Tug Dumbly - Sick Trainset Glorious Monday

Sick Trainset Glorious Monday

Scared how new things

have to get old

battered and scratched.

Sunglasses, friendships

won’t come clean

like a beach

tide-smoothed to a slate

to be scribbled with a new day’s stick

fresh printed with a foot.   

Sweating that first scrape

to a shiny new car

to a virgin face …

can’t take the suspense.

Please, I beg these glinting things

nick yourself now

get it over with quick.

I like old stuff too – slanting barns

rusted machines, gnarled trees

ramshackle friends.  

It’s just the transition makes me tense.

From sticky-born lamb

to styrofoam chop

a mild pregnant agony      

an ectopic anxiety

waiting for decay

to get underway.

Rob Schackne #737 - The Perfect Storm

  
      The Perfect Storm

            The inhabited cave
            looking out see
            my hands shaking
            the perfect storm
            why am I here
            trees blowing hard
            high winds
            like a knuckle
            there to fight
            all this shit
            plastic bags
            what do you hear
            animals to shelter
            can it last as long 
            as the next

Kit Kelen #966 - demon lover

966

demon lover

or

my life as a demon

(for godsbother?)

let me tell you about

my life as a demon

an agitation

you could call it

run around on fire

of the soul, is it?

a lot of falling

and through the flames

I may well have been cast

demon is a type

put away the horns and tail

keep it in your pants

fell through time and space like this

people whispered

hurtful, said

can you imagine?

and are demons really unclean?

would you sit next to one on a bus?

have you no pity at all... for

inflammation

every joint

then there's the fire in the belly

and elsewhere!

they wanted me for a red hot poker

you can think of it as a game

kind of a politics

there's a lot of the wrong idea

about demons

I was hot

and had the hots

punished! the best part

I can dole it out as well

whips and chains

all hell-forged too

give as good as got

tongue hanging out

and catches

then everything's in ashes

once I heard a crack –

felt something holding back

hell freezing over, as foretold

some garlic breath and back to bubbling

can call up clocks

mischief is magic

now and then a little lilt

and wistful with the flames

look in – how otherworldly there

and future just the same

did I omit demonic laughter?

but I wear the devil's garments

to spare you the ugly truth

and constantly

I'm coming alight

burst into flames

again and again

whenever you're around

Kerri Shying R # 497 - Cafe Inu

Café Inu

the days

that run like    

meditate the morning

let screens slow down  

sun

a dapple  overhead 

new heart places be seated

 in the front yard

know how each room smells

touching

hugging   the bodies

of my friends

 

we ate lunch

down by the river

in the big metal shed

the sweetness of the mustard

the bun

 the Japanese hot dog

walked 

a hundred metres

without a walker or a stick

touched

the large secure granites

guarding banks from swells  

detectives

of our places   we

see the new steps

down    into the current

what the hell are they for

makes it easier to kill yourself 

says Cosmo   

we laugh    nobody

much imagines drowning 

at this bend of the river

and we are all

from old to young

scarred and too stubborn

to let go

Clark Gormley #20 The Pool Gene

it has been asserted
that the game of pool
is the descendent
of an ancient form
of croquet
mallets and hoops
evolved over centuries
into cues and pockets

as evidence
it was postulated
that is why
the felt is green

an outrageous claim!
we all know that
pool was created
in a betting parlor
in downtown Chicago
in 1870

just like bluegrass
was invented
by Bill Monroe
at the Grand Ole Opry
on the 13th of October
1939

the sporting world
was deeply skeptical
until
a painting showing
Louis XIV
playing on a hooped table
was unearthed
as the missing link

any day now
it will be exposed
as the Piltdown Man
that it really is

Tug Dumbly - Frill Has Gone

Frill Has Gone    

One toddler in a Ramones teeshirt is cute.

See six, and curdle in contempt

for the market and its prey. 

Someone’s insight strikes you as fresh –

witty and astute.

Then you hear it again

and again, and feel soiled

to have been sucked in   

by some sluttish meme.

There’s a gecko in a Brisbane beer garden.

To me it’s novel, even thrilling,

a pretty green little thing

quizzically darting in and out of the foliage.

The local I’m with says ‘oh yeah them?

Fucken pests. Get in yer cupbobards,

gum yer electrics. We just squash ‘em’.

Tug Dumbly - Hateway

Hateway

‘Never liked him. Never trusted him.

Always something about him.

Bit creepy. Know what I mean?’

The daily outrage squeezed like juice

speeds us honking down the hateway

like geese pumped to bursting with

indignation, moving in murmurations

of loathing, careering into rich pile ups

of jubilating hate, sniffing the blood

spoor on a patch of clothing, baying,

gloating, pouring through the gate,

glutting the throat of the Hateway.

