Kit Kelen #999 - two poems - frangipani waking & almost orphaned now

999

two poems

franipani waking

as from a pun

I won't remember

in curtain drawn dark

returning for shoes

air day bright out

some kind of waiting

cough to a first bulb tune

it's always the season coming

bare flesh of the branches

all pointing still

roll myself out at a stretch

a different person now

almost orphaned

by their timely ends

kiss

you still expect them as they were

a smile, some bounding up

each in own voice

as not heard since

persisting dust

a little rain

to kiss

like a week gone by

in days

by hours

where empires rise and fall

coin of the gone buys nothing now

but kiss

we are immortals

famous in the dream

where nobody knows me

building this strange home

in which I have always lived

and will

kiss

first

the last

of us

precious with

let's say

say

darling

and

you

are

Clark Gormley #44 These Times

we live in a time

of rapid change -

oh, hang on -

make that very rapid

Tug Dumbly # 21 Daffy Duck Does Kafka

Daffy Duck Does Kafka

I plan defences for crimes

I haven’t committed   

against accusations

that will never be made

for charges that won’t stick

because they’ll never get laid.

Can I get a witness?

Someone to step up

and accuse me of something

anything, in this

court of the skull

this sadist’s charade?

Coz I did it, you hear?

Oh yeah, guilty as born,

GIIILLLL-TEEEE!

WOO HOO! HOO HOO! HOO HOO! …

[Crazily zig-zags off, plucking self,

then swan dives into smoking volcano]

Tug Dumbly # 20 Horror Film

Horror Film   

The wind, the leaves, the gnarly tree, the basement, the attic, the well, the wall, the clown, the clock, the doll, the owl, the rocking chair, the old trunk, the music box, the jack in the box, the clacking latch in the wind, the slow swirl of dead leaves on the moonlit porch under the shadow of the old hanging tree, with a slowly creaking swing chair on a chain, the disembodied child laughter, the piano in the empty room, the sepia photo, the painting, the rocking horse in the attic moving by itself, the  snatch of a face behind you in the mist in the bathroom mirror, the shower, something approaching the shower, someone singing and washing their hair in the shower, the low dark rumble on the soundtrack, the creepy cello, the scrape of strings, the little playmate invisible to everyone else, strings, more strings …

… crazy strings, the secretive ways of the townsfolk and you new to town and the old house on the hill with the unspoken history and someone tries to hint things to you but can’t say it straight out and is silenced by the rest of the town, more dolls, the secret panel, the old secret room of the long imprisoned child who long ago disappeared, again the well, the old abandoned shack in the woods with dusty furnishings still intact (and where’s your pretty friend got to?) and coming round the corner a possum, an owl, a bat startles you with a jolt and then there’s relief and you’re just getting your breath back and smiling at your foolish jumpy heart, when it happens …

Harvey Weinstein appears

Rob Schackne #759 - how do you know where to put the pain

says a monster with an iron mask

there are no elephants here for you

no tender sweethearts to hug

why do you keep on doing this

I hear a joke but you’re a scream

how do you know where to put the pain

the door’s unlocked the devil knocks

my blanket feels like it has buckles

I'd get up and run to somewhere safe

(it’s impossible of course I’m lame)

a desperate nightmare I recite a poem

Rob Schackne #758 - "hmm yeah" (after T. Dumbly)

hmm yeah
the odds favor
continuation
of the species
little junior
little petals
climb till they
climb no more
the gods do too
I suppose
up and down
their wet ladders

they slip
just leave me
out of it
please

Kit Kelen #998 - I hail from New Gold Mountain myself (for Lachlan Brown)

998

for Lachlan Brown

I hail from New Gold Mountain myself

(after reading Lunar Inheritance)

hello to the moon

you inherit

from Kaiping

they walked off the edge of the world

everyone came through Macao

to Lambing Flat

where fists will fell

all for a bag of dust

so gauche to notice a little hatred come our way

sweet and sour everything

it’s like this with the ancestors

looking back, see very few

– a new country thing

oldest, driest, flattest

most gone of all

turn the horse shoe upside down

a continent falls out

now the East is careering along

just you try to stop it

Disraeli didn’t have a clue

we’re mirror in deep with the ancestors

they know all our tunes

because you look a certain way

guessed from the womb

start up your own reconditioned suspicion

no one can write my name

time has given

signature like a map

in Shanghai high over the river

across from the Bund

I met the human ashtray

it was glorious to get rich

but where’s the poetry in that?

