Gillian Swain - #61 - Jesus wept

Yeah. Maybe the stars don't listen
and even if they did
it'd only be to laugh their arses off
at us and our
sad pantomime
and oh   imagine if stars even had
arses
and maybe that's right
the Gods don't give a fuck
who we are   any of us   to
pretend that to suppose
on something positive   could be
artful
or worthy of our time
and what could be   further than 
the truth
that's what faith is   I think 
they say-
the truth and some warped
sense of hope   despite it all
what a joke...
and yeah
maybe that's right
the Gods certainly don't
give  a fuck
at least not when
the baby dies
animals starve   cop the
brunt
of madness   and
the arseholes keep   winning
not when   the darknesses of day
make night seem so much 
brighter...
yet they won't become
completely fuckless
till even the devout stop
believing
for then the gods themselves
are dead.

Kerri Shying R - # 589 -bellies much watched discussed and bet upon

skin folds   in summer   a wetsuit   against
relief    rain  struggles to be wetter than
the air and breathing  feels the same
through snorkels as it does   just walking
in the street     clouds become the pregnant

bellies much watched discussed and bet upon

we inch collectively    toward complaint
of repairs and leakage     roads too slick
for safety    the bills for power   climbing
the way  rich men line up on Everest   we
say     anything   but  this

Rob Schackne #889 - Senryu (30)

O so beautiful
the wind-chased spindly seed pods–
who asked them to dance?

Kit Kelen #1136 - notes towards a book of numbers (for godsbother)

1136

notes towards

a book of numbers

(for godsbother)

everyone wants into a bible

so many pages!

and you can be extra there

no one will notice

(this was Moses’ fourth

just for instance)

we, first never one

but me!

they were these faces over

and big

closer and closer

we were

hour day minute month

think chaos

randomize!

time bent to space, back

and the Lord commanded it

it was job creation

then think of a number between one and ten

consider journeys, banishments

Land of ’Ish is approximate

(your GPS won’t work in there)

but every age is magic

think!

and think again

I was becoming one

numbers were colours

this was as far back

and further

a watch!

and time ticked forth to tell

(was wristed)

how I was ten then

and they had me

ladder up, washing for sin

a shekel and a silver charger

five oxen, three rams, two he-goats

make the two trumpets of silver

mouth to mouth in dark speeches

manna as coriander seed

one year ten years and ten thousand

how many make a million then?

bible was a secret so

count me in and count me out

vex and spite

divide by lot

still end up with me

behold

and google at the thing

and how many years to a wilderness?

we’re counting on you there

for a law of jealousies

and defilement

gimme

and gimme more

until I’m numb from numbering

how far till time begins?

write curses in a book to atone

an inch and take a mile

63,360

go further

perch pole

furlong chain

how many each?

too long too short

it’s 2240

that’s how heavy

how down

no need to count the ones you kill

put a thing through the fire and it’s clean

sheep from the goats

count the electrons

a way round the sun

I try to imagine a billion, can you?

we’re half way with this world

why is the infinite such a fine trick

no one can know it?

at 11.58 and 43 seconds –

species, not even tribe

and have we got the numbers now?

take this sky down for counting

call for division

ring bells

no grog or you’ll lose count

on the ninth day and so

forty for a flood

nights too

(and moonless this way)

a tenth of an ephah of barley meal

that should do the trick

what counts and what doesn’t?

that’s foremost and first

last and…

penny farthing groat

a crown

and half a sovereign

is ten shillings

the blackbirds in a pie

and counting

king in

how many for a phonebooth?

beetle, orgy

head of a pin to dance

clans of each

like a forest marching

stars and worms

our enemies

in weeks and days and hours

months!

count the blood and breath

the keys, strings

you can paint this way

make history by numbers

cadence is geometry

calculate the chords

to work out where the arrow falls

so strum

how far the heart

how long the note will hold

how many beats to the bar

these are the noble numbers!

a ransom for the first born

gimme a wagon says God

count myself lucky

go down for the count

here are the duties of a priest

and tally me banana

count the reps and breaths

calculate the collocation

and know what is said next

where a man has been killed accidentally

and forth to war, what number are we?

