Kit Kelen #857 - every day I walk out among wonders

857

every day I walk out among wonders

sun never touched twice the same

I do it in socks

in thongs sometimes

this is the way I call the place home

it's where the wonders call to me

still some of the creatures survive

things first lit for who they are

for what

we can't know why

everyday I walk out among wonders

it's lovely to be out

it's as if they all had waited for me

though that can't be right

I know I didn't grow on the spot

I'm in training, like the vine

some breeze has to have blown me to here

the tree still stands

we might perhaps worship?

at least why should we not bow to greet?

and there's a party in the branches

you only have to look up!

every season's in it

weather!

a leaf from the book

birds are not long for

all flit

they give singing lessons

here with my voice

I commit to this love

I wake to wonders already there

(if my kind were gone, there'd be more!)

could be down in the mouth with to-do

not only disasters that befall

but worst of us is yet to come

it's trial and error how we're here

still in this place above me is blue

clouds you could tether for pets

and when they're out of the picture

there are stars

they tell time back

beyond you can see

remind me the world is whirling around

even on a dead still day

hope is my path ahead

all patience now

for the wonders that come

and all unbidden

we two-legs in the plastic now

must struggle to see our own carnage

the centuries against each other

for one or other stupid idea

just a breath of this world sets right

more and ever more wonders still hidden

o what a cliché to 'save the world'

the world's what we're saving here

time's with us and against us too

every day I walk out among wonders

they're the why-to-fight

Rob Schackne #648 - "Of course I'll miss it"

Of course I'll miss it
the world's a beautiful place
and there were lots of people I loved
and yes most of them loved me too
but the entertainment of beauty

as fun as all the changes were
wasn't really the point of my stay
he says and takes a good sip
I say goodbye and get on my bike
he looks out the window for a minute
and then starts another poem

Kit Kelen #856 - consider (May 6th, 6°)

856

consider

May 6th, 6°

the steamrise first thing

footfall with camera

sitrring up the birds

and everything finds its colour

consider

someone's fire

invisible in air

as if it were Sunday

for this half moon

hung in its travels

like a lamp left on

like a wafer

half through

to the blue

consider

an ache

that is only the cold

all step by everywhere we went

you could forget to stretch in this

or think north thoughts

steam rises

like utterance

tree is

pond like a lung let off

consider

lilies already a headsup

mushrooms meaning some ancient rite

change slippers when you come in

everything said would be steam by now

sun is just about to say

hang the damp thing here

you can stop running away

all this gathered to me

a magnificence of light

where nothing has been said

Rob Schackne #647 - A Little Day In Yunnan

A Little Day In Yunnan

Pull a tooth using old dental tools 
Sit in the chair head back hold still
You’re not going anywhere mate
Think instead of glorious things
Poetry is astronomy without a scope
Look it’s autumn how the leaves fall
Sure it hurts they are living stuff
A lot like you now stop moaning

Thirty Summers #131 Claine Keily

And so my demons are named. I find their forms strange, as I did not create them, nor choose to adopt them even. They came parcelled up, gifts from my family, my gender, my class, my culture.

There is the demon named Fear. She haunts me with a strange infrequency, born of mother, of father. This monster grew and festered as she suckled on my breasts. There is the demon called Overwork, who leads me to the precipice of exhaustion, until I fall at night from unlit attics and tear the limbs from my body, or drive my car off the side of my broken driveway. But mostly there is the demon of  Dread, of the dread not living enough, of the fear of not being able to breathe in enough of the air of the forests, brush enough against the fur and feathers of my creatures, to have not spent enough time nestled by candle light dining and singing with friends. My father gave me this demon, and I have come to rename her, so as she is now called The Angel of an Awareness of Death.

Kit Kelen #855 - you try to find a centre of the garden

855

you try to find the centre of the garden

you as in one

or could be love poem

it's all outskirts though

crept off

not as was yesterday

but light fell

a sky is coming

Earth spins under

it seems to be in treetops

under as well

it's off with one full of

coming to fruit

here was the seat where

here love will be

so many deaths unrecorded

so much springing to note

wings light

all seasons in the body at once

I balanced along a level path

made a maze of myself

wherever I went

had the garden in mind

as if music came from

and I was risen to

all afoot arrived

wasn't there at all

who was it

followed here?

I found the place

where time stood

and I was listening

very still

Jupiter rose

and heaven was lorded

I was hailed to be here

and the weather was with

something I left

where?

it wasn't spoiled with voices

there wasn't an idea

the sunshine, rain fell

washed and shone

the centre

just where you are

Sarah St Vincent Welch #368 The Cork Forest

The Cork Forest

you led me to the Cork Forest

I could hardly talk

or walk

like a tree I had not moved

movement was pain

now I ask,

had I grown 

like a forest

whispering underneath?

I have craggy rippled skin

microbes under my soles

arterial roots

I grew after all, I believe, 

though I couldn’t see

and was slow

think of cork boards, 

wine stops,

flooring, 

life jackets,

bobbing on a brim,

coasters,

floating

all the products

some no longer needed

do not harvest me

let my thick skin grow

the scars of industry

on my trunk

I spread

I speak, and stumble

along the path

circle round again

Summers’ last wander

a healing

(inspired during Tree Week)

Rob Schackne #646 - "What in heck is it?"