twelve thousand years since the planet

was set to defrost

now we’re smokin’

crocodiles heading for the Arctic –

takes you back to the Eocene

wishing to know ourselves

how otherwise?

imagine we who are now

were then

we give nothing

we want their all

it’s gathering dust in the shed right now

meaning we will be trinket too

synthetic abject

like the cupboard of too many toys

sing of it

be countrymeant

all path of flight's

my echo in your head

where you are really from

well?

and outside

kikuyu, lantana, fireweed, scotch thistle

you’ll never get on top of it

or rather, they won’t

because we’re the ancestors now

this was fast forward

the nose blows out

(my big, your small)

points perch overhead

China’s Nosedive out of Black Mirror

then was of a different colour

all the disbelief you’ve worked

serves for a sort of faith –

the illustrated us for bauble

questions children ask are telling

can I be chinese?

system’s too full

print another circuit

it used to take A to B forever

dangerous too along the way

now you wouldn’t want to go

there before you blink

everyone else is too

now we’re ferocious animals

of course we are, why not?

diaolou

is a treasure house

gun turrets

lock em up tight

it’s a jungle out there

bandits everywhere

and on the tide rise

when typhoon comes in

now laptop glint

stone city bones

for a wall of was

and prosper this geometry

I am a white ghost

don’t say dead

dusty heartbeat

turtle feed

stroke, preen

hello to the churchy

spire moonstuck!

balance a world on that

James Walton #118 from the north Hide

the black swan soothes a promenade

bills through a pennon of underwing

a swamp harrier dallies in pirouette

as echidnas scowl their annoyance

a dauntless of pardalotes

whizzes to my ear

my season’s first tiger snake

alive to water sways a ripple

frogs all bassy spruce

echo themselves

a rebound of Spring sky

laughs back at a sprawl of sedge

where a frame of sleek water

breaks by a fatal leap

a smile of grey herons cast lives

out of this growing warmth

the wagtails and wrens weightlessly

jete a jete on the floating bank

the arcade oil by tea trees

lets go the thrush’s call back

to a place I cannot bring focus

Clark Gormley #43 Film Noir Scene 2

in the dead of the evening

while frogmouths are feeding

and frogs may be breeding

but no one’s around

you’d be dead-set thick-headed

to venture through forests

where only the fauna

hear you make a sound

but it’s dead set unfeasible

to call for a doctor

or hail a police car

when you have no pulse

at all

it’s the dead who tell no tales

don’t update their status

and they never answer

when you try to call

Tug Dumbly # 19 - What are the Odds?

what are the odds?

You’re a flip of the coin

an immaculate misconception

an accident that happened

to happen

an inessential oil slick

hanging round a street corner

with all the other oil slicks

when you send a sperm

skidding into an egg

that made an omlette

a hit and run crime seed

and you wind up the victim

of biological fate …

yes these metaphors

are criminally confused

which is why there are still

cops and ambos

milling about back there

mopping up your past

photographers flashing

chalk outlines of you naked

in the making 

nothing to see here folks,

nothing to see …

Doesn’t mean you’re not lovely but

Clark Gormley #42 Film Noir Scene 1

it’s the chance of a lifetime

good cheer ever after

there’s only one person

who stands in the way

just a chance brief encounter

in private one evening

and the opposition

is tidied away

it’s a chance in a million

with studied precision

and cool composition

you’ll ever be caught  

but

there’s a chance that arrangements

no matter how well they’re

designed and rehearsed won’t

turn out as they ought

Thirty Summers #137 Claine Keily

I wish I were not a part of those who when they rent out their house have to fill it with toppled greens. The cry of the birds at night and the rainforest left alone are enough surely. But still I move my animals about to match an idea they have of scentless, soundless gardens.

Rob Schackne #757 - Picture-Painting-Chinese (after Claine Keily)

          Picture-Painting-Chinese                  
                          
                                                (after Claine Keily)

                   Picture a bird cage
                   like that open
                   to wind and water
                   breathing like a lung
                   I might be any one of them
                   a gruesome story, empty
                   of terminal emptiness
                   closing an empty cage
                   the wing has flown
                   I warn my readers
                   I don't live there anymore

Danny Gentile #72 - Maternal Whimsy

With the
Cochlear implant
And the
Pacemaker

With the
Titanium knee-joint
And the
Spinal fusion

My mother
Is not the
Terminator

Nor
Robocop

But a
Cyborg
Nevertheless

Danny Gentile #71 - Christmas In Sept.

