Tuesday, July 31, 2018

Clark Gormley #1 Print media

judging by the errors
in the newspaper
the subeditors
are as stretched
as the elastic
in my old underpants
calling into question
their ability to cover
the important matters

Kit Kelen #943 - to be secular

to be secular

I want to not believe in your God
so fanciful – how hard can it be?

that goes for your angels and prophets,
your devil – come as a job lot I believe

made everything your God
and he still blames you and me

audacity! what a beard, this one
He got such great discussions going

just by being the One
because he don't like competition

He was once mine, I believe
but somebody must have got over it

I know that you don't believe in Him either
but it's your God I want to not believe

in whom there is the art of heaven
comes with a lot of mumbo jumbo

though one must admit well said
I don't want to believe in the lot

those tablets, taboos, wacky commandments
none of those arbitrary ancient laws

the sexist stuff, the racist, murder-the-kids
because I said, then there's the ethnic cleansing

I want to not believe the whole book
though there are some beautiful bits

I'd like to argue with a rabbi
but will there be one to argue with me?

I want to not believe in your fluff
and – strike me dead –

I don't believe that this cloud collection
ever tossed a bolt about

was even a single word said

Monday, July 30, 2018

Kerri Shying R # 489 rubbed along the skin enough to bring

was it  red blood   that  called out Mars so close
or how my mother said     the scent    of
lemon verbena    loud enough to drown out
battlefields      mosquitos       the sound of
crying girls     one crushed leaf

rubbed along the skin  enough to bring

an army   sniffing round the yard   shields
round as wheels   dumped in piles under the gums  
Dad yelling out      get off out
the squeak of the screen door    while
the wall    got blood smears     for the pain

Kit Kelen #942 - everyone was God once

everyone was God once 

no names then
you just had to see
and it would all be

could make what you liked
tell whoever would listen
or no one at all

it was an everyday here-we-are making
a very reasonable thing

everyone was God once
that was before all the trouble it caused

no names
it was we ourselves resounded

you didn't have to believe in breakfast
it was a frugal time we all had

everyone began making gods
and saying they'd always been
would forever

some of them looked just like me
just like you

there was listening at the door
but never heard the upstairs trample

we were named naming to begin
avatars of inkling fallen
no trouble at all
and time behind us, time ahead

everyone was God once
that's a story to tell
I make up all my own material

it's good to be God
in the poem
he said

you'll just have to
take that for gospel

Sunday, July 29, 2018

Kristen de Kline #217 That was it.

At the door
where the dead men

her breath

the vagrant pineapple
hit the wedding picture

it toppled downwards
onto the sheepskin rug

she said something
none of us could decipher

That was it.

After three days
you all slept

I sat beside her
listening to her breathing

I could still feel
her lips on mine

you told me it was impossible
she had passed a day before

I watched her blow smoke
rings - her breath, laboured

Was this it.

The air was thick
under both my eyes

you said: it looks like
a bad mascara job

we took some laughing gas
returned to Faggot's Landing

you held my hand in yours
kissed the nape of my neck

then the ward
went very quiet

the duty nurse said:
you must get some rest

Gloria Gaynor was belting
out: I will survive

That was it.

Rob Schackne #719 - "let me bring"

                   let me bring
                   to the party
                   with music

                   hear it again
                   all that was
                   sucked away
                   soak all this

                   let me bring
                   the damned
                   the drowned
                   the wet babies
                   hear it again
                   let's hear it for
                   all tomorrows

Kit Kelen #941 - Cy Twombly (ekphrastic)

