Tuesday, June 18, 2019

Frances Carleton #18 - Topiary

Seated in the deck chair
sun brushing my skin
naked toes tickled by grass
Grooming becomes centre of attention

I really need to trim the bush

Sprouting right and left
It’s shape distorted
neat box flowering
Passed
Now unruly unkempt
hard pruning ready.

Speed dial six:
Trevor’s Gardening



Kit Kelen #1265 - vertical meadow

1265
vertical meadow

everywhere of the view
in the view
it’s all summer says

midge bitten

in a driftwood house
collecting the weather

suspicious looks
though never dirty

some birds will sing all night

fall out of a fjord
and off of this world

not even waking the creature’s deep
a thousand thanks for that 






Jeffree Michael #80 To many too high


Those hurdles remind one
this ol' race is a little rigged

note the night's
adjusted by scales
never grasped but always worn
so long as the shoe fits
a leg-up's good luck yeah really

don't have lineage
those connections take to make
working rooms floor jumping magic
not to mention a pre-paid soft landing
or two inherited and all that oh yeah
this ain't no lottery

it's perfect teeth
post-grad degree overseas

made sure no break-ins allowed
oh for sure there's the ol' one-two
establishment crimms pulling strings
triggers and a little heavy
influencing the dice
this ain't no plurality

trickled down and picked-up set-up
spotted by the just voluntary cultural equality
society inclusion committee universally
ready to pounce on creatiffs
all for some imagined well deserved artistic merity
just don't forget it!

we're full here there's too many seated already
sharing the shrinking pie's never been easy

oh well dig deep you're so grounded
try again in a moment to two
soar and fly if you must be positive
stay lucid well-balanced unrelenting
clear-state of mind and be inspired too
remind that all is not lost

aim high rise into the air
this pirouette's sprung
by more than just feet
it takes a beating heart and miles
to defend what others become
while you're counting the ways

dinner will come





Image - Jest /watercolour, pencil JMS





Monday, June 17, 2019

Frances Carleton #17 - disposable

feel the heart
thumping in my chest
run to your arms
accepted love –
I am a plastic straw

Kit Kelen #1264 - a rustle like the rain

1264
a rustle like the rain


brisk around the town
in a sky come down

whiff of weather and it’s on

pants plastic

each tree
its own gnarl of weather

gulls have come
to make a kind a coast here

making the most of the mist
and day lapping

I’ll give myself a hill
 hood up now and then

and if a chill comes to the air
go under my own steam

a rustle like the rain I am

brisk around the town
in a sky come down

blur of them
as they fall to the page

with these very few words
gone round 





Rob Schackne #965 - "Whisper not"











                                  pace Benny Golson   

                         Whisper not
                         they will
                         never come
                         whisper not
                         the ship will
                         not arrive
                         whisper not
                         that love
                         is done
                         whisper not
                         all trust 

                         is gone
                         whisper not
                         embers die
                         
whisper not
                         you can't go on

Sunday, June 16, 2019

Jeffree Michael #79 Uncle Bob


Some drink to eat
others eat to drink

myself prefers
inhaling
in the middle bar

she always sways air
folk look around
it's already there

muse on our side
mine electric
some blues

tonight

Frances Carleton #16 - drifting

you accused me
of leaving out of the blue -
been drifting for years

Kit Kelen #1263 - the track will not forget you

1263
the track will not forget you

same boots

foxgloves are fresh with summer to say

it’s all the way
and all the way home

a gate into the sunshine so

it’s two notes the cuckoo is
and sometimes a quarter tone flat
that must be the cuckoo’s blues

it’s all the way
and all the way home

however far you go

Saturday, June 15, 2019

Kit Kelen #1261 - how precious

1261
how precious

little
summer is
parked in the driveway
all through the snow
more cat than dog
it slinks
licking at ice
for cream
and some years
doesn’t show 

Frances Carleton #15 - beermattanka3


Friday, June 14, 2019

Kit Kelen #1260 - back in Norway after a week in Australia

1260
back in Norway after a week in Australia
(not my funeral this time)


in the long light of summer still
and summer again

as far as the storm is concerned

it’s to the water’s all-the-way edge
goes the world around

and water is always
can’t help but falling

it’s hard when distance isn’t time
and simply we are here so now

then with without the sun salute

fjord seems to flow
it’s only a wandering wind

drift with

seagull lights on the roof’s ridge
street cock next door at a similar height
turns breezily a neighbour
without hope of flight or redemption

no longer waiting for a death
but next in line now, ticketed

how all night the fjordlight
and midsummer soon

climb into the shade of these words
and tear at times

easing in
I call the court to cloud
and draw attention in

tunefully when least expect
then gently back
breathe in to mountain

here we are
then again in a poem

and under all the sky’s mechanics

midsummer
suggests another fire where I’m from

when I exhale the downward dog
comes snapping at my heels

climb high to the valley
tarn, and first snows

know consciousness really is a stream
cup hands, will we?

never so primitive as prayer

so there you are
and much thanks you

for living it all with me 

Rob Schackne #964 - Revue

Revue


Dylan’s Rolling Thunder
Head Comix’s R. Crumb


the heyday 
of everything
except my self

another tab of Hendrix

Jeffree says ‘what an upbringing’

I go down the river
try listening to the gods
that don't listen anymore


what did you hear?