It’s an open invite to crash the party,

bash the piñata, pitchfork the dummy.

A Medieval ducking, what rucking good fun.

Speaking of witch, stick those other old standbys

by the pyre – lynchmob, stocks, village pillory

of Publik Unfrending. Lick of blood

in the nostrils. Round on the wounded lamb

like a vicious pack of clichés. Mud sticks,

where there’s smoke there’s fire. Grind it all

in the crucible as we play Judge Judy

and executioner, guillotine click heretics  

to be stripped, whipped and sent to Coventry

banished to some Siberian wild

far from the crackling Social fire.

Threat detected. Run a scan on yourself.

Do the right thing and self-denounce,

weep mercy like a teleevangelist

gilled in the net of Predation.

Yes the perves get theirs, while we grow canines,

yellow fangs reflected back,

bared in the mirror of our own hate crime.  

Kit Kelen #965 - this is how we burn witches

965

this is how we burn witches 

 

set out an arbitrary rule

like think of a number

fix it in the mind

whistle the dogs will come

learn your tables

some would like this tucked up, swept

it's only a whisper of gossip to light

matches and kerosene these days

see them swoon away in the fumes

once alight

they burn by themselves

fire of hell's already in them

don't have to be grownups for this

and this is the way we wash our hair

wash our hair wash our hair

this is the way we wash our hair

so early in the morning

time passes over the event

I like the screams the best

Kerri Shying R # 496 - that inane voice unctuous

without the telly  all I did

was worry    a sleep bag

full of wild dreams   made

of skinned dogs   teeth

dissolved in  wine   I need

that inane voice unctuous

droning  my background

cause to cease the scenery 

white-out  what protrudes

sharp corners all the sly truth

set  to bark the mind

James Walton #114 Snail Mail Cursive

concrete cures forever

I was told by a builder

not in the medicinal sense

but strengthening over time

then a letter caught up with me

on this winter’s day

so cold two ducks are on the chimney

billing complaint into the ornate mooring

the words came from before death

of our joke about moths in his wallet

he was too cheap for his shout

and how it really happened that day

at the Duke when one flew out

and we were on the floor laughing

just the carpet between infinity

the underlay of worlds

a vibrato stitch of things

hand writing filtered by sand

conversations with an albatross

hanging endings in final saliva

the stamp his last touch

when he reached for us on earth

taking three years to berth

with wings from a tropical butterfly

Clark Gormley #19 LPs

neglected on the shelf
for the last couple of decades
many purchased second hand
from Ashwoods in Pitt St
in the mid 80s
scratched and warped

dusty and damaged
and cheap old technology
on the way out
the only undeniable
truth, they had and
they still have the groove

and that groove
was regularly blockaded
the needle derailed
forward, or worse
back onto a repeating track
that lasted 1.82 seconds

changing the order
was fiddly and
required a steady hand
and then you had
to turn it over
to hear the other side

recently
I sold a few
at a market stall
for 2 bucks each
they went like hotcakes!
I couldn't believe that

I was undercharging
that anyone would consider
the unnecessary effort
to be some sort of ritual
like rolling a cigarette
something cool and old-fashioned

Kristen de Kline #219 So many dreams 3

+
so many dreams
go up in smoke
your house is drenched
with teardrops, tattooed 
more candy-striped bags
zippers broken, Converse runners
the Memphis Grizzlies poster 
ripped off the wallpaper
was the balif knocking
blue tac smudged in the corners

+
I don't remember much of my childhood

+
random images:
high ceilings
glass bottles of Fanta
in a wooden crate
The Pink Pussycat club
a purple shirt (100% synthetic)
the boarding house
halfway down
Dominion Road

+
who threw that fun fact in

+
so many poems
populated 
with crocodiles  
winter doldrums
a second glimpse
of a vagrant pineapple
it lands with a thud
so many dreams

Rob Schackne #736 - "A woman who"

            
               
                A woman who
                hears voices
                and much
                else besides
                told me
                a story today
                Om Shanti
                about Jesus
                & the Buddha
                waiting three
                days together

                in the desert
                for the bus
                neither with
                much faith
                while they wait

                half-dead
                they're never 
                getting back
                Om Shanti
                never to see
                water again

                but if they do
                they promise
                their support
                should the other
                ever need it
                if the bus
                ever comes 

Kit Kelen #964 - I became a monster

964

I became a monster

decided to be, I should say

first thing I did was growl and howl

you should expect no less

rend and tear and ravage

I was savage

that's how a monster is

they'd point at me

and all shout 'monster!'

my monster ways

were much made of

in the press

but I'd eat my enemies

why not? they'd eat me

half a chance

I bet you eat them too

don't you?

sheep and lambs and pigs and cows

chickens, fish and on

delicious

food fit for a monster

fart, growl again

then I would great galumph and grimace

but music charmed the savage breast

that was just for a minute

I considered being ghost or vampire

zombie, ogre...

but monster is just me

suits my wicked way with this world

and others if I get my paws on

I love to be in beer mire muck

I came up through the sewer once

but you can't keep a monster down

I have been stroked

and moments tame

someone said a kind word

and I said 'hello breakfast'

sleepy monster eyes

itchy monster bot

some say

'little creature

there there'

here just a little monster kiss

then I could crush a bear

are you a monster too?

