Kit Kelen #1227 - desideratum

1227

desideratum

something new in words that were

a picture never seen before  

and all the story in it --  

the place beyond day’s care

otherwise in other worlds

this is what I live for   

fun!

must be monstrous sometimes

crowded with creatures past and to come  

sometimes we let ourselves

fall for a thing   

terrible deeds are done

so easily, in other words  

where, may I make you see?

and if I tell the bells

the birds that wake me

sung to dusk

I know you’ll smell their lice, their shit  

all sorts of things are less than fair

come then under this spell I’m casting

know what you’ve not known before

we can’t tell how yet, what it will be

I want to take you there

JC Inman #8 Learning To Fly

Learning to fly

1. Accept you are falling
2. Do it longer than expected

Weeds about your stem

They’re not for your growth

Jealous of your sun and rain.

Be a shoe and not a rung

Find other climbers, encourage them,

Art is the trellis, not a ladder

The ground thirsts for the faucet’s leak

Impatient for its work on the stone apron

The slow drill. How the parched cheered the first drip,

How they screamed when it bore through them.

Rob Schackne #946 - "No more than"

No more than
one metronome
in this world
all a measure
the rain taps
the wind marks time
they slow down
the dams fill up
when it stops it all
sounds the same
I can put it differently
an extra blanket
the frogs gather
I can sleep

Kit Kelen #1226 - fresh green in the twig song

1226

fresh green in the twig song

at Lochhausen, in Munich

finds

forested Spring

afoot where no leaf falls

but jog and up

breath beside

still a cloud to carry call

squirrel midst    

in mittens   

in beech   

in teepee clearings  

woods were such a song once  

stood beyond the map   

here’s time in two far symbols

churchbells and a train

under oak for shelter   

fresh umbrella for fresh falls  

because the forest loses us

in ways of season

got beyond

kids now absent home to dinner   

yearn to wild these woods again   

and here in these words

where you find me

I no less than them 

Kit Kelen #1225 - you see

1225

you see

I am imagining the better world again

I know we can’t go there    

the present is stuck on us like a bad smell   

I’m staying in bed in here where it’s warm

because winter is coming out of the fairytale

dogged by it

but dream in there

novels end happily tragically

tied up with loose ends

like sealing wax

try to get away

how the fates work overtime unseen

a life I mean

it comes to what you can’t call conclusion

because it isn’t an essay

but here are the flowers

a choral arrangement

if only the truth were something to score

at the pub from a bloke you never quite met

saw just the once, vanishing home in a taxi

one day gone and just the words left

just saying

I never tried hard enough

never did enough

this world was never good enough

for me

JC Inman #7 Lugaw at Victory, Baguio 2019

Lugaw at Victory, Baguio 2109

Hand on my shoulder

Light, dark, small, full grown

Arthritic fingers like pigeons

Returning home, like snail spirals,

Lined like a receipt, crumpled and discarded

Swept to the street margin

Of the dusty bus terminal.

She asks for a but a fingernail

Of what I have

As if restitution for the imbalance

Of justice in our juxtapose

Kit Kelen #1224 - when we were immortal

1224

when we were immortal

for Pamela Griffiths

time for everything

best things take time

in all the pockets of the day

with gifts of love, imagination  

see into the picture and past

faces of friends pop up   

expected, sometimes for surprise   

there’s always the miracle of here-I-am

and how-did-I-get-here?

quite the empire we are

how vanishing this time

that Spring beginning could be anywhere   

meaningless -- money, the pile to-do   

the well is conversation --

this great scheme

we are together   

yearn to be blank and possible

know such a morning comes   

it is sung out of treetops

caught falling

time for it all when we were immortal

time for everything

best things take time

we’ll know when we get there  

and meanwhile

it’s lovely to be on the way

Rob Schackne #945 - Girl With Pearl Earring

Girl With Pearl Earring

You will write something about her pale face.