tonight staying here with you
we fight melancholy
with great activity


Frances Carleton #14 - beermattanka2



#beermattanka

Thursday, June 13, 2019

Kit Kelen #1259 - herded

1259
herded

if everywhere was where we wanted when
then I’d be sound asleep

across the wishful waves all wink
the gone, to come, their heaven had

a confidence we all could keep
and would and will

and there’s the iron in belief

but, as it happens
here I am
(that must mean in real time)

as far as you are reading
though you’d say further
I would too
(everyone exaggerates)

so we’re made most of
it is creaturely to

come, can’t you
into this crook of me?

sneeze
and someone’s cracked the whip

then all abroad
the captain says
call that industry
where everything is harder

and sometimes
find a self at home
it’s where you wonder who

Jeffree Michael #78 Porosity's reprise



Sleep walking rooms
dream streets
maybe my own

or yours
somehow crashed
it's hard to say

what thread retains
one dream within another
each door it's encore

on stage
places please!
all lines unforgotten

the audience on edge
seats behind
minds traveling

at speeds of sound
only lights can dim
bring it down

to a whisper
frown now
to understand

which act is this?
what have I missed
to be here in your arms

on a boat on the boards
anticipating part two
not yet written

across days and nights
dramas lie
betwixt script and play

simpatico carnivali
more than heritage
flows within our lives

what splits one thought
one act from another
what of the fourth dimension

do harbours really remember
the shape of a vessel
moored in ancient brine

between these islands
the seas fill up
one drop at-a-time

the penny drops
unfurls its tale
at the finale

will anyone
know

it's just pretend






Tug Dumbly - One of These Things is Not Like the Other


Grim grey gent in a suit
sighs in the lobby
for the lift that won’t come,
rocks in sufferance on shiny shoes.
The Irish tradie with the boogie board
gabs into his phone.
The strong-scented woman
with mortuary makeup
fingers a gold-chained handbag.
And me, in trackies and hoodie,
my uniform to help the infirm.

The voice of the Filipino lift lady
enunciates the floors, slowly.
The tradie blathers on. The scent
of the woman swamps the cubicle. 
The stink of the fag
I just sucked the guts from
is on my mind.  
The grey gent sighs, briefcase
in one hand, wedged tight
under his opposite armpit
a biography of Cyndi Lauper.
I get out of the lift, but can’t get
out of my head for the rest of my shift
Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.   



Rob Schackne #963 - "Contemplating"














   
   
               Contemplating
               the caribou

               the young but
               who could choose
               born to be eaten
               born to lose
               picked off
               by wolves
               or economic scale

               a deep drift
               sake of wildness

               let me think
               left alone


Wednesday, June 12, 2019

Kit Kelen #1258 - always my house, never the same

1258
always my house, never the same

in my dream

go swimming with passport in pocket
lots of little fires ashore
keep the table clean

I go to climb the mountain
lonely in its mists
friendly tribes

sad when they wake me for a funeral
when was despair heroic?

descend the creek
another bout there

have lived here a stranger
always dreamt more than remember

I carve my name in the story

have to keep abreast of the water
I mean more than a head above

cannot get to sleep in my dream
but spin the one-more-time world

roll with it one more time 

Frances Carleton #13 - BeerMatTanka1


Tuesday, June 11, 2019

Kerri Shying R - # 632 - let go and everything unravels

sure it was a fuck up    had it all
on the line    ruined   everything
that came after     the ball of wool
caught up   in a wheel
one    dropped stitch    

let go    and everything unravels

after all   the plans   held close up
to the face  the way   a fur    brushes
plush  with luxury   and ease    aglow  
not with a smile  with effort    flush
that down the gurgler      apres deluge    life

Rob Schackne #962 - "the last"











                           the last
                           corner
                           cracking
                           both you
                           and me
                           sometimes
                           even
                           the light
                           under
                           the wall
                           a little
                           breathless
                           but wait

Frances Carleton #12 - If Dexter was a Dom

I feel the need to
To wrap someone in plastic
To see them writhe and squirm
Under my blade

Hot sweat dripping
Shortness of breath
Jerking at the gentlest touch
Wide wild eyes

Anticipation of what’s next
Bound on my table
Layered over naked skin
Head to toe

craving for flesh
Drives me
The sound of blood
pumping in my ears

In position
Above his head
I plunge my knife
between arm and torso

Quivering he begs
 cheeks moving
Grazing inner thighs
Steaming flesh ignited

Fluids spill
But none of it red

JC Inman #10 The Dogs of Tuding are Howling Morose


The dogs of Tuding are howling
Morose. The caged and strays
Calling stand. Stand.
The last ragged breath
Kicking ears bleeding
Teeth tyred to the road.


A man stands stunned
At the store front
Chewing the emotions of silence.
At heel sons on short leads
Stomachs hardened against
Tyche’s continual kicks


The people of Tuding are crowding
A car parked across the road,
Curious at tinted windows.
A driver despondent
Dogs tattooed to chest
Forcing steering wheel between

Teeth, tears at last flowing ragged.

Kit Kelen #1257 - like nobody's business

1257
like nobody’s business

one is continually imagining the inside of the nose
as far as Mars for strange

or take the toothscape, known by tongue

one’s own, anyone’s, the archetype, a god’s

one remembers the strangeness of seeing first
must have been the mind’s eye before

first thing up and into the twist

enslaved by a certain compulsion
(result of many undecidings)

all this means going as far as you go

forgetting a season
one always remembers
but not to notice as such

a little bird tells me over again
who’s listening? who?

something erupts very very far

how all the years are here to the garden
grows over us

parts of a long long way
run out of steam

one is exploring the silence of mind
it’s full to the brim

chattering thing that we are