the Lord gave

(well you would say that)

then multiplication

there’s more

and exponentially

let no man divide

how up

how in

how over

could take a lifetime to work out

that foolish old man removed how much mountain?

until time and distance must have always been one

so got there in the end

I’d been doing the right thing all along

or else they could not  

count the laughter

count the love

count the time to go

and if so, hate

count sloppy kiss

a city of refuge for the avenger

cure myself with time

past the heart’s furthest reaches

compute it!

every word is made of number

and there are only two

one is me

then your face in my mind’s eye

we have to call this love

Gillian Swain - #60 - kelp

rows of plump kelp fingers lay
across sand
tree maps point to ocean
branches stretch fanned
the pull waits patiently
each tide wash brings the flip
a one-eighty and there
are the hands
all splayed out along the silica
suggest higher ground and dryer
lines in the sand

Kit Kelen - unnumbered senryu

senryu

you shouldn’t have started that line with a cap

remember we’re phantom poets

punctuation is the last resort

Rob Schackne #888 - Senryu (29)

You can't make it rain
or make a hare come to you
yeah I'm just saying

Clark Gormley #91

my little peach stone

embedded in moist flesh yet

dry as the Darling

Kit Kelen #1135 - to annihilate all life on this planet will be harder than you think

1135

to annihilate all life on this planet will be harder than you think

thinking of Christopher Pyne, and his weapons manufacturing ambitions for Australia

it will take all the weapons there are and more

and a lot of luck

the wind the right way

weather alone won’t be enough

enmities will need to be very general

the most vicious of animals must take charge

and here we have a special role

death has become a habit with us

and we have the blind rage see this through

there isn’t another species could do it

mere murderous thoughts won’t cut it

nor is there a blade fit for the job

no bomb big enough

no missile goes so far

they haven’t built the bullet

that fragments into all hearts

not yet

but budgets are this way directed

still, in order to get there

much stronger than average growth will be required

in systems all sorts –

chemical, biological, nuclear of course

(on and off course actually)

styles of weapons we’ve yet to invent

but we have the nous for this for sure

new targets will have to be set

for key performance

have to think out of the box

(no pesky body counts with a neutron bomb)

but any number of them will never be enough

a more comprehensive poison will be needed

one to touch all the corners

and not just here and there

to travel through time

we have to kill off the future for good

I mean to say once and for all  

but have we the anger to end it?

can we conjure up –

can we be the machine?

I do think we have it in us!

and yet

despite all this righteous enthusiasm

we can’t really know if it can be done

but for sure

we can blacken the sky with oily smoke

think our darkest thoughts

and hope

… sorry, did I say hope?

all hope must be eradicated

that’s our only chance

how vigorous we’ll need to be

to bring the whole thing off –

audacious!

let’s hate a lot

that always helps

and mock and scoff at the crew who care

(‘o precious little planet’, they whimper

not knowing what’s best for all)

their end is coming as surely as everyone else’s

ours will be the last laugh of the lot  

there’ll be none of this dreadful music then

it won’t matter if there’s night or day

when there are no eyes to see

yes, there’s the risk of life on other worlds yet

which merely goes to show you can’t think big enough

one always imagines the haunting we’ll do

(and while that’s a lovely nasty thought)

ghosts must somehow be offed too

and dreams and fantasy and recollection

call us omega

we’re to be the end of everything

the cosmic joke

no one will laugh off

that’s what we’re here for

bend backs to our great aim!

without firm focus, iron grip

some microbe might be saved

and never let a tear tell falling

that’s how an empire’s lost

you’ll say I’m politically correct
to keep my thoughts so pure

an end of thought, I say to that

first and for all

what good has come of it so far?

build till the sky is gone

will even then a far star shine

loving memory to crush

no poetry can save these fools

you may say I’m a dreamer

low likelihood is one thing

(farmers all need certainty)

and remember all of this effort is just

to make sure no one will ever read these lines  

it’s personal, you see

Clark Gormley #90

out of the forest

the fig tree unencumbered

manspreads on the lawn

Gillian Swain - #59 - long heat

It fills the place

like too many thoughts

until tomorrow has nowhere

to go   and waits

always

Rob Schackne #887 - "How the winds blow"