“And it’s Christmastime again…
 In my head”
            The Jesus and Mary Chain

Those many Decembers
Of the psyche
Come groaning around

Again

Present me with an idea
I might put forward
I do not remember details

Easily

And I do not know
When the cold
Last settled in…

Kit Kelen #997 - after tea

997

after tea

mid morning in Spring 

 

now it’s raining

petrichor!

sun shines damp straw

everything green

has a win

stand out in it

sunshone

give in to the urge

to join in

Rob Schackne #756 - A Note on Rain

A Note on Rain

There will be no more wild horses

emerging from the forest    that race

across the plains   instead we see the blind

leading other blind ones   down the hill

to the sand dunes   one by one toward the sea

some walk and some crawl   it is freshness

it is the new world order of salt   and wind

leaving dryness   the crowded carriages

no room in the mind for guessing   scarcely

room enough for a joke   a house   or poetry

where are the horses   when is the departure

there is a magnitude of hope   they believe
how to turn one thing into another   peace day

the storm has struck   the galleries are open   

pandanus for beginners   coffee for the rest of us

Kerri Shying R # 519 - sensitive to all they wail lashing for control

a  weekend trip   with the pancake people

the  hole  in the heart      lake-top skimmers 

come dusk    my Muscat      rolls around

the glass   warm spice   ready for the night

who   whined   about  mosquitos  and surf sounds

 sensitive to all     they wail   lashing for control

of everything    that walks  that grows    that  stands  

under heaven  I slink like a wet dog    to the    garage

a  smoking    pariah   ready to blow it    up the tailpipe

 of the 4wd  if the roller door comes open    on the walk

back up the path   oh my god those stars

Thirty Summers 136# Claine Keily

I hid the empty bird cage behind the shed. The estate agent said it was bad feng shui, even though there were no feathers in it, as my bird had been swallowed whole, no traces left. "No one will want to live here once they have seen a cage like that" she said as she bent to examine the enamel on the bathtub.

Each day I had visited that cage, sure that a return would be made, but now that it had been declared to be 'empty', I stopped filling it each day with shreds of fresh grass, parsley and mounds made out of fresh spring hay.

Kit Kelen #996 - my greatest disappointment

996

my greatest disappointment

(notes towards a new il penseroso)

my greatest disappointment

– this world

the people I meet

hearts nearest mine the most

how so insensible to what there is?

and blow it out to cosmos

all unbreathable

emptiness everywhere

stars burn till out

so what

not meaning is the general scheme

except of course it's not

existence –

like this unread proof

who will dare to call?

and sometimes only weather

birds in a useless flit

to bone

to dust

and so to stone

so much unkindness, vaccuity

everything is nothing

simple cliché

for not even an end

complexity is just as cursed

for instance – see we're here

and from and to

and faster

none can doubt

the autombile – a killing machine

burning oil and coal kills millions

the more of us is most depressing

hatred, war, spite, envy, greed

ages of unreason

no patch now untouched

even love – the seas run dry

count on us

we're gone

clocks?

who was the genius?

passage of years, seasons, months

and me, a speck in time

the body?

one big ache

and something to sneeze from

each sensation

a disappointment

sniff at a flower, wilt

music I can't play

and who can understand it?

the same with words

come along so far

discussing it solves nothing

close your eyes – still there

dreams are just a rearrangement

someone coughs and snores next door

then wake to all that is again

my god!

no, never mine

no

no, not at all

gods were the first fake news

the monkey in me knows it all

sees the nutshell, under over

and I myself to top this list

could have stayed up in the leaves

but no

I have to know

I'm every day falling

further

and further

these words are not good enough

Clark Gormley #41 TAB

where men gather to

wear their vested interest

in beige randomness 

Tug Dumbly # 19 - Headmiles

Headmiles

You’re moving, physically moving

past all the signs – Speed Kills

Don’t Die for a Deadline –

but the mind spins on

like a bogged tyre in mud,

spattering the same old matter,

that tatty shopping list

of fret and resentment,

a tracking independent

of the mechanical you

clutching between

butchering B-doubles.