What in heck is it?

4pm of a Friday afternoon.

Country town. Shared house. Back yard.

On a rough concrete deck. 

Against a gray wall.

A black garden hose. 

A few errant leaves. Some clumps of dirt.

A loose orange nozzle attachment. 

A bit of black plastic looks like a piece of broken record.

More than this, I do not know.

Kerri Shying R # 451 - leave a little for your son

you were the one who taught me let the grey worm

get ahead of the red line   see   you can watch  your

youtube  mum    I recall   all thumbs    showing off

around the old flat-handled  tape players

with your grandparents  we thought

we were schmick

      leave a little for your son 

some fireworks  some asinine remarks some

bucking off the horse  remains   the thread into the next

thing  next place  where my hairstyle    it will get

to be   like the  new thing    all over  a spud

dug up  displayed   on the end of a dirty fork so proud

Kit Kelen #854 - coming through the rye

854

coming through the rye

bodies are being found

all over the shop

wake up in one

you know this itch, this ache

warm awash and winter ready

dreamt to here

between the acres of it

with a heigh and a ho

whole world's a crime scene

one beside me in the bed

I pinch myself as well

a headsup

the body is all in your mind

candied, tinned, in aspic

this life is but a flower

in only pretty ring time

bodies are working on each other

lie over the ocean

wear away

should a body?

could I?

in other ovens warming

these are bodies too

and all at sea

someone to watch over

explode into

melt the moment with

we sign a dotted line

and heavenly at times

Rob Schackne #645 - "I wish I could"

I wish I could
take a photograph
of the sound of the rain tonight
or paint a picture
using the precise chromatic
but no that's what music is for
though the rain is easing 
and there is silence
my camera stares at me
from across the room
while I do this

Kerri Shying R # 450 - they do it for the hat the cardinals ( for Kit)

the pinch on a biretta

touch of fingers  to the fabric

red  as your lips  mama

anointed  by the Revlon red

that night Dad took you to the dinner  and a show

they do it for the hat  the cardinals

not for the chairs  straight backed screech

like fingernails  on blackboards   bloodcurdlers

velvet   whispers in the night  the footstools

oh so good for kneeling  upholstered with the wishes of your mother 

 touch  the sin  Cardinal  wet fingered  from the font

Red Cone(LF)#344- well trained

well trained

when it rains
to the coffee shop
we go by car
lest the water
is upsetting
and we have to stop

the lead is played
the fun goes on
treats come forth
from complete strangers
with gentle mirth

well trained
am I to do
what he dictates
so unknowingly
or by stealth
I find I am the one
who has been trained
while my well trained pup
brown eyes filled with
glee condescends
to obey if it suits him
but to walk in  rain
he will not agree

Kit Kelen #853 - Pell

853

Pell

a cardinal from observation

he rose to fall

as flesh does

stern excitement

won't be sorry

couldn't see

never knew a self

snuck the thing away

that's how he knew

what was good for you

it's the father thing

he called a cloud his friend

not from belief but habit

played with it to the brink

made show

the evidence will be

he felt

and was a Saviour sent?

it's hard to rhyme with hell

when even the pope knows it's not

a pity!

but you know that he was

under water

long ago

time will be such that we are gone

then where are the deservings?

there must be a tax for this

he rose to fall as flesh does

the rest pay with our lives

Kerri Shying R # 449 - ( for Rob Schackne) Photo by Rob. bending to accomodate your weight

Rob makes images I see

there are times the art of someone other than

yourself   strikes a place  untouched this here

it’s the kindest itch  this here is the place

where friends assemble mill up wire

bending to accommodate your weight

there is no fence  no grass 

the straps are light and shadow  pulled across the  field

 my eyes just now the vehicle

 of making  you the master I the willing slave   

how I ride  our warm deep see

Rob Schackne #644 - "Tossed into the wind"

Tossed into the wind
the eyes are smaller

bless us on the high side
they are not ravings
please take the shot

make mine a Lagavulin
a handful of bindiis
an unexpected love
three black cockatoos
yellow-tailed & loud
and we'll call it grace
to see a person's soul

Kit Kelen #852 - ghost in the machine (for the mater series)

852

ghost in the machine

the little bird again

a squeak

are you in there, mater?

tap on the glass

at the window again

knowing she must be there

one imagines that the air is empty

there's someone in the mirror

who's that?

hungry always, can't get warm

so hurtful to her friend

lost time makes up for us

a vanish in mid-flight

Kerri Shying R # 448 - say I tell the time by rocks instead of sun

I spend too much imagining  the shapes  when nothing

sizable has walked  when no foliage grows

on the slopes of the volcano  when the boulders  are

still held tight by  shoulders  in the hard

obsidian  of the last eruption  say I wait

say I tell the time by rocks instead of sun

then watch the steam cooling in the vents

the slow decline of bubbles  in the boiling mud

the first green frond  unfurling  after rain

has cooled  what ran into the sea  in

one heated blurt of lava making steam

Kit Kelen #851 - early

851

early

light is coming

we are misted

to the tick tock in it

drip with the first lit leaves

it comes to us

in all this flutter of here-we-are

in first steps off the nested branch

and in the song's first bar

we sleepers are come to light