Kit Kelen #983 - caught guilt

983

caught guilt 

 

by the toe

clearcut and slippery

from a great distance

just from a conversation

written into the contract

there was nothing to sing

there was nothing a poem had to do

it was in a skin

or certain words of mine

like winter in the bone

or whisper

and some said

been here all along

guilt in

all I have and all you're not

and cough

say sputum

or numbers in the bank

like a tribe increase

if he squeals

caught guilt

it was in the general net

across all borders

so much the same

I had these visions of hell

but it wasn't mine

the bombs fled, the wire

no you can't come in

but let my people go

it was a pouring on of light

all I have and all you're not

how I was

itchy, meanie, mai-ni, mho

I saw the world

as it is / was / will be

that's how I caught guilt

Tug Dumbly - Hope's a Holiday

You’ll find all the missing cats

with all the missing socks

with all the good intentions 

that went off half cocked

with all the dead beginnings  

and budding promise mocked

and all the missing keys

to all the rusted locks

and all the children pipered

to a land beyond the rocks

Gillian Swain #2 - Couch Pun

They hoiked the couch over the fence
New home maker store bought upholstery
with mud highlights
and grass flecks 

Swear words heave the easy chair 
over tin lip
crash landing  cushioned on the first
deep nests of grass trim the velour
and the wind laughs
throws it's head back
reclining in the stupidity
of lazy boys

It's ok though
they've cracked open a beer
They'll sherbet the sinuses
and drag them in later.

Rob Schackne #748 - all there is to bite the dust

       we find it   a wall of friction
      brick if necessary   or cliff
      to place an old sheath knife
      pointed   confounding gravity
      violence   light breeze   gone
     
      all there is to bite the dust

      anger humming   to fade
      hard pressed against its waiting
      one more antique object   rain
      the long handled toy or tool
      the sharpness   upside down

Kit Kelen #982 - I kept a wild beast in the city

982

I kept a wild beast in the city 

 

I kept a wild beast in the city

what manner of hard to say

but cuddly under covers

in my room in mind

all around the shop

whiff of dream to go with when

bouncy with little style, a certain...

bunny some ways, possum too

always up for a climb

and tiger in the wilds of course

from far, from letting go

I had a soft toy in the town

came alive with rub and tug

and never knew where it would hide

or he or she – dangly, folding –

rollick hay and seasonal

and even in the month, the day

I couldn't keep it to myself

or in your pants or mine

but you could say that I was kept

with wild beast ways

with love that's here and gone

then I would keep

or so to speak

this wild beast

of my own

Kerri Shying R # 512 - along a street I've never seen

slept without   the screen last night

the  silence of the  highway 

dormant   after midnight   seeped

in cold  below  the window   dreams

of flipping  burgers  walking tall  dogs

  along a street I’ve never seen

conversation  with the dead  and

Mum   popping in   to serve the

tea   so tiring  that I slept  way past

sunrise   definite  tonight    serial

killers     sing my lullaby

Gillian Swain #1 Our turn to bring ice cream

I am hardly moving from bed today
It's cold and I'm staying packed up under the doona
in a quilt of poetry
I know the clock guilt
and the children
will peal away the skin of this retreat
force feed me reasons to put voice in this mouth

but I'd rather
sit here quietly
watch the branches outside
thread the wind
and the sun spinning on the rooves
prepare to get from here to out there
and somehow I have to get the ice cream before the bonfire

Kerri Shying R # 511 - objects especially for weddings

The Times    will only print photos

of happy couples   with their eyebrows

on the  level     I wonder about

the boxes     on the flat white-clothed

bridal table   do they still make crystal

objects  especially for weddings

how long   can this go on    cue

the garter   photograph the groom a

blue   beribboned laciness     snarled

between his teeth      Victoria

has no secrets  anymore   

Lizz Murphy Poem #370 One sky ...

Poem? Well actually it's drawings but I hope text will be added with other layers. Charcoal and gold paint-pen so far. Thinking about the arms of the Milky Way (as seen from above) for One Sky Many Stories. Today's increment at Belconnen Arts Centre, ACT.