It works the back catalogue

like the radio on auto dial,

white noising between stations –

jazz, classical, great slag heaps

of FM gold (hits’n’memories,

tits’n’mammaries) –

clearing brambles of static

to happen into fresh patches

of ancient gripe:   

remember this one … who could forget …?  

all those obstinate dead

burring the mind,

twisting into you

like barbed wire

grown snug in the fat

of an old farm Coral.

Don’t Dream it’s Over.

No, you’re right Neil.

It can soften and lift like weather,

only to flap back down

like crows to roadkill.

The odometer ticks on,

another bug spatters –

bet he won’t have the guts

to do that again –

and you gotta smile

at the memory of the old man’s joke,

smile at your insect self

and fidgety ungeared

mandible mind,

just smile.

Rob Schackne #755 - "Today in Victoria"

Today in Victoria
the only magpies
are football players
watch it at the Railway
go west young men
(you can keep on going)
best side better not to lose
lord their nerves they fumble
the preliminary this avvo
the moon is tending full
there's just two coasts
the demons can't win

next weekend the MCG
a few in church tomorrow
reach up it's only heaven
catch the bloody thing

Kit Kelen #995 - what you'll need for the poets' picnic

995

what you’ll need for the poets' picnic

(first draft of the preliminary list) 

brave goer

(picnic-wise)

please bring

rug

tucker

tent if overnighting

I mean bring a plate

bottle of course

(how otherwise to toast?)

bring matches

togs – consider coast!

and bring some kind of lighting

bring fresh goss

and you’ll need poem with elbows for in

to recite or read or sing

come with kind words

or none at all

(we will require audience)

come perfect to the place

so shone, you’ll make us all reflect

though there’s no need to rhyme

come with a song in your heart

and you can be

the bouquet too

bring best weather

for inspiration

ukelele’s good

but a guitar is bigger

plenty here though if you forget

drum to beat, but lightly

a blanket is the picnic’s flag

sit upon or blow away

leave only crumbs behind

bring rain for the garden

while we sleep

hat or even several

cheese for dreams

but you can leave all aches and pains

gripes and grumble

they can manage

all by themselves

for a bit

bring boots you can remove

at the door

in case the rain persists

corkscrew or Swiss Army knife

good picnic sense

leave toil and strife

make this a Holy Day

I insist upon an opposable thumb

but keep it out of the trees

bring a game

a puzzle

something provoking thought

mustn’t forget the clothes

you stand up in

something to lie down with too

you can ride in

on your own horse

in a teddy bear suit of course

let’s not forget

your fond regards

I am sincerely yours

Kerri Shying R # 518 - just get the hangover

this isn’t an immune system     more

a collection   of bad ideas    who fight

like drunks   outside  a just-closed bar

in the suburbs of a country town   my

body  it’s tied one on    without me    I

just get the hangover 

as permanent   as a monument    some

Big Thing   installed by a committee

then let to rust   collect graffiti   and piss

visited  at times   by outsiders    who leave 

 afraid    befuddled     well before the dark

Kit Kelen #994 - million dollar chicken coop

994

million dollar chicken coop

if they could see me now

stumble bums

but they can’t

they can’t see me here

I’m under a number

assigned to an island

if they had the will

but they won’t

it wouldn’t matter where I went

or if I went altogether

lost among such selves as I

in one or under cover thereof

as if the earth were under

appearing as a poem

it has nothing to do with my shape

or how far stretched

it’s like I’m safe in the idea

of the picture

like I’m inside out

and see what they can only hear

they ask me how I do it

they can’t know what they’ve missed

even as ornament all magic in my tricks

and often to myself unknown

following along this trail have made

notes staved, word, image scattered

they’re in the scrum and under the roar

they would need special glasses

camouflaged fine fellow among creatures all

not a chance they’ll even see over the page

all on the rollercoaster we

I hear the python in the wall

no pity for the rats

hind paw high for stretch

having followed my arrow, this nose

and never arriving

I go on strike and nobody notices

go back to work, none the wiser

loud and clear as if calling the match

it’s an art to hide in this

get a good night’s rest in there

they can’t catch my song

hunting for beautiful objects

in the garbage sea

in rain’s imagination

my face down fall

having exploded already, taken off

run out of rocket

in low orbit

or out of this world

they won’t see me

not at all

hail fellows all

well met

in this sweet kiss

I’m left

I’m leaving

no one will see me go