Cy Twombly
instructions after the event

scratch at
tall stairs
in a storm of roses

soundtrack untitled
seems all left hand
I am climbed

cake is candle
scribble spare for
pour like a fountain

flow spill sign
fall through
funnel to map

pay no attention where
by means of stray inclusion
not a moment's rest

keep loose
scatter snippet
line must be from somewhere

symmetry would kill
something solid may be beaten flat
there will always be children for laughter

world merely of objects afloat
no light stopped
this is a sky full of boats

and gone
fare over the edge
here borrow my frenzy a bit 

Kerri Shying R # 488 - plastered in the sky you blood red moon

eating the soused plums from the ume shu
in bed  licking the science from my wrist
thinking  roasted pepitas   spicy  for the soup  
         who    perfected   directed   that 
 I woke early   looking for my awe hit 

 plastered in the sky    you   blood red moon

hiding tidy  in the cloudbanks    there goes
my weekend           nothing’s mystic
unless I see it         please don’t explain 
my dreams today     how the coffee bean goes
from green        to    what it means to me

Rob Schackne #718 - "Sitting in"

Sitting in
the tropical hills
watching a peewee
the afterlife
follows life
in this one
or what
precedes it
much of a muchness
if you
haven’t been
or if you have
much of a

Saturday, July 28, 2018

Kit Kelen #940 - victims of instinct

victims of instinct

cosy up with to be more
and do the inside out illusion
love to be loved
and that's a song
sometimes we go upside down
top to tail in out
or round the tree
believe me
and I know you do
it's just this once I cannot lie
here hold this while I come for you
and sing so no one else can see
it's deep in the eyes we love
skip with it step sprung
led by the moon
by the nose
by the way
I am a crocodile sometimes
moat my whim
and dress the part
often begins with conversation
and must be only half at bay
you'll get a glisten after – love that
though there could be grumble up to
or even a cat attacks
once swan swam or rather glide
and all anticipation
that's when walk on air
dream dark in the belly
till rub tug – rude enough for you?
have we the skills, the nous?
you always come to me as a question
and you can call me tiger, do it
when any word would break the spell
faster, slower, further, less
you wouldn't think a body could
but then a body's done it
how much of each does other know?
the heart is listening here for us
and sometimes waits as well
we call out heart to heart all soulful
have a mind to it
you'll lose your head
and you could give
call deed and it can come with title
there are vast estates in skin
peasants have suffered from
and sometimes they have overcome
indelicate these manners
set to sea hammock
slow motion in whale
elephant so
out of the bath
sometimes weakness overcomes
it only helps me to be creature
hello you
well oiled machine
and beautiful music
we cannot keep
pitter patter
snug in sack
with steady rain
and in another skin altogether
I have instincts
of the victim
cringe when
out of the egg
all leap

Friday, July 27, 2018

Rob Schackne #717 - "As unlikely"

As unlikely
as I will
stay up
till 3:00am
to watch
lunar eclipse
is alien life
on Mars
in an old lake
so too bad

and well
not guitars

Kit Kelen #939 - my father (who art in heaven if you like)

my father
(who art in heaven if you like)

Houdini he
managed a complete escape
chased a ball around the world
and almost home again
not quite

he escaped all kinds of things
words stick for years
but he got free

he ran out of his own head
he got away from words
found words

he actually escaped from himself
you can give one away you know

a country
a language
a tribe
a class

vast estates he was freed of
so much history he shook off

my father forgot
who he had to be
he was like Jesus
and did it for me

and he forgot to tell me too
he remembered to forget 

comes to me in dreams 
he tells me all kinds of stories 

in heaven if you like 
there's an art to being there

Ken Trimble # 48 No ones perfect

The older I get the less I know
when I was young it was the sixties
and I ingested all the rage and wildness and
all the fuck you I could muster.

My old man would say
wait till you get to forty,
well I've passed that, and I'm
older than him now.

I'd argue just because I could,
if the sun was up I'd say its night .

Then that security blanket
called family dies or disintegrates .

Your on your own and you know
this world ain't no Disneyland

though some think life is one
big cartoon.

I don't know what it takes
to be human, I mean is it to
live as long as possible,

have a nice job, house, wife,
kids and car, is it playing by
some rule that some other
prick made up just so you
don't ruffle their feathers.

This stuff doesn't define me,
writing, its a tiny part of
who I am but who cares
to listen.

