 18, 2018

Rob Schackne #678 - The Fisherman (redux)



      The Fisherman


    Fish for bait, or the other
    the eyes tell it deep or shallow
    knowledge, such as it is, hard-won
    the day begins with diesel smell
    and rags, I read luck with hope
    sixty years and never read a book
    writing a thousand poems in my head
    it’s early morning on the river, very still
    I put on a clean shirt and start the motor.



     Photo: Ray Devlin (2008)

We don't need no stinking white knight

The power of luggage

We are the strong and the vunerable. 
We trust we get betrayed we get hurt. 

We are the brave and the fearful. 
We stick our necks out we get whammed. 

Much as we fear the pain we will do it again as the loss of self in hiding is more than we are willing to suffer. 

We have baggage sometimes its heavier than others. 

We seek not the white knight who will charge up, slash away our baggage (along with probably some skin) swing us up on the back of their white horse and gallop off into the sunset. 
Because the sun will rise on another day and you cannot ride on forever. 

We don't want a damn porter to follow behind and carry our baggage. 
We will leave you behind blithely encumbrance free having learnt nothing.

We want someone to walk with us, own baggage exposed. 
Someone to cheer us on. Hold our hands when our fingers get numb from picking at the knots. 
To hold us gently and wipe away the tears when the pain is too much. 
And be there to help us up when the weight of it brings us to our knees, steady us, and start us forward again. 

Then my darling let us do the same for you. 
One may travel faster when you travel alone. 
But those that travel together will travel further. 

Kit Kelen #900 - in a wilderness corner


900
in a wilderness corner


keeps like a question
where no self is said

where the moon was set
where fell some sleeping star

winter is
no hand by it

all muted for a first sun webbed

and paws under
was once a world
now an edge

let's
not
go
there

*

pink of
like a rising or set
it's never everyone sleeping

here are the ones you haven't met

some settled, lie in wait
and you could prime yourself
alight
set to
about

it all works up to a silence
never lasts for long

*

some little wings
come out of it

you listen for the gods are in

far as I am
all accidents too

every other planet's like that
how otherwise?
but breathless bare

there isn't a picture I can show
best thing about the place is
I'm
not
there

*

in a wilderness corner

hear trickle towards
the claws that catch
no moral to

gods are listening in
they flew
that's where we won't know

no tune
though we imagine past

even in my own last acre
that's an age before

some star fell sleeping over us

when I am ash
I am not

*

the cenotaph lives
you won't find yourself

it's here the unknown
about their business
sacred this far

now then to light

turn to stone
torn apart

it's all you can do to imagine

*

and some fell sleeping here
ill starred
but that's the way

no graph chart could predict

you won't know the creatures there
isn't a market at all

some fell star slept through
all exploding
does nothing here but burn

*

in a wilderness corner
won't find me

creep sun

secret to itself unworded
where did this go that?

like a draft
for instance moss much
instance rain

I have one of these in mind
and out of it at times

in the body also
likewise there's between
this unshorn idea

wrestle for it
tickle too

we won for ourselves
for our flag

a wilderness of wishes

none of this requires belief
or presence, absence, definition
but just because you're picturing

*

we won't be understood

amorphous stream, inchoate

are you with me?
let's not be seen

in conversation
such a place
and taken the wrong way

rain's let
and no machine shouts

in a poem could be prose

often I've come close to it

best thing about it all though is
we're
never
there

*

and they will be as smoke through the trees
the neighbours -- feats of engineering

breath yet
that we know of

steam rises from

vanish at that point your closest

(plus ultra white pirate
whore me a world)

look up
and if you look away
you can see more clearly

this is my business here

still roaring of the not-got-away truck

and here's the pipe and tail
all followed in a train
of mists and lovely in tress vestige
gossamer cling
diaphanous to be

and someone is singing
someone is dancing
it isn't me
and it isn't you
it isn't us
in there