Kit Kelen #981 - Jerusalem Waterfall

981

Jerusalem Waterfall

draft of title poem

the Waterfall Effect is where, from staring into falling water, one begins to see the wall next to the water rise

Jerusalem Syndrome is a religious mania that overtakes a small but steady number of visitors to Jerusalem, making each believe that he (sic.) is the Messiah

(in a promised land)

it takes time to fix the eye

you have to have a heart for it

torn and bleeding still

with feet in days of old

it happens in a house of clocks

it's all done with a mirror

this is a desert place

there might be dragons

no one in their right mind would be here

those, the others, are already damned

there isn't much difference to make

it's up to us to keep them out

the means at our disposal

strew fronds

haul in the fish

make dove

whittle out a state of grace

God's writing's smaller than you see

is it time that we watch flow?

there's more of it than water here

and we're across the river

we're the parted sea

so far from who we were

and yet still foretold

when you're quite sure

only you can tell the truth

you'll see the wall go up

Kristen de Kline #224 Alan. The bloody shrink.

Alan. The bloody shrink. He throws paper at me. Fair fighting. Ground rules. The trauma of infidelity. Alan. Wears brown corduroys. Too short: at least an inch or two. A bush green vest. The same clothes. Every session. Alan: There are rats living in my dish-washer. The man-child's bathroom is saturated like a public urinal. My head was banged against the kitchen wall. Once. Twice. Three times. Smack. Porcelain geese dive-bombing. Alan. Rodent droppings in the kitchen cupboard. Winding their way around the pipes. Can you silicon it up. Alan. Train tracks over the back fence. The V-line rattles the walls at it speeds by. It'd be quick. Alan. Splat. I warned you last week. I thought I'd turned into a cockroach. No. I'm off the gear. It's the rats. More paper: What’s your attachment style? Why it matters. Don't argue. Don't. Argue. I can hear them scratching in the ceiling. Fight fair. Fight. Fair. Breathe in. Have you tried blocking the holes. Steel wool? Mindfulness. Silicone? It's the rats. I say. Alan: They've eaten through the dishwasher cables. Electric wiring. Smoke alarms. Waltzing up and down the hallway, the cat is going schizo. When I woke, there was a family of them nestling in my armpit. The Star Track courier buzzed at the front door. Left me Chelsea Girls, a nine-inch nail and a bottle of Absolut. I warned you Alan. There was one gnawing on my index finger. Another slurping on the nail polish. Ruby red. Chipped. More paper: Time out. Remain calm. Healthy this. Healthy that. Alan. The bloody shrink. Fix up the mess. I pay you enough. Asshole. Just do your job.

Kristen de Kline #223. There's a place I don't go anymore.

P. 30. He looks at me like I'm crazy.
P. 135. John hired me because I was gay.
P. 174. Some place in there we kissed each other.
P. 22. I'm hungry and I'm cold.
P. 194. Sometimes I'd scream.
P. 184. I had five blue pills.
P. 38. Yesterday was the day we waited and waited.
P. 284. There were bottles of booze.
P. 284 (Again). And millions of comic books.
P. 19. There's a place I don't go anymore.
P. 288. It's all right. I don't need anything. Go have fun.


(Lines taken from Chelsea Girls, Eileen Myles).

Lizz Murphy Poem #369 women stitiched ...

women stitched into

forest like stars into night

she makes pinholes in cloth

they follow light

sewn sturdy

for Michele Elliot

after photo by Kelly Ryan Photography

workshop at Wild Rumpus Jamboree (2017)

A fragment written for One Sky Many Stories

at Belconnen Arts Centre

Kerri Shying R # 510 just like a gander

wake up  the yearning for  Bon Scott

I get  his face tattooed on my arse

bring back    little pink overalls    a

plant-beloved  wild girl   

sauce my goose

 just like a gander

let my mid-life   sports car 

be all bright   wash  lines

dots of pigment    music

mixing up   the decades    call

my queen of dags      to life

Kit Kelen #980 - rhizome

980

rhizome

neither beginning nor

comes around, goes

from every context

to another

now connecting

now lit

it's only under earth you see

exaggerated versions

mirrors of all at the same time

dark!

so full

advantage of no plan

although a journey is implied

a jump around the book

from every to another

wobble between

here I am

and

there you go

so full of time

ourselves

never doing justice to

eyes closed

can you balance?