How the winds blow
all that's coming
some of it downhill
a lot from the trees
but no point whingeing
it's the lawless way
you could lose everything
& I will fall from grace
as many times as the rain
the ground no longer moist
so I land hard again
some birds hit the dirt
let's make another poem

Clark Gormley #89 more than you think

there is a certain

pleasure to be had

from objects that do

more than you think

like reclining lounges

pull the lever

and the footrest comes up

the headrest goes back

and the more hidden

that lever the better

the same goes for

the sprinkler heads

that pop up from

the lawn

the fascination

seems to go all the way

back to childhood

the palm trees drooped aside

as Thunderbird 2 rolled past

the swimming pool slid away

to allow Thunderbird 3

to launch

sometimes it didn’t

even have to move

that hidden second layer

in the chocolate box

brought such joy

but is this just a childish delight

in toys that do unexpected things?

the ancient Greeks did not

build automata just for the kids

neither was Digesting Duck

made to satisfy the appetites

of Renaissance children

I’d like to think

that we are driven

by an innate desire

to achieve

the seemingly impossible

to constantly strive

for increased complexity

with added functionality

for the betterment

of all of humanity

but perhaps we

just like to revel

in our own cleverness

Kit Kelen #1134 - the tree goes up

1134

the tree goes up

nor arrow straight

neither quite tuneful

sun shook

soaked with sky

the tree goes up

is leaf by leaf building

delves down too

is every direction

imperial scavenger

ekes what it can

have you seen stars

come to touch?

time is alight in it

no clock tells

homes of the meek

and those flown by

the climber and miners

and clowns of the wood

the tree goes round

and all the world with it

stands stretching

we all watch to copy

the tree is a taker of turns

runs a ring around itself

so we will name the years

each for a difference

the tree goes under

lovers’ lilt

it guards the homes of many

when the bough breaks

the tree catches cloud

rides breeze

the dream in it

all eyes

it’s while we were sleeping

the tree stood

told the months we were away

a moon has shone its seasons

even in death well crewed

much travelled

and never a thought for the forest

we are and were, will be

in all the wild of it no word

but I am here to sing

Rob Schackne #886 - Alive

Alive

If I’d said to Jim D
please play the piano for me
he might still be alive

(he’d jammed with the Grateful Dead
& I had just turned fourteen)

I thought today
who I should be asking to play
& what language could I use

a touch, a sound
a smile you might remember
we play it everyday

it is what it is of course
& tho' there are damn good reasons to
I cannot re-make the world

(how the world binds us
like to boulders with no tongue)

Kerri Shying R - #589 - the one-joke wonders pile up on the verge

for Danny

I walk with you  in this old maze

of mirrors  the one we whacked   up

before the wars of ants  

and infiltrates  began     we

map out load-bearing themes

the one-joke wonders   pile up on the verge

everyone’s forgotten

the ground that lies beneath

the grass we once spread out on

laughing    or were they cobbles

and did our heads  go crack

Kit Kelen #1133 - in Tanah Toraja (possible book of mother addition)

1133

in Tanah Toraja

(possible additional piece for a book of mother)

the dead are different

but we should never single them out

they’re family after all

they wince when we’ve got it wrong

they’re jealous

we’re keeping them in the home

let’s say they’ve slept badly

just say

oh my aching itch you hear them

too long in the ground

teeth out

thin as stretch

and nearly motionless

that’s how they’ve stopped the world

we whisper up to please

say kiss

we call them homes

we say it’s skin

we give them some more exhumation

it’s for the memories they’re here

a kind of a karaoke

home’s like this

a nightmare weight

the dead weigh less each day

although they never fly away

from the judgement seat they frown

and pointlessly, some say

cigarette

perhaps a meal

the dead don’t each much

they drink slow

seem intent but troubled

you won’t torture them

with truth or fact

the dead are all over us

with their grubby DNA

see them gathered on the veranda

they can be quite a crowd

the dead are different?

but they disagree

read the rictus

their opinions stand

no one was ever more stubborn than them

there’s a light shone in to show

of course they’re more than us

they come from and they go to forever

nothing sudden in this

long way to the afterworld

but this is the way

after all

a wash

then fresh linen

take a turn around the town

till we can afford some cattle to slaughter

actually there’s a freezer full

and a bamboo pipe of blood

slit throats

set the chooks alight

they are an expensive hobby

we’re still paying for the dead years later

the first came down the stairs from a cloud

think of it

something to look forward to

and take your pills as well

you could be a stone

in the end

see how different the dead?

