Wednesday, July 31, 2019

Frances Carleton #55 - Fifty-five

She stands statuesque
all six foot eight
seven inch black patent
silver latex
from ankle to wrist to neck
tiny corseted waist

Black bob wisps in spring breeze
catching in crows feet
on laughing ruby lips
Sydney heat and company
highlight elegance and poise
out of time and place

He say: you look amazing

A shimmy and glide of the crimson manicure
accompanies a Bristol baritone:

Rubber 55, I’m smoove all over

Kit Kelen #1308 - adventure in feathers

adventure in feathers

and overcast, no matter

well into the morning
when this swamp hen
takes to the roof
one is tempted to think
because it is there

what use a roof to almost flightless?
 pond traipser –
the white-arsed swampy Jesus of birds

one wonders if the tribe will follow
but no, a solo show

they haven’t much of a tune
but you could always hear them
issues of territory, love quarrels

now a clatter too

at least this one is
who holds the roof
for decoration

and from there
gets up in the touching tree
half flutter
could say climbing

precarious to perch
its moment swaying

nothing like a thunderbolt
it glides
to pond

at least to me

Jeffree Michael #95 Streets like ours

In the middle of your palm
you can read or hear
by chance a little scene
radio light comes on
actors like us

this morning's shock jock
spews snafu into the air
the kids on the street
roll someone just because
therein Instagram lies

home alone
you don't wanna know
the planets align sometimes
there's no rhyme or season
same for everyone always been

in the water
a giant dream hallucination
that uncle Jim Carrey stars in
the streets from here
all look the same

when the rain falls
mainly on the plain
someone else begins a journey
perhaps we'll meet in the fields
underneath clouds or down a drain

whether or not
one really cares
somethings in the air
it's time to change your shoes
or else you think them yours

Tuesday, July 30, 2019

Frances Carleton #54 - city park

lush grass
under 35 degrees
oak offers
cover of darkness –
sleepy working girl


Kerri Shying R # 649 - Another BoM whore

Another BoM whore

watch the weather on the BoM
one eye on the window

my rain is your rain
and are you warm

or sitting drippin
in the blame  hey Barnaby

can't run life on a
a quarter-mill

what the
is wrong with   you

Kit Kelen #1307 - pile burning

pile burning
(midwinter thing)

little sun we make
to chase around
and backs to
can revolve

could chase a fire like that all day

better to start with dusk
clocks gone home

hard to know what to let
no hard edges here
but that the day runs out

stand smoke aside
and mainly just be watchful
breeze attentive
have a bucket for the symbol

you don’t want this in summer
don’t want the fuel around

the pile gets going
you think
what can we add?
what has to go?

stars fall
and stars spin up
(other poems are full of them ­–
throw old poems on)

it falls in on itself
needs feeding

we find a leant-up
decaying door

I suspect original
the 1948 door
through which cows must have come

a little ragged round the edges
but the fire was hot
we threw it on

that door was a way in
we burnt it
now it’s gone  

Monday, July 29, 2019

Frances Carleton #53 - bound

head to quivering toe
he lays
waiting for the bite -
I fixed the leading pipe


Kit Kelen #1306 - everyone is Jesus - a little comedy for godsbother

everyone is Jesus
a little comedy
for gosbother

if you were to write the books
of what everyone did
the world would still spin on after
as if we’d never been

and so revolves a sun
in the end kind of explodes
takes us with it
that’s not the end at all

so all stars
and further still who knows?

survival of my greatest lines
is really a species thing

stand out
a clear night
anyone sees
it is in fact all about me

there are gospels
of getting the story straight
pretending a truth at a time

as if a new tune had always been

rise bread from the dead
call it spring, summer

sit on your egg
tread water
turn it to vines
and to wine

pass it on
be blessed
cast first stone

it’s safer to think a rock is a bear
than other way around

and you can cure yourself of a book

the lovely dust is stirring still
gods are in all things
god is

see how glory shines around
nothing logical in this

there’s putting the martyr into stigmata
gives the whole thing feeling

you can be word
in the beginning
just as in our father’s art

everyone is Jesus
all wonders we are
and miracle to be

here’s sun for a top deity
and all pray for rain
then put on this wolf in sheep
go on
be righteous

who hasn’t eaten the children
just once?

stiff-necked lot
and where’s my footstool scapegoat?

fists and fear
an empire grows
out of the old excuses

miracle oxygen
ideas run round
gods in odd socks
we each of us are

and all this while
think big
give yourself a funny hat
mutter out things they won’t know

who hasn’t made a universe
thought ‘good job! lo and behold!
done it once…
I can probably do it again’

could be white beard
make a manna drop
gets them all praying
part seas
fuck pharaoh
don’t forget your tablets

everyone is Buddha too
sits like that on a grain of rice
and you might think forever
but it all bounces back

you could be Lao-Tzu
come to the border
riddle a way out of the kingdom
do it by the book

fifteen billion years
all expanding
pity the life of a fly if you like
I’m telling you
them’s the odds

there isn’t a single god you can’t be
some only ever cited once
in works no less obscure than this
here the lesson endeth:

stay in genre
know your place

best to go unnoticed
assume an unimportance
not mattering

Sunday, July 28, 2019

Frances Carleton #52 - Rocketman

Kit Kelen #1305 - living the dream

living the dream

poem in any number of idylls

here I am now
rushing which to which
so much to live

salute to each
direction, self

so brim
even dozing, wonders

‘lucky’ they say
and yes there’s this skin
class and school
there’s health

but paying attention too
living in the dairy bales
having rats run the rafters
hard graft
and so much longing
regret, neglect

nothing flew till
nearly there
nearly now

late afternoon
when fire’s to light
and place a clock for far

winter in the moonlessness
snakes are snoozing now
possessed of season

stars for a spin
in every direction
a rising
a set

mere word to welcome me
start at the centre
fan out
filings to a magnet

as anywhere
anyone is

I dreamt I wasn’t sleeping
dancing on the sea
it was a sort of trampoline
and you were there with me
agreed this kind of thing
can’t be sleep

how would that sound if… ?
cure myself of all sorts here

won’t you sit the silence, watch

no sign of mice
it’s dry
though dusty yet

afraid to be in all my choices

home and away

I, among my wonders
(mine and the given
the made, the unmeant)
as are not we all?