Nobody's perfect,
everyone suffers,
rich and poor,
the powerful and the weak.

Have you ever listened
to ordinary, its not so

Washing dishes is ordinary
and it gets your hands clean
at the same time.

Compassion is listening
to the suffering being
part of it.

Someone said when asked
about life do you only choose
the good bits.

The answer came back, no
I want the lot with my hamburger,
every fucking thing,
the wars, the horrors, the sex,
the holy, the Gods , the laughter,
the sadness, the pain and the joy.
I want it all.

Rob Schackne #716 - Bush stone-curlew

Bush stone-curlew

                       for Jenny Thorley

the weelo
the chicks
to freeze
in long grass
do not move
till we come
back for you
you’re never lost
but wails
and keens
and wanders
the streets
in mourning
for the first man
a scream-fest
a full moon
eclipse tonight
not carpe diem
or harbinger of death
(couldn’t care less)
but are dead
and wish to be alive

Kerri Shying R # 487 - it's been put out to be taken

some things   turn out to be  the opposite of
lightning strikes    that day you got the moon
for me   wrestling the white iron seat
into the back of your small car   you said
are you sure

it’s been put out to be taken

I said yes   but you    ready to knock
in case we were just stealing    arranged it
 in the front yard    talked about cushions
 I see the world    that wide disc   
watching over me     for free

Ken Trimble #47 Passages

In the mirror you see your face
but you are not there
You have gone way past sixty
inside the child still cries
You watch a film on the screen
that has already passed
You attended to her grave
she has already gone
You watch the closing night
It's already light.

Thursday, July 26, 2018

Kristen de Kline #216 Another vagrant pineapple

another vagrant pineapple
sits on the retro coffee table

you gave it to me
as a birthday gift

but I can't tell him that
some bits of information

have to be edited out
what we think we know

melts like all that is solid
I'm onto the third wine

buried under Home and Away 
his outbursts evaporate

your one from the Sunshine Coast
that plastic Big Pineapple

it sat on your wooden bar
adjacent to the beer bottle collection

we all wanted it when you died
was it seventies nostalgia

or a piece of you
the green leaves faded

to an off-white lime
and the brittle yellow shell

bruised with minor dints
from being thrown across the living room

that was all we talked about
when you died

that bloody pineapple

Kerri Shying R # 486 - kicking out her legs in need

three pair of my pajamas   hung to dry 
I’m bored with wet pants   back to wearing
nappies   good mother  to my child
within   now she is shown
to be   alive    still

kicking out her legs   in need

exhausted    by surveillance    the mast cells
known by name   seeing  the Professor
more often than  my Mum   we chart
the good  we note the rest    watch
while  I dampen in the dusk

Kit Kelen #938 - putsch


begins in a beer hall
but it was always there
drunk idea
fire a shot into the ceiling

nobody leaves
it's all on

begins with grudge
or disillusion
quickly come to vermin
to face of the earth
never goes well
this kind of thing

a lullaby hush
and you're gone

to make pure
to settle a thing
once and for all
get dizzy with it
never goes well
take drugs

dream it
all the thousand years

become a victim
you'll need big boots
a good grievance
then operatic
always a sound track
can involve old gods

they come for me
just an idea
then haven't a home to go
minor chords
and dischords

I'm a book to burn

technical knowhow
follow a rule
stabbed in the back
sold down the river

it comes again
so drunk no one
remembers the place

digging this sky out once more
comes as a master
ashen and gold
till death delighting
all agree or else

this our forever misfortune
until forget again

all to burn
a lullaby hush
and you're gone

Wednesday, July 25, 2018

Kit Kelen #937 - the keys

the keys

to houses long gone
are passed on from parents to children
as if there were a hope of return

when there never was a country
and now that country is gone

half a century more
since the bulldozers
since thieves took the whole quarter
the village, the suburb, the town

and they have better bulldozers now

can we ever come back?
return to the land?

here are the keys for another world
to where time stood

you have to imagine the doors
and the dinner, the children, the telling
the truth of who we are

which key for which door?
who will remember?