we are the damage they do

it’s we who must move on

Kerri Shying R - # 588 - I’ve choked the fucker out told it where I live

peaches and heat   obliterate us all
conjures tapioca   it is the newsagent today
closed against my walk    I feel again
your hand   small   in mine   at five
it’s not a poem anymore    until

I’ve choked the fucker out    told it where I live

thrown it to the ground  
littered with the jagged cut outs
of the news    and taken every
line    roughly
from behind

Rob Schackne #885 - "So at last"

So at last
I’m growing old
& the jeans falling
off my ass, zoom in
a small white butterfly
trapped under the netting
I lift a corner up
zoom out, all the same
a bee is watching me
what are we doing here
& where's the rain
Mars needs guitars
a bee needs a hive

Kit Kelen #1132 - the anonymous

1132

the anonymous

they report the facts

are leering after

lit under a bushel

if ever at all

anonymous!

always they are more

soak up the rest of us

sign of the times

they hack and they bahama

vanish in a prison

but chisel a way out

imagine the numberless heaven

they’re gone to

all ages, walks and ways – the many

mask of the just is their might

and frenzy whip

in just the ruins of a thought

no, nothing of them

far throng

something totalising

the tottery anonymous

may not even be able to hear us

eponymous

they would be but

upon us yet

forgotten in the will

each of them lives on the tip of the tongue

remembered by the work, that’s all

and when?

the year without an archon

is that the one you mean?

did someone throw a bomb?

they are a system

forms all filed

and look upon your nakedness

of neither certain time nor place

but here among us now they are

leaf out of book

off key often

and always instrumental

it’s how an orchestra consists

metonymies of how’s your father

caught up with us

you won’t catch them

kind of a chain letter curse

things they get up

rascally –

the terror cell

the cancer

and the cancer masked

they’re gone

no one marks the grave

they troll

who stand and wait

by a pronoun given

tribes!

you’ll see them

clinging to trees in a flood

or give them a mountain

and climb

they are a long march

hold a cenotaph

have a minute’s silence

the anonymous are girls and boys

believe me

everyone notices

nobody knows

see them walking into the enemy fire

the anonymous are over us

our precedence and place

they are all position

toss the arrows, bolts about

it comes to each

beyond a self

but you can bring it on

and lest we read the little credits

here all may come to rest

Tug Dumbly - MetaTrog

MetaTrog

I’m a Troglodyte, so what a delight

to hear intelligent, articulate

people discourse, converse and recite.

I marvel at the wonder of it.

I’ve kept myself too far from the light

of vivacious, fizzing tongues

in the tossed salon of cultured flight.

I blunder from it, encased in my

cave of goop and gloom

and remedial club communication,

ashamed in skins of rawer things,

starved of the wit, banter

and rich insight of rightly razored

urbane types. So please pity my

poor bleeding couthless plight,

think kindly upon the tongue-tied fight

of me and my fellow dark troglodytes

in our grunty, smelly cave art nights.

She Said # Claine Keily 135

She said to me
I wish you unmothered
the way cattle are
at the end of spring

She beckoned me
to wither
with her
jealous of the last of
my green limbs

But I am unaccustomed to
the winter
and fought against
this one last scene
the way calves must
as they are led to slaughter
pining for the fields of green

Kerri Shying R - # 587 - Thinning cars and to rent signs

decline    runs up my street
feckless as presenting cats  wanderlust
ignites overnight   in all houses
this long tug of sorrow  
repose has fled    again  to other streets

where thinning cars and to rent signs

stay quiet    slumbering in storage  we pass
cages filled with   lovebirds   kittens  furniture
for lawns along this rescue chain of hands
make out we mean to go with less  run the
car until it stalls

Rob Schackne #884 - Backsward (Crazy Tanka)

At the point of which
people are speaking backsward
weather's crazy too
tilt the country up one end
& we can all get some sleep