great heart you have to have for it

here’s time arriving
again and again

first birds all innocence
never rose before

here’s the garden in the wild
the forest in the words
the other worlds all wondering

wake to the old world sunshine
know all this is ours 

Jeffree Michael #94 Does it get better

we stare together
the chance to be here as one
look again clouds move

Saturday, July 27, 2019

Rob Schackne #975 - "Starálfur (2)"

Starálfur (2)

The staring elf 

at the foot of bed
sometimes leaves its post
I saw one this morning
across from park
cleaning rubbish
out of pot plants
asking (in general)
why people don't care
why they don’t see

the morning mist
was still thick
I said nothing
she thanked me
and walked on

Frances Carleton #51 - be kind

she passes
without looking up
entry fee paid
not present in this moment -
a father recently buried


Kit Kelen #1304 - home and ghost again

home and ghost again

this is the not-yet-here day
stop and consider

slowly slowly
catch myself

think a fire to feed

it’s dry
we wait to brim

take all the far for green then

and here’s where I don’t catch up with myself

in my own time zone
acres thereof

breakfast to be
and slept till

so many of me
and most loved, tin

a little shaky

ponds low

here’s the family feathered to  

a little dance of trees
some fruited
and some frost bit

now all the secret world is home
say cast about
say strewn

today’s the day
that I’m not here

smoke fills the valley
no signs take

so much to burn

this old world says
needn’t have

but here we are
among my wonders

so stretch
let sunshine in

and wondering
slowly slowly

ready now
catch myself
it is
I fall

Friday, July 26, 2019

Jeffree Michael #93 I wrote this for you

I wrote this for you
a story of love
mostly joy and balance of pain
I sang this to you
so we could be true
stronger and courageous

when we go away
there 's only the tune
our rhythms remain
echos and maps
we gaze the stars
and feel the land

Inside our hearts
we know the parts
revolve some away
to return and stay
we each remember
how to get home

Frances Carleton #50 - high road

she walks
high road in dreams
dog trots along
company always there -
wants to laugh with someone 


Kit Kelen #1303 - old play book (poem for Hong Kong)

old play book
(poem for Hong Kong)

remember this!

thugs show up from nowhere
but they were always here
there and everywhere

because the people rose

they were waiting for the signal
ours and among us

where are the police today?

could be anytime

they cart you off for what you believe
they call a bullet law

what does that sound like to you?
something like this has happened before

this is the city that will remember
these millions are just themselves

see them on the street to say

dress all the same today
it’s white shirt and chopper
(Yuen Long fashion)

someone stands up says

where do we empty out the words?

the ones making history won’t know it

and the mocking laughter comes
are they anyone’s brothers, sons?

the ones in the uniforms
the ones who improvise
buy a steel bar in the hardware store
flash mob, pop up anywhere

loyal to what they are told, to a dollar
they are the terror today

with cudgel, with chopper
we know the kind of world they wish

where are the police?
when will they come?

‘I have the right’ somebody says
‘I know what things are over the border
how they are’

will you know a fascism when it comes?
can you hear the hot breath of how it has been?

the monsters are out on the streets again
long leash they have
and feel so free
(does not require intelligence
but they feel their love is true)

could be anywhere now, tomorrow

the big monsters and the little
the ones who pay
those who are paid

and the people are out to be themselves
to simply say ‘it’s us
don’t forget’

the border is shrivelling up now
the border is almost gone

it is a ceremony ­– difference

do you know how this ends?

names in a book
summary justice
not justice at all

they cart you off for what you believe
they call a bullet law

we know how it is over there
there is no information

tyranny leads away from truth
from rights

how prosperous we’ve been
it was a cure for poverty
to smog the sky
beyond a breath
but everyone believed

so sad
so sad so wrong

we have been too many
now so small

the thugs are out again to say
‘don’t dare
don’t think this place is yours
or that you will decide’

how weary the world is with this story
and here we come
the monsters are out again

something sharp in the hand
they hospitalise
strike like a storm
where you won’t know

we know how things are handled here

will you be among those who stood?
or hide, like me, at home in words?

somewhere to otherside the world
in a future no one can foresee

I hear it
a murmur
they are adding to a long list of names
poor poor old Hong Kong

I remember how it ends
how the tanks roll over all who stand

stand up!
they are coming again

tribes of ‘don’t know’
brigades of forget
thugs who thrilled with the kill

here is the city that will remember
fly in the ointment
thorn in the inside

and go about your business

the point however is to change the world

do you think they’ll let it go this time?

it’s only a simple thing to wish
everyone fights to be free

and someone says
‘get real
politics is an art of the possible’

they cart you off for what you believe
they call a bullet law

will they leave flowers?
will you be among those who stood?

to save ourselves from dictatorship
this is everyone’s lifework

some take to the streets
some creep in a poem

whichever way you witness
protection from tyranny

the song says ‘stand up’
won’t you?
won’t we?

or is it just a song?

so sad
so sad
so wrong
poor, poor Hong Kong