I see you in the mirror

I'll eat you all up

I'll eat you up

I'll eat you all alive

Kerri Shying R # 495 - in the water call a truce make peace

easier to mention things   that don’t hurt

retailing lists   of bones and tendons

makes me sound like bad stew    resting

I’m a country   where the civil war

rages    on all fronts    never a surrender

in the water   call a truce  make peace

gravity  diminished     is pain    at lunch

I think about the drought     imagine

 to be low on hay     so far

from water   and    what succour

comes from dust  

Clark Gormley #18 Gig Poster

strapped to every light pole
like Joan of Arc to her stake
the tape wound round and round
enough to stock a stationery store
she aint getting away

multi-coloured prints
lined up one after the other
for all the commuting world to see
the poles so evenly spaced
the placement so consistent
it's an informative installation
a new exhibit
every couple of weeks

Kit Kelen #963 - someone to watch over me

963

someone to watch over me

(for godsbother) 

we each of us are the result of religion

hearts laid down in love

belief I mean

faith, trust and betrayed

Easter bunnies, kidding selves

a star fell when I wished

from mother stone molten

I myself fire

all up in clouds a home

in points of light beside

I too born of farther than far

and spun to come again

somewhere somehow

we tricked the light

so fine the dust no one can hear

and time! run round in a knot

we're inside out with it

vanity of vanities this all

the preacher saith

put on some speed

follow my lead

oh how I need

Rob Schackne #735 - don't just remember the middle of the fuckin' dream

we pass by later   mostly silent
come from   god knows where
the money in our pockets gone
spent on pleasures   what we wanted
salty juices   all still fresh

don’t just remember the middle of the fuckin' dream

climbing down the sea cliff
to the bogey-hole   where we swam
the feel for water drew us in
now I know   that no one leaps
until they are   propelled by sorrow

Kit Kelen #962 - Dachau

962

Dachau 

 

they too are of my kind

with their dogs

with their own barking

orders to follow

herding with bayonets

they gave numbers

and when they lost count

the sun would fell some

they too are of my kind

the dead to be counted too

but the dying are more trouble

it is alive in my mind

the corpse bearers shot so as to fall efficiently

they had lived the one hour more

we too invoke a statute of limitations

the skin lives its tattoo

imagine the everyday all day like this

thinking of drowning, of poison

typhus, pole hanging, experiments

with malaria, freezing water

how to make you dig a grave

they too, breathing and kiss good night

the children whom they love

how much lighter their world is to be

somewhere a church rung the hours here too

I hide this all away from myself, now and then

catch it in the mirror, how to forgive

what animal am I? no other does this

they too are of my kind

think of the laughter and beer

it must be and always now

this place remains the truth

Clark Gormley #17 Coffee by the Sea

brown crust on white foam
at the bogey-hole today
hints of caramel

James Walton # 113 At Gypsy Point

where the jetty meanders

brokeningly wading

in a high jumper’s roll

a pelican fills up the day

holding a reserve for tomorrow

a word it regurgitates to reflect

out of preening reminiscence

the savour of reliving

tastes of feeding again

while weary anglers return

singing of old regret

that good times are a harvest

pooling about in undefined circles

and knowing it can fly

wherever the fancy

or carefree wind takes it

slurps up a blue eye

an azure fisher flashed over

because it knows it can

Kit Kelen #961 - fascism

961

fascism

the not remembering

see it in their eyes like defiance

the glazing of the cake

you can't know for me

what's best or at all

it's mine, seem so to say

laughter of the way it is

the do-it-all again

I could list it all for you

but why?

breathless for atrocity

because they can't remember

never happened to me

so it's not

it's all this world

not mattering

how it goes

or who does whom

nor is there next

but here we are

and this is my blind eye

I want

so I deserve

not them

them at their dinner

I mean it's us

and the beggar at the window

who wants to see that

all curse

bury it with night

and sleep the thousand years

a fever!

and what killing there'll be

but the dead are a tribe

never quite gone

it's as if the writing grew smaller and smaller

as if graves sunk into the soil with time

then no one will remember

then here we go again