Kit Kelen #1339 - I live in a country of boiling frogs

1339

I live in a country of boiling frogs

have you noticed how warm it’s getting?

thought not

land of, swamp, a pond was once

all on deckchairs sunning

around the world, this salt-rise

no good

it’s no good at all

can’t always hear the tide

time was a thing beating under the skin

ah lily pad, lotus

give me mosquitoes

nights by the pond almost dry

and some croak

‘where is the rain?’

but not all can remember

one old frog thinks

must have misplaced it

skin’s not as slimy as it once was

some say we should save ourselves

lots of frog laughter for that

I know how far I can throw my tongue

curve of the earth is nothing

we’re flat

I like a nice round sun

moon too

and all night singing

for love

but watch out!

snakes are fast too

and desert dry some

a big ugly toad loves warmer weather

some say coming for us too

but who knows?

we’ve not invented measurement

there’s no one here to trust

remember splash and frond leap?

back in the day, that was

hot under the collar

some say we could yet boil here

but they do nothing

nobody jumps

just because someone says

we live in a land of boiling frogs

one has to speak for them like this

can you see anything through this smoke?

imagine them, high up in towers

riding a graph

while everywhere a forest falls

and how did we get here?

unfair to them this picture is

frogs really aren’t much trouble

Rob Schackne #992 - A Poem to Billy Collins (for Lance Convey)

A Poem to Billy Collins

                                          for Lance Convey

If there was no poetry
there would be nothing
to write about, the world
would be so entangled
no witness to sameness
or beautiful difference
all points of wonder gone
my own days spent lost
and so too yours would be
music missing its colours
wind with no redeeming grace
the counsel of birds unheard

Jeffree Skewes #106 Don Coyote

Contrary to echoes 
the wolves never quite 
retreat, unlike the snowmen
pashers and cougars grow old







dignity albeit disheveled 
dimmed  and grey
our Don continued to rise 
early and rest late

each day to battle 
any path may lead astray
enamor Galicians
and the passion blows

every breath expropriated 
what amounts to a battle cry 
go on then take all these steps 
risk everything, dare, retreat





so to the mill and mules
Sancho at the very last  
second 
reaches out to catch 
our falling tree.

so tomorrow may come





image: The hand of Apollinaire (Apolony detail)  oil and acrylic paint on fabric / JMS 

Kit Kelen #1338 - the white van

1338

the white van

it was a rumour in the town to begin

you know how a rumour gets around

takes a while to get out to the blocks

the white van was there again yesterday

came into the driveway just a little

real enough

registered vehicle

though I didn’t catch the plates

not quite the kind kidnappers use on TV

relative of a sort

they were looking about, weren’t they?

or there might have only been one of them

I didn’t make out a face

leant out

had something in his hand

up near the gate

somehow threatening

nothing happened

but who knows what he was up to

you wouldn’t know these days

but well, I have my ideas

started as a rumour, yes

but I’m not the only one who’s seen it

everyone has

ice van some said

tales of girls boys ruined

plucked like flowers in their prime

left wilted

you see those blank faces all over town

you can only wonder

one worries one might be too quick to judge

cast the first stone and so on

but this van is real enough

right out of order

an innocent Captain Cook?

no, a reckie I reckon

evil flash

and then gone

drug courier maybe

or worse – Ivan Milat

the Belanglo van!

heathen thing

may lightning strike

probably full of bodies and bones

as I said, came by again yesterday

if a car could leer…

one of those foreign types

must have been yes checking us out

but we can put two and two together

so it was going to be us this time

lots of stuff missing

rakes and buckets, long handled brooms

all sorts of things we can’t find

thieving bastards!

the fifty bucks Liz lost

well now you know

shovels and ladders

(good for burying)

and I thought

next time next time

I’ll grab that bastard by the throat

then he’ll know what’s what

some have reported an evil laugh

foul exhaust

though that could be imagination

I am assuming it is a bloke

or more than one

probably a gang

I’m sure at the least there’d be an accomplice

it’s probably a terror plot

no bombs thrown yet

that’s to give a false sense…

they’ll give nothing away, of course

why would you give them the chance?

might have thought it would be a black van

you know like a black hat in a cowboy story

they’re cunning though

however they come it’s some kind of disguise

… just as long as you know

I don’t think it’s a country thing either

could happen anywhere

we just have to watch out

look out for our own

that’s all there is to it

be on your guard!

be aware!

