Béatrice Machet Something series-8

# 273 Something series-8

Something. Rusted and decrepit. Somehow it’s about sentimentality and thanks to this warm feeling and because  wanting to share you have faith that nobody would come to any harm entering it. Something without self-pity anyhow with gritting grief caking the nerves of this brain-like environment. Something clogging what is ordinarily used as a heart. For some reason at the moment it is at peace.

Quelque chose. Rouillé et décrépi. Somme toute il est question de sentimentalité et grâce à ce chaleureux ressenti et parce que désirant partager vous êtes confiant qu’aucun dommage n’arrivera à quiconque entre dedans. Quelque chose sans pitié de soi bien que le chagrin (grit) enrobe les nerfs de cet environnement quasi cérébral. Quelque chose obstruant ce qui habituellement sert de cœur. Pour une raison quelconque en ce moment il est en paix.

Béatrice Machet Something series-7

# 272 something series-7

Something called nocturnal process. Its abstractedness will repulse any looming harm however to be pondered and observed. Never put some value on it which needs not to devote efforts to-for it. In any case something like fever whatever high it goes through the night rocketing life to the sky.

Quelque chose. L’appeler procédé nocturne. Son caractère abstrait repoussera tout dommage malgré tout à mesurer à observer. Ne jamais lui accorder de valeur il est inutile de lui dédier des efforts. Dans tous les cas quelque chose comme fièvre aussi haut qu’elle aille dans la nuit propulse la vie au ciel.

Dylan Jones #32 Shadows

Sarah St Vincent Welch #292 Lavender

blue dilly dilly

when I am queen

you will be king, whorl

catch the air to dance swirl

grey tendrils soft spikes ladies’ scent

you tremble with bees heavy with pollen

dozy ripple of purple august and true mauve hue

dart of petal bowed ancient mint lavender I told me so

Kristen de Kline #24 - Thought wrong

Thought wrong

thought you'd be there every birthday
he's your boy
thought you'd be there
imagined he'd be here

thought
wrong

it's not the cake and candles you miss
he's over all that at seventeen don't treat me like a kiddie
the tearing of wrapping paper saying bows and ribbons are a waste of time and money
kisses interrupted by phone calls texts messages
the knotting of the school tie and throwing on the blazer
charging out the door, says he's going to miss the bus
the beer on tap he chooses at the Red Lion
good choice, I like James Squire too
the way he says: I learnt it in legal studies I can order a drink if I'm with my folks I learnt it in legal

thought you'd be there
imagined he'd be here

thought
wrong

Allison Morris # 1 'July'

Do you recall the smell
of cold showers - brilliant
as diamonds, and white?
Sticky-sweet nectarines in French paper,
and Seine-burn, pink as
strawberry-stained custard.
Painted glass days of small triumphs-
when sunlight, like liquid,
spilled carelessly down St Honore,
soaking into warm sandstone and knotted iron
and turning gilded guardians to fire.

Michele Morgan #297 kotare

all gnomic wisdom
cannot hold
our small falls from flight

Red Cone(LF)#272-the walk

the walk

puppy sniffed his way
around the block
roses loud

Jan Dean # 1

Carrara 
A double tanka for Lyn 

Michelangelo 
used Carrara marble 
mined from a mountain 
where men still die stealing
the new way of pricing art 

my friend travelled 
to the ‘cathedral’ mountain
she stands in slurry
with marble dust in her hair 
     still as a statue

Mikaela Castledine #306 Palisade

Grow your own palisade

the trees in standing resignation

turn sideways in their hindered growing

from inside you look out and feel your safety

from outside we see your incarceration

the trees see only each other

and a little slice left and right

if they corner their eyes

Lachlan Brown #1 On the night before I teach…

On the night before I teach…

I have this dream where I enter a hoarder’s house and discover that some of the rooms are being used as a kind of hotel. For some reason there is also a creative writing class set up in the living area, chairs carefully placed around huge piles of clothes and rubbish. I know that I am meant to teach this class, but after introducing myself I instead start talking about Gerald Murnane. I say that Gerald would probably hate creative writing classes, because his peculiar writing is an example of the opposite of any kind of advice one might receive in a writing class. Then Luke Carman (apparently in the class, somewhere up the back) pipes up and says, ‘I hate Gerald Murnane. I hate his work and everything he stands for.’ I am a little taken aback by this outburst, but then a great defender quickly appears from a sidedoor and interjects with an eloquent defence of Murnane’s work. The students sit there, dutifully taking notes.

Red Cone(LF)#271-poised

poised with pencil
perfect words last night
now
no remnant
no shadow
a space of emptiness
calling
tomorrow
the silent creature

Katherine Stuart A murderer me #1

Blue-banded bees -- kill or be killed
Am I simply carving out a place
In inherently hostile space?

the bees are silenced
with a slip slop slap
of mortar

get thee gone
for the death you threaten me with

leaden creeping fading away death

No human denies me

It is quieter without the bees
It is easier without the bees
It is deader without the bees

Timothy Edmond # 1

You painted the ceiling

enamel black

like the inside of

your bong, like

your brain, like

the inside of your

lungs.

You sat there like

a cemented garden

oracle.

I don’t know what

you said. You don’t

know what you said

but it was good.

I was with you with a

beer as the Sun came

and then a let’s go for a

walk.

There was a bakery

you could get a pie as

the light

interrupted us as we

talked; you not quite

understanding, me oblivious.

You talked through

the morning. You had a

a special chair.

We had many years

before we became

redundant.

The trick was

when to go to bed

and when to have

sex. Maybe Wednesday.

Everything you said

was right.

And he painted the

ceiling black to match the in side

of his brain enamel tar black,

the inside of his bong

the inside of his lungs.