there never was any water here
but we could always find it

always like this
a stoop in the still
then the big desert winds

village swept off
town over town
a city then empires
each from another's dust

and the key to the house
to the country, the heart

can't remember if I turned off the stove
can't remember if the door was locked
that's what the key is for

their houses
their country
their hearts
their keys

a pile of rust
in our hands

the past will always return to you here
that is the curse of the place

Kerri Shying R #485 - all heaven upside down

We’re waiting for the rain waiting    for the
fat  washed dock cranes
to run with silver

all heaven  upside down

the river
forms up roads
tidal  running in from suburbs
hurtle   with the full moon and the king tide
meet  up   point a finger   dirt brown  far out into  sea

Kristen de Kline # 215 So many dreams (thanks Rob.S)

So many dreams
land with a thud
in the safe house
where I woke up
we speak in tongues
I lose my mind
outside the waves
crash hard
break against
the sea wall
what am I trying to say
you order a third Margarita
trace the salt on the glass
so many dreams
another Margarita
what was I thinking

James Walton #107 Blow your trumpet, Gabriel

The wind here peels skin
hones out the truth
birds stall in the veracity of physics

dogs smile after farting
knowing the full irony
of a mad obligation

last night I dreamed
of the mounted police charge
that long leap at Olympic Park

the final tide of conservatism
washed away we thought
leaving the river turned out
stench of mud howling condoms
dried out take aways

look to the south west

where the clouds churn for hail
prepare to scrape calcium
make cheek bones of panther

the unbroken gather there
an exhibition curated
by a jigsaw of lives

survivors of age and penury

and the small people
flecked at by society’s tail
smile at what they can

Government should fear us
not the fleeing immigrant

one day a gentler hand
may arrange the pieces
patch the dreamy enamels

float the bottle into each House
rub the sides in new earnest
whisper a downpour of votes

if you stand into the gale
all it takes is breath

Ken Trimble # 47 The Hope trilogy part two

There was a secret in this man's life that gave him a brooding look, somewhere he got lost. Hope thought of the first time he won at gambling and the rush it gave him. The noise inside that windowless mausoleum reminded him of a dementia unit at dinnertime as people laughed, cried, screamed and died all for a game of dice.  Strung out zombies in the big kahuna. Before this there was no gambling, he was safe, and because of that, there wasn't a need. It started when life got unsafe, that's when he decided to take risks.  He got swallowed by the whale and tried to savage his way out, and all around him were the fallen angels of Shanghai.  You lose your soul and buy a ticket to hell. Your life becomes a shotgun breakfast. Hope remembered his friend who told him, junkies never take holidays. Why he'd sell his own mother for one last crack at the prize.  He wondered why the Casino had no prayer room because he saw people on their knees begging for a win . It was the full catastrophe as the clock chased midnight. Outside the young were making out by the Yarra and the river was alive with serpent rainbows from a greater God. Inside Hope sat numb, losing it all, detached like a Buddha, and all around was this terrific noise. 

Tuesday, July 24, 2018

Rob Schackne #715 - "And sure I"


                       And sure I
                       never knew

                       he said one night
                       it was even there
                       like a dentist
                       in a bad part of town
                       the dirty side
                       of enlightenment
                       where the bacteria
                       hungry maggots
                       and rats race out
                       to clean the mind

                       a good point
                       this lawless land
                       but first I want
                       another beer

Ken Trimble #46 The Hope trilogy part one

Hope didn't want want religion, philosophy, a car, a house, wife with three kids and dog.  He didn't want a good job, position or respect. He didn't want work full stop. He didn't want honourable things, he wanted a woman. Anyone to lay down with, brunette, redhead, blonde, it didn't matter if she was a beauty or not, he just wanted to talk, to touch, to fuck in anyway he could. He would haunt those streets of hamburgers and cigarettes with its multi-use layered cakes of Italian, Greek, Australian, Slav, Maltese world of rambling good nights and hellos. He wanted nakedness. Wanted a woman. Love paid up without sentiment. Love without love. Love without suffering. He wanted love anonymous, he didn't want names, histories, songs, and poems. He wanted to walk through the darkness having women when and where he wanted. No attachment, he just wanted to feel alive. The streets walked crows and gropes as the night blasted out moaning from some cheap burger joint between the smack and coke. Down the road dust rose like an angel greeting him as the sun rose over the apartments. Above him glowed a clear blue light.