to the node

and all until

a moment gone

so still

where all is next

Kerri Shying R # 509 - birthday booty and the windows wound up

we sat   all the way back

listening to me drip  out

pain   while the fat grey

cloud banks threatened

our feet  jouncing on the

birthday booty   and the windows wound up

tight   with love   the steel glass

bubble   your hand from the back

seat  holding on  my shoulder

as a son holds his mother   today

all we remember   is the beach

James Walton #117 (even though I have to jump)

in these streets

they still play end to end

and three goals in

the old mine siren sounds

at midday, every day,

as though the shift will come up

all one coaled nationality

the only town

that voted to stay out in ‘49

as the army threatened to roll through

the Shire Office has a sign,

we welcome refugees here

the thud of the footy landed

a yell of the mark taken

a Macedonian’s freak goal

I ask the Malaysian guy

for the correct pronunciation

of Number Four

he laughs with me and says, Number Four

putting down the Singapore noodles

the Sherrin’s in my hands to pass

the Sudanese kid seems eight foot tall

probably twelve years old

I do my famous stab drop kick

he jabs it through the pencil pines

one kid says not fair

well,

a high five’s only got one translation

(even though I have to jump)

Tug Dumbly - 4 shorts

How Did You Know?

They say you can tell a lot about a man

from his shoes.

I say you can tell more from the

dripping butcher’s knife in his hand.

Cruelty Free

‘You might pay a bit more

but you just feel better.

That’s why I prefer my refugees

freerange, not cage’.

Reduced

All life is compactable. 

Put Plato on a badge

Aristotle on a sticker

Shrink the Bible to a Limerick

Koran to a Haiku

contents of the Louvre

to the back of a cereal box.

Summarise human history

in the DNA lick

of a postage stamp.

When Narcissists Collide

Egos kiss like dodgem cars

recoiling liquorice lips

or soft attack like bean bags

floating sacks of frog slime

each jelly-bejewelled egg

the pepper speck sized eye

of its universe

Lizz Murphy #368 A winter river

A winter river

carries into the lake

The sun repeats itself

Whirl and twist

perfect stillness

found text from Cosmos/New Scientist

Puddling about with mixed media, lines and fragments 

for One Sky, Many Stories a project at Belconnen Arts Centre in Canberra.

Hoping eventually to get a longer poem and maybe some art & text works. 

It's a Living Studio situation — very pleased indeed to be part of it.  

Pictured: some of my puddles with astronomer Fred Watson :)

Kit Kelen #979 - the church of love called breakfast for one

979

the church of love called breakfast for one 

 

this is the line I found in the morning

no idea what it could have meant

it is the only trace of that gone world

sometimes it is like someone (some other me)

has dropped in and left these things of a night

so that I'm woken with the urgency of news

I cannot know where that world is

or who has vanished with it

what manner of country was

is it a question of worship?

lost in time we all are

I checked through the night

for next surprises

unable to predict the hour

I know that I dreamt carrots as well

but it was just this waking once to write

I go with it

and I wash the apples

and when I sit down to the screen

it's the church of love

called breakfast for one

these are the words I type

Danny Gentile #65 - Untitled

Clock-hearted

the moon rush resolves

a broad untidy sky

To enter the hall

cavernous but empty

to leave it behind 

Take a seat before 

the curtain crushes down

on a false heaven

Leave the door open

for the insect

continues to resign

How many previous days

are brought here

clinging on the outer

And how many nights 

require preparation

overture and song

This universe dust

your accumulation

carries forward

As the eye of Cain 

scans signs of a moon

so easily assigned

Kerri Shying R # 508 - rain cat fat cat cat in a cabin

we are here

together   we   I

white walls four   

cosseting a headache

still  stuck in bed  with

rain cat   fat cat   cat in a cabin

his open-mouthed

arse-wriggle  the

violent stare 

my pen his lizard   ready for death

cat with water  falling from the sky

Clark Gormley #31 troublesome journey

when you're brawling
in the car
and your passenger
wants to jump out
and your playlist
on shuffle
chooses the four
worst songs
in a row
out of 16000
and the low sun
is shining in your eyes
and your passenger
is wearing
your sunglasses
is it wrong
to tell your passenger
where to go?

Lizz Murphy #367 AFTER THE CONCERT

the moon sails

through rain cloud

a boat in the sky

a child refuses

food

on Nauru

Thanks for the invitation to come back into Project 366 Kit Kelen and congratulations to everyone who continued on beyond 2016!! What an inspiration you all are.

