Sunday, April 21, 2019

Kerri Shying R - # 618 - Jenolan in the 70’s

the whole world
is in your mouth hole
tip of tongue
 the glue cave of your roof
that shard

 Jenolan   in the 70’s

man in the shorts    
yet to be made famous by Steve Irwin
splaining   how the calcium
drips through stone    the earth
ends up  a spike    a’glitter

this is not your tooth
today    ground down
like a moo cow
save for one troubling
edge     of toledo steel

the dentist    out of the question

you are there     below ground in the river caves
where Charon asked for that  coin to cross
empty pockets    betting
on the rate of enamel decay   and the exact moment
when the nerve comes into play

JC Inman #4 Soliloquies To The Departed


… Open the door
The hat rack has a mirror...
And who is this stranger
Coming home to my house
Who doesn’t have a hat?
Paid vacations are
Really a break from drinking every night
I don’t remember waking up
With a full tank

I don’t think my husband
Knows who I am.
My commute is shorter-
I’m not home all day!
It’s as though i stopped
Being
And became a negative
Neither wanted this
Who would

… Wonder now
Do you believe in heaven
Or if I should?

I cooked your favourite.
The smell! I felt
Arms around my waist,
In front of the stove
And swayed.

… So selfish, always
The times where I wished
I was man enough to stop you
Knock you to the floor
And just when things were
Getting good. This.

… All grown up now.
Cant believe Im still here,
Still talking to you.
I hope you don’t mind
Is this really what you wanted for me?
I wouldn’t have, not her,
If you were still...

I plugged in an old thumb drive
And there you were
After football training
Smiling before we found out.
You had all your hair
Looking solid. I cried and cried.

I could list the stresses
But they’re the same.
Something good happened
Today as I crossed the
Station. In greeting,
An old colleague

Hugged me.

Kit Kelen #1208 - in case you were wondering

1208
in case you were wondering

for Ross Griffith


stuck in your ways
creature of habit
conservative opinions
displeasure with the young
words like whippersnapper
having already made up your mind
being well apprized or appraised
not being swayed

forgetting the number, the name
returning to an old idea
losing count of how many glasses
losing your glasses
finding the other ones
then finding more
agreeing with what you’d thought before
revisiting
losing track
not being able to find the word

pondering long and hard
forgetting what you’d started to ponder
being in too much of a rush

having the right thing to say
up your sleeve
finding yourself lost for words
forgetting why you came to the kitchen
who’d sent you

a broken record
vinyl love
nostalgia for the good old days
advice given more than twice

dozing off in the big papa chair
just for the grandpa nap

and in your dream
you know the lift isn’t working
and the alternative lift isn’t going either
no way you’re climbing all those stairs
then how are you in this session
and who are these youngsters
how did you get here here?

just couldn’t remember
you were really worried about dementia
just wracked the brain
but completely forgot
or better, overlooked
the reason was
you were in a dream
that’s why

tautology won’t cut it
everyone does that

being in a dream
no knowing what day it is
won’t wash

cannot remember yesterday’s poem
or know tomorrow’s yet

these are signs we live and breathe

everyone forgets the last thing they did
and does it again

no one remembers all sort of stuff
and many have forgotten a lot
why do you think there’s a tip of the tongue?

yes, you can inherit such a thing
so
do your Sudoku
breakfast on blueberries
play ping pong
keep walking
you’ll be right

when you don’t know whose face in the mirror
and can’t tell the milk is off
you’ll remember to let me know
won’t you
?

Sarah St Vincent Welch # 376 Samhain





















Samhain keens
cool light, breath in 
the fabric is thin 

ending in beginning
nearer to death and just begun
witness to birth, over and over

a cry of splitting, opening
bearing down into earth
red sun red moon

Saturday, April 20, 2019

Stuart Rawlinson #97 - Unmoved

There’s stationary
and then there’s this
intense inertia
you tried to say
momentum needs a reason
propulsion off the line
deviation from the mean
or some other
catalogued excuse
seek in closed corners
fan your fingers 
probe the edges
if not dark, close
your eyes 
but not your mind
ears dangle like a net
the rest will come
in due course 



JC Inman #3 The kitten sees herself



The kitten sees herself

In selfie mode
Upclose
Image
Is also cat
But not her
Glass separates paws

Also Cat looks bigger
Fur shinier
(Not stray-gray)
Also Cat purrs nicer
More sleek
Erect ears
Also Cat in HD

Kitten is off her food.
The next day

Lipstick.

Kerri Shying R - # 617 - MIN people

MIN people

where are the MIN numbers recorded
for the birds caught out of bounds

unlocked from creek beds  tents
the stagger-steps of bark-slab

houses  forced to last far
longer than   the people in their walls

darkened irish skivvies   turned out
cheap   no pity in the push for

shoving
to the front

Kit Kelen #1207 - insatiable quest for indignation and umbrage


1207
insatiable quest for indignation and umbrage

someone from Murdoch utters it
let them be nameless
let sand sweep over the lie
the big lie

most houses don’t burn down
but here we are in the ashes standing
time comes to all at last

and damn someone for that
who’s different today?
we’ll pin it on

let’s look in the mirror –
abstract grievance

stir hate
exploit anxiety
whistle up some indignation
trump umbrage
expel truth

the thing that sells is fear
and loathing is the way to that

o how inferior these others
abject in religion

let them be nameless
someone from Newscorp
whom truth set free
defiles what was vocation

lies
and cowers in the lie pretending
it’s not politics
but science, art

who can tell the mirror?
who walks through?

can you see them all
drowning in smoke?

not every house burns down

but common wealth
and decency
democracy
what’s left of

wave money at
it goes away

no one will have know it ever was

make war upon the ones we’ve wronged
burn the world
or else how smoke?

nations crumble where empires did
we’re left with borders, flags to wave
fresh fears

we live in evil times
we choke

let sand sweep over the lie
the big lie
let it all be gone
and we’ll go too

exit, pursued by fear itself

we could have been something
we really could

Friday, April 19, 2019

Rob Schackne #933 - "Good Friday, very still"


Good Friday, very still.
The motorhomes are home.
One alone, by the river
off the grid, the saviour
but there are probably many.
A fish. Woodsmoke.