Kit Kelen #936 - Job rules OK? or lovely to be chosen

Job rules, OK?
lovely to be chosen

(notes for a children's picture book)

why some may have wanted out of this deal

plagues of warts, spots, hives
then aches and bones break
all inside on fire
till at death's door
and you think it can't get any worse?

well then
a funny thing happened

I was tortured
I was gassed
I was burnt at the stake
garotted, drawn, quartered
had my dick set alight
stuffed down my throat
had my head chopped off
throat slit
sometimes simply choked
(much effort but cost effective)
more often I was hanged
(rope still good)
or there were bullets in the back
(one to the neck does the trick)
some slow convulsions for an end
when I was not quite dead

and let's not forget I was betrayed
informed on, reported, turned in
a certain amount of spittle
if you've the means of wiping away

a church bell struck
or some sun rose
and there was an end of me

threw me in a pit to rot
I'd given up the ghost by then

do you think that would stop them?

lethal injection
beaten to death

always new technologies, fads

skinned alive
they tried me without blood
then without organs
then no skin
flogged me within an inch of life
(but on the other side)

they buried me alive sometimes
just to see how long I could last

never say martyred
it was just bad luck
divine inscrutable will

they made me a cannibal the once

I tried out for every new lethal disease

and all this while
time stood with
the miracle was me

still here
hardly know who I am

or what to call myself

you've got to laugh
or cry

but softly, softly
that's a good tribe

trust me, friends
you could be next

curse God and die
that's some advice
how's that going for you?

Kerri Shying R # 484 - things they glow just to be seen again

we cut the long jute threads   eventually  the green beans 
 fell out   into our hands  not a wisp of smell 
 so far from coffee   as it sat inside the  pink  60’s
 canister     you said    how life has grown
 so calm  the place is shining 

     things   they glow     just to be seen again

free from time spent weeping
below the porch boards    in the clock
where all the keys  were set to live
no matter  where the lock   that fit
sat     waiting to be turned

Ken Trimble #45 Night of Shiva

Lost in the bardo
between existence
and extinction
I kept remembering
back to school days
of that lost and lonely
childhood mumbling
many amends along
the way.

Clouds of obscurity
cover me like a veil
between sky and earth.

Wild dreams come with monks
performing rituals-
I am beckoned to the altar
surrounded by a bunch
of Whitely Streiber freaks.

I'm surrounded  by water
and as I bend down before
Rinpoche he gives me a new
name Samdup Djore
becoming the fulfilment
of one's wishes,
a lighting bolt of wonder,

and at that moment I saw
a double rainbow over
hills and I thought,
wow, who needs drugs.

Strange moments haunt
me watching the holy mountain
of Arunachala as it

turns to fire and there a thousand
bodies prostrate to Shiva
as I stand watching my apocalypse
now .

A woman rushed towards me,
her eyes wide and deep as
a black moon falling, twisting
and screaming to the ground
collapsing exhausted by her

The night of circumambulation
begins as the seething mass
are joined by the spiritual
madness of humanity's cauldron
chanting songs to God.

And just then I felt I was going
to fall, and as I was about to,
I felt a hand grab mine, looking
at this strange figure,
I realised it was my own fallen

Monday, July 23, 2018

Rob Schackne #714 - "Almost voted"

Almost voted
for a pubic hair
when I was sixty-four
then I wiped my face
and found that it was yours
no curl could ever run for office
or set loud agendas on TV

I stayed in
I swept the floor 
of what went before
how silent are the good old days
now that you still love me