Kit Kelen #978 - getting away from the information

978

getting away from the information

even on the pillow screen

wall where a call comes in

every appliance asks

how can we be of service (?)

everything is over our heads

underfoot all are carried away

concentrate alien

just to add

paint is power now

oceans are done out in sharks

these numbers on my forehead

rising falling

projected in the dark

they will have no creature meaning

when I reach my forest home

Clark Gormley #31 Feature Wall

forest green clashes
with polished mahogany
unnaturally

Rob Schackne #747 - Gavin Writes A Poem

         Gavin Writes A Poem

                                          for Mr Seal

          My shore is now the countryside.

          Nurseryman, husband of trees 

          and plants and flowers.

          I lend my words to an old poet

          who says I need objective correlatives 

          as if I knew where they were.

          (This hot trail of ants 

          had better be leading 

          toward something delicious

          a fallen tree or broken hive

          not just wallabies licking 

          the moisture off the bitumen)

          My relatives are my daughters 

          and the seedlings I plant 

          under Venus, the evening star.

          The blossoms are forming. 

          The children play. I feel it warming. 

          The rain needs forming too. 

          The farmers choking. 

          How the future trusts us.

          Nothing lives forever. 

          I will miss the flight of birds 

          and the flowers of Spring. 

          Let our circles be unbroken.

Kerri Shying R # 506 - The heaven of 17

The heaven of 17

I don’t think we

were  the tough

critters   did we

go from bed to

bed   it was the

stipend of that

time  the current

for the swimmer

so we   stroked

from shore to

jetties   mown

down     some

the turbines

of the engines

crushed by

the wheels

of Industry

whoo whoo

 * last four lines from the song Crushed by the Wheels Of Industry ( Heaven 17)  released 1982, album, The Luxury Gap.

Kit Kelen #977 - the nod

977
the nod


a day to say nothing
my job is done

they could cut out my haircut
and hang it here

they've already cut out my tongue
but I can still make hyperbole

let's get real
here are the pages we wade
drone to troll, enthuse

when I am asked, agree

waltz in from
each of us is born with a time zone
times should be tattooed on foreheads to show

someone kept a gate
and fed it on failures

deadpan habitus
plus sometimes sneer

the years of being there are gone

rain steadies the heat
outside
snail the size of a city sails past

a little counter-tenor outburst for ambiance
I give away the bride
I give the nod for free

James Walton #116 Tithonus and Dawn

do not fall in love with a God

when they say forever

it is the duration of vanity only

out of my breathless ossuary

these slow seconds

turn within themselves

a tapestry made of stone

Eos asked him to make me eternal

we were to be beautiful together

a hand aside the mouth of Zeus

his incremental curse of immortality

a hover in the white noise

of this bitter tea

once to kiss the feet of stars

no longer she breaks upon me

I do not live I do not die

locked in this closet

talking a babble of dispossession

my words hear themselves

the momentary visit of light after night

occasionally to shine on my withering

where I age in shadow forever waiting

without the strength to hold a lantern

Kristen de Kline # 222 Lakeside at dusk

+
Lakeside at dusk
between kisses and cigarettes

ducks on the water
look blurry, as if somebody

is playing with the focus knob
across a jelly-like surface

you watch them glide
brittle like synthetic ice

cut it, you shout, with a knife
car headlights in the darkness

I've never seen so much blood
tyres, slowly burn

+
you didn't die
when you were meant to

that happens (you know)

they all came, your friends
bearing gifts like three wise men:

a sketch block, Staedtler pencils
a carton of Winfield Blues

and Bukowski, of course,
at least five different editions

+
under the apple trees at Cherry Farm
you watch me trace
the falling stars      shooting
across paper leaves

I sketch a succession
of hanging bodies,
suspended
from scaffolds,
hurriedly built

+
every corpse, it
leaves a poem
behind

+
scribbled lines
snatched kisses
another pound of flesh
it burns a (w)hole
in my heart

Clark Gormley #30 Driving

work over, now 

two hours of recreation

buckle into the comfy seat 

break out the juicy podcasts 

line them up on the dashboard 

set the cruise velocity 

like colouring in you need to 

stay inside the lines 

or it’s game over

Rob Schackne #746 - "To see a man"

To see a man
lose his mind
or a woman
getting bigger
all done in silence
flowers inch into the rain
the target rests
on the side of a train
not to blame
nothing's ready
what are we doing here
the lawless ones
fuck you
and fuck this
lay my head down
change is
the only constant