Kit Kelen #1131 - night

1131

night

take rain

the web float

weave from light

pale asterisk it

a passage of bats

glass painted

all signs behind the eyes closed

make a face and no one sees

from the windows of the journey

let the dark connect

Kerri Shying R - #586 - you pass me fresh from your shower

watch the plein air painters
all that architecture  
writ   large  
can’t smell the harbour
over burnt coffee grounds

you pass me   fresh from your shower

citrus and speaking    in Italian
body a hologram of desires   a loofah ad
me   soap-on-a-rope  waterproof speaker
my keep cup  waiting
to be filled

Clark Gormley #88 New Drone

pelicans in formation

glide low over the ocean baths

nobody notices

their wings beat in unison

maybe they’re being controlled

from the one console?

think about it

those little quadcopters are noisy

everyone gets uptight

invasion of privacy and all that

and they cause havoc at airports

what if your drone

masqueraded as a bird?

introducing the pelican model

for undetected surveillance

body rock steady in gusty wind

no need for anti-shake video software

most of the flight time it’s gliding

providing excellent fuel economy

and as for predators

well, it’s a brave magpie

that takes on a pelican

an added feature

of the deluxe model

is the ability

to drop its payload

of up to 3 kg

with pinpoint accuracy

from bomb bay doors

in the abdomen fuselage

and developers are working

on the Mark II model

with an extra function

of in-flight securing

of contraband floating on water

via a large rubber pouch

at the front-end

Kit Kelen #1130 - am I alive, awake?

1130

am I alive, awake?

draw them

they are otherworldy

not the ones they were

let flow as if

but it's not blood

paint and they'll

glow till the light floods out

journey and carnival conjuring

speak names that they may be

in and out of focus

know them

write their story

all may forget

follow a line

and so lost

your signature on the thing

fall from

let bless

call them

no one known can come

open the door

to let go

begin

it's this way we are

Tug Dumbly - Pee Fever

AKA Rage Against Hand-Pump Soap Dispensers, 

Pissweak Sensor Taps and Shitty Broken Hand-Dryers in Public Toilets. 

(Sorry John Masefield)     

I must go down for a pee again

to that public toilet sty

and all I ask is a tap I can turn

and a bar of soap nearby

and some paper towels on a roll

to give my hands a drying

before I wipe them on my pants,

traditions sadly dying.

Gillian Swain - #58 - still awake

finally the southerly

the strings from the blind slap the wall

and laugh at the new way

to keep you awake

Kristen de Kline #249 Gone South

1. There's nothing to remember.
2. I can hear the footsteps shuffling.
3. Does a broken heart mend.
4. Our parents did not give a damn.
5. Or learn to live in little pieces.
6. Pour me another wine.
7. Slap me around. I like it.
8. Inhale. Light that fag.
9. Don't cry baby.
10. Let's get the fuck out of here.

Clark Gormley #87 the brown booby on the breakwall

the brown booby on the breakwall

who’s flown in from some place norther

is receiving much attention

as if he’s a famous author

since this brown booby on the breakwall

has been jagged hook line and sinker

through the breast and smiles for cameras

bearing half a pound of clinker

the brown booby on the breakwall

parades as a fashion-conscious

hip Man Booker winner, strutting

along the breakwall like he’s gorgeous

this brown booby on the breakwall

would have worn it, it seems to me

through the nipple if he had one

(that’s ironic for a booby)

the brown booby on the breakwall

likes living on the brink

with a piercing that could kill him

what would his parents think?

Kit Kelen #1129 - a proposition you're free to challenge

1129

a proposition you’re free to challenge

the main problem with your paranoid delusion

(speaking with the evidence in mind)

is not that the bastards aren’t after you

(clearly they are)

nor that they do not wish to trample on your grave

and grind your bones to dust

having spat on the memory of your descendants

to the umpteenth generation

I think we can accept this inclination on their part as a given…

…the problem is not that they would not wish you

to suffer through all of this – fully aware of their wrath and spite –

with aches and agues, plagues and pestilence,

hellfire and some freezing too (as suits the season)

it’s isn’t they don’t wish to tear you to pieces

and feed you to wild animals before a very large crowd

whom they have paid to cheer

no, the problem is simply that you credit the bastards

with a level of organisation, coordination, and intelligence

not supported by the facts

your mission, should you choose to accept it

is simply to not give a fuck