There was a ritual to everything.

He had a special chair like

a levitated pillow on legs.

He was in tune with his body.

There was a communal bowl.

He would write poetry in the

toilet like other people read

the paper.

He could cross his legs

in his lap and touch his

ears with his toes.

He spoke like liquorish.

He would speak to keep out

the walls, holding everything at bay.

“Paranoia is good,

it comes knocking

at the door but

we must reconcile ourselves

to it because one day

it may be the Man

calling us to recompense.

We must look him

in the eye, the mystery

caller Mozart meet, or

the caller from Porlock

Coleridge let in."

Mikaela Castledine #305 Evening

Birds are resting

and rust

bleeds into the sky

Chrysogonus #78 - at the beach

at the beach 
inspired by MC's "The Sea" 

waves host
a timeless reunion
for my family

ash
long since
set to sea

in clear white
teasing
foam

my feet
on the sand
are very far

from spirits
with gills to swim
wings to float

lungs in chest
sign my mortality
hold me here

apart from the feast
at least
that's for today


di tepi pantai 

di dalam ombak 
reuni tanpa akhir
bagi keluargaku 

di dalam abu 
lama berselang 
larut dalam laut 

di putih gelombang
ujung buih 
menggoda

kakiku 
di atas pasir 
menapak jauh 

dari roh mereka 
berenang dengan insang 
melayang dengan sayap 

paru-paru di dada
pertanda kefanaan
menjeratku di sini 

riuh pesta 
tak terhampiri 
setidaknya hari ini 

Kit Kelen #306 - what can be done about tomorrow?

306

what can be done about tomorrow?

the authorities are alarmed

they are making noises already

one has to admit

if tomorrow comes

there will be certain risks

that is perhaps an understatement

(made, albeit, in the interests of calm)

as it is

the day progresses

and it seems likely

that the sun will set

some may have hedged against it

but nobody voted for this

who could have seen it coming?

this could be the end

of things as they've been

as things, for instance,

are today

if tomorrow comes

how can we be protected?

who's to take responsibility?

will there be a way back?

there's never been terror

on this scale before

we truly are at the abyss

it's an ever-present threat

just look at the world already

who can say it's not the case

all hell has broken loose?

what is to be done?

a minute to midnight

stopping the clocks was tried

at best a limited success

so much coordination required

even smashed clocks

leave the tides to run

stars and planets turn through the night

it's as if unstoppable

this day-away

that's bearing down

still we must trust

our best interests at heart

what are you going to do?

I think it's too late to get away

they're conducting

a sweep through the streets

the sirens are finished

it's the loudspeakers

we're being told

to stay where we are

stay focussed

keep heads down

tails up

don't speak to anyone

hold your breath

just be in

the here-and-now

Jeltje Fanoy #79 big winds (17)

birds, winging it

against the wind

askew, sideways

Kerri Shying R # 119 Confession

Confession

We gave away

 our  stories

enduring     down

so many  years   the

generations  

calling out in

flux 

 everything for

trade   pervasive to

improvement 

no sand

left unmined 

 I watched M.A.S.H.

at the same time

on the same channel

with my parents then

 I did it with

my son  

say kids

we’re dreaming   not

telling

 too busy  too

lazy  all the

while     all while

riding  on the

thermostat of feelings 

 our own up and down  

 one degree two

degrees   one side

 other side of

happy   

we lost the plot    go

shake your heads   bang

them    bring back

the stories    light the

fires

see

walk inside a

bigger time  

something

wicked marches   there

just around the corner

now

31.10.16 (#304) Halloween by Myron Lysenko

bags of lollies
the kids have not prepared
a trick

Photo by Nadine Hartnett

John Bennett #1 - November musings

birds not pets

‘Australia has provided the world with a remarkable range of pets, including budgerigars, cockatiels and other parrots, various finches, bearded dragons, bluetongue lizards and even the spiny leaf insect (Extatosoma tiaratum).’ Tim Low in this morning’s Australian Geographic ezine.

Birds in cages !!  Last week out west . . .

Silk scarves flying as the sun slips, jewelled wings

spinning colour, a Turquoise Parrot beating overhead,

brighter than Rainbow Bee-eaters, Rainbow Lorikeets

or rainbow. Brilliant blue wings charged by electric

current, golden belly, red flash and green shimmer

reaching the limit of colour. I felt naked.

And hundreds of Musk Lorikeets (a rarity here in Valla, we get Rainbows and Scaly-breasted). Here are two:

Susan Hawthorne #304 sheela na gig, for Bronwyn

on halloween many come out
not just tricksters and treaters
but spirits and ghosts
spirits of ancient women

you can find them in churches
they are called grotesques
men's fear of women stark
and strong the sheela na gigs

you can find them on brooms
crossing the moon's path
you will find them gathering in groups
or maybe you won't see them at all

Rob Schackne #132 - Stretching It

Stretching It


Stretching it until it breaks again and again, 

bending every weakness you find there, 

and sometimes tire of the enterprise. 

Used to believe that it was the language 

I was trying to change, learning how the tricks came. 

I watched very closely and quizzed the magicians of the word. 

One after another they told me they didn’t know.
One after another they told me they knew. 

They spoke sometimes of energy. 

Sometimes of the places they went. 

Some of a kind of music they had heard.

The best ones shook their heads, 

they said honestly they didn’t know what it was, 

or where it comes from or what the point is. 

They took another pull and said, 
don’t talk to me about utility. Just do it.
Can anyone learn to do it, I asked. 

They stared at me. 

No, not anyone. Some of it's pretty diabolical. 

But as soon as you can, walk your own dumb path.
No reason to get in everybody’s way.