I know these bastards

what they’re up to

think they can get away with

know the type

think they’re smart

that’s why this morning

when I saw the van coming again

I marched right up to the gate

to make a stand this time

yes they say ‘approach with caution’

and I had the mattock with me

casually slung of course

not to arouse…

he leant out of his window

smarmy, smug

crooked little leer he had

you wouldn’t know how to read it

you wouldn’t know what he was thinking

but

I’ll never forget that face

he held something flat

and oblong in his right mitt

kept the other paw on the wheel

for a quick getaway I bet

he held that thing out to me

as I came up

and then with a rapid hand movement

grabbed another something, thicker too

and then he just said

all innocent like butter wouldn’t melt

he said

‘mate, here’s your mail’

Kerri Shying R #560 fruit felons

fruit felons

oranges   lose at hide and seek

thick skins my arse

sure they can stay put

behind the cabinet   silent

weeks on end  the mongrels

betray themselves   sneaks

of smell  citrus and mildew

roll out  like a tram line

no-one wants

unstoppable

you can't find 

who to blame   how

to make

it stop

Rob Schackne #991 - "I love the luminosity"

I love the luminosity
she wrote, geometry
the quality of rust in
alien photographs
I sit back, blow hard

stretching canvas

the crystal building

a thousand stories tall
inside the small room
writing up a storm
a million dark poems
listen to the rain
outside the window
what more is there

why wouldn't I pray
for understanding

Kit Kelen #1337 - an improvisation

1337

an improvisation

for ataraxia

rough thing my garden

approximate

much as my mother’s

has its own distances

keeps no account

time is nothing to it

rough and all guess

full of birds my garden is

music of just who’s about

all alive here

even the dead

how spirited they come

and not at all

why thank you

we build in it

to show straight lines

so many moods there are

you may ask what I am thinking

whirligig at times

here are the bees

the other little wings

undaunted

having turned a world to be here

sun new very day

has all the years tended me

coming to be

how sad to be among the books

shaped by accidents of fire, of sky

the garden requires me

outside certain hours

I always need its help

through it to yoga

and the sun comes too

hesitating till a poem

could lead to breakfast

that is there as well

prowl and growl

won’t I eat them all alive?

lovely to be run out of words

so struck with the weather, stars

I do a little dance

it always does for me

and find the head

whose god it is in

one gives a life for that

though it overgrows me

I keep the garden always in mind

and sometimes at a jog

might rush the blood around

impatient still and seasons come

I practise at a stillness there

always fail

listen for the echoes

where I am all but gone 

Rob Schackne #990 - "Effortless chance"

Effortless chance

of rain is good

moving closer

getting windy

end of winter
on the back porch
I'm listening to
some J.J. Cale

the birds amped up

gathering supplies

thinking a poem
of natural blues
crazy mama
where ya been so long
it's almost spring

the dark clouds

this afternoon

Kerri Shying R #559 - Autonomic Neuropathy

Autonomic Neuropathy

I ate breakfast
I ate breakfast

I ate breakfast on the porch
action once akin to the inflation of a dirigible
before dawn      that

inclination   automation   habit   hunger
gone   I ate breakfast

wish you'd seen it
it was grand

Kit Kelen #1336 - when I was little

1336

when I was little

the house was big

the garden, the cubby

the universe was of unknown extent

didn’t have a name

time took forever in it

I’d come such a little way

light fed me

and first words – your face

yet to stretch

even the truth

was sunk in a softness

and had been cradled

I saw the sunbeam strewn with worlds

and came to a dizzy tune

heart beat home

everyone ached to be older then

and able to…

I had no fear words wouldn’t come

I know it is all around me

love and the world are one

roll off and ask

how was it for you?

then I was a teddy bear at the picnic

you still say I’ll do