Could be you.
Could be Jenny.
The years waited
for the caravan.
Till they didn't
distinguish between
believers & non-believers.
We prayed to the river.

JC Inman #2 Box

Via Singapore, by way of Sydney,
Forty five days by van, boat, van,
The box is a time capsule from almost-today,
Things needed a month ago.

Ano Ito? My cousin-in-law
Shares a quizzical look
But not a language.
He points to the pot

Assumptions and mistakes.
Aussie Adobo.

Dark as Satan’s halo
The stain of home
Sticks to the spoon.
Vegemite.
Ten year old eyebrows waggle

How to describe its taste
Acquired, like knowledge, through trial and error,
The only thing from Down Under that is not oversold
Talked up,
Salty like the cotton in farmers armpits,
Rich as the country by comparison
And like stoney asphalt, the soles of feet and the summer sun,
Best in small quantities til you can hack it.

Heaven must smell like gum leaves and Vegemite toast

Like a monthly cheque
90% is so quickly spent
And the last skerrick
Painstaking misered
Avoiding the flashing knifetip
S p r e a d  t h i n.
Count those coins now -
Savour it -

The next box is forty five days away

Kit Kelen #1206 - dad's sad day


1206
dad’s sad day


of he died for us
and we forgot the fish
eat chips!
we must unfreeze them first

all the little lambs see angels

a face as graven silver, weep
he died for you
they all did

Lent left and Christmas coming  
hide me in an egg

track winding back
by stages

there are those I won’t see again
and gather close, my heart

I hear heaven chorded home
when the reception’s clear

every body died for us
and those I never met

bleed now
all will
and did
do now

has Dad been received by Him?
he chases ball with bat

and now Mum too
would not believe
ghost white as with her wits about

I hear heaven chorded home
when the reception’s clear

here, could you carry for me
it’s over the border to eternity
say ‘packed these bags myself’
hide chocolate in the truth

at the court of the immortals
don’t worry, we’ll all rise

lie down with lion
eat chips
fly fish

if only a salad for our garden
we’d knock at the gates

Rob Schackne #932 - How The Treasure Looks

How The Treasure Looks

Listen to the weather channel
it's cyclonic, it's fair, it's good
trees will fell you in an instant
the radio still on shorted out
where can you go from there
frequencies less seldom, pain
translated from exposure
a bleak howling in the sky
I wanted to reach out to you
as the wind speed dropped
touch down like a tap dancer
then up again, and more music


Thursday, April 18, 2019

Stuart Rawlinson #96 - Trip to Old Petrie

what else can you do
when the city floods 
the beaches

the hinterland plans
fully booked on the map 

nobody here to steal a space
to clog the passages between new

old Queenslanders
refurbished
to the hilt and full of 

crystals and tarot card readers 
it’s spiritual
you see

i don’t
we look through the trees
for a photo opportunity

a stream of junk
a steamroller
rusted pins and wheels

that once turned
I never expected 
such lengths

of authenticity
everywhere 
closed since 1918



Rob Schackne #931 - Stink-bug (Muscle Tanka)


The stink-bug explodes
cheered loudly by its friends
loveliness declined

the black crows fly overhead
a muscle spasm can't move

JC Inman #1 If You Were To Dig


If You Were To Dig

Baguio gold and Marcos blood beneath my feet.
Yamashita’s too.
The monsoon rain soften the ground
Soon we will plant beneath the banana leaves
Peace lilies.
Deeper you dig, the worse the soil is.
A layer of old sayote vines,
Rotten fruit, the dust of sawn pine
And retting fern fronds.
Overturn the compost, dig it in.
The graft is hard, dirty, resists the shovel.
Soon we will plant beneath the banana leaves

Peace lilies.

Kit Kelen #1205 - how many beats to the heart?


1205
how many beats to the heart?


has anyone ever heard the first?
do we know to begin?

no wonder such language
is beyond our means

with the jungle beasts
with somebody smaller say  

two three four billion
all depending
how heartily we hunger
strive

it’s top of the tree
and tunnelling too

the hummingbird is legend here
makes it minute aeon long
with we would say
hard at it

who’s counting?

my muscle
principal
conducts

take tubular
the worm away

how many hearts to the beat?
your own drum
and this line here
scribble

this many we say
when love comes still
count souls, count heads
count tails

arrows of everywhere shed

a world in too many objects
and home
it is left
it must go

mysterious fire in the wings
all lift
to make the clock

angel pale diaphanous won’t do

a star shines far in this dust
which pulses
all because of time

how many hearts beat for this one?

how little this moment we populate

and no one can tell
if anyone’s  home

here was the last
none will know