The almost smile at the almost man.
Her eyes.
Is she experienced?
She never walked the streets with a turban or a big ball.
On Saturday night she cooked dinner for me.
On her birthday I gave her a lapis necklace with 6 pale amber pieces.
I see her again and ask if she ever wears it.
No, she says, I prefer a gold necklace.
So nice to see you tonight.
Another drink?
Throw the dice with some vigour.
Another game?
Throw the dice again.

Rob Schackne #944 - Ways Of Watching A Cat

Ways Of Watching A Cat

                     for Denis Smith

I love the
texture of a cat
fur filling
electric
in the darkness
the purr
the spark
at feeding bowl
so maybe
beauty’s not
the only thing
(neither is
the loss 
for words)
the elevator
door opens
cats run out
it's morning
I must go home

Kit Kelen #1223 - Garmisch-Partenkirchen

1223

Garmisch-Partenkirchen

5.v.19

for Björn

in all this

feathered fall

of sky to me

a screen

the horizontal

Spring green

of the beech

needle midst

as if in a glass case –

this is the city of creatures unseen

and shake to know the snow

nothing to hear but my head

this is how silence was first

when they landed

frail as otherworldly

it is an empire

the extent of this

we all know empires melt

but glory in this monument

almost Tyrolian

Holy Roman

would melt the thunder

till a river ran

Alps out there somewhere

no way to be sure

nothing to climb in this

tonight for a darkness

tomorrow the discovery of sunshine

but now, in all solemnity

we stand here for the snow

Jeffree Michael #72 Bookmark Mondays

Always they gathered

each other 

clear hearts like minded

all over time

theirs had embrace

profound tellings 

new age content divine comedies
before and after Babel

narrated in caves 

back home after dark on stage 

their only protection

each stood and grunted perfection

raised glasses high on zeitgeist

to the only flight never owned 

inherited somehow in kitchens

oh those songs of freedom

behind his veil

twentieth century 

the man 

slipped away before the dancing

until Aquarius from the moon 

was finally seen 

winged steps and gravity forgot
on which page

we rested 

Stuart Rawlinson #101 - Inside

the fluttering

the muscular flaps that

keep an unwanted rhythm

platelets and plasma

for a phantom of greed

of clinging to something

you daren’t admit

let’s count the time

the specious facts

the fallow field

instinct without a switch

I’m ploughing the wrong lines

a course of lies

we’ll get there

in the end

Kit Kelen #1222 - a twitter account

1222

a twitter account

here in

the woods

absolutely

alive

aloud

all afoot

and on the wing

here, there

and making selves known now

the noisy ones

above the buzz

don't you know

they are telling the world ?

telling out of winter

forgetting it ever was

theirs are conspiracies

of pollen, flower

and landing leaf

here, let me lie in

below the silence

said of clouds

wonderfully lost

I love to be

in woods

I'll call mine

for the moment

taller than trees

I am to be here

wider than the way

and in the dampening

indoors after

dense with themes

lost to verbiage

from a garden

of stray signs

make a forest of my own

I love to be lost there

Kerri Shying R - # 623 - the places that you walked

you want honest    I don’t believe I
cared   what blood stood on your fingers
as long as they touched mine   that
was at first   in those fun days   when
buzz was in the air    round about

the places that you walked

a stream   like fruit fly     hovering
behind    insinuation    is all     I
gave it no mind     but a sales pitch     my man
got gall     nighttime’s    you up    and out
so silent in the dark    no words   think again

Kit Kelen #1221 - spring is singing

1221

spring is singing

so many scented

hear it in hearts

palm of your hand –

spring

there's not a road to rush by

but knows

spring is the singing

now and then a sky speaks thunder

why wouldn't you if you could?

spring and the garden is asking us in

which is to say out among flowers

and all the green risen to joy in is sin

as rudely as our health allows

spring and that's why climbed on to each other

and wrestle you for whatever it is

all glade

till dark

track to track climbing

runs spring

leaf larger than life

spring is the firstness in song and so

in all steps we take

blind

all in the wish to love

addles the wits

this spring

where I'm the alien landed

must have been before

it won't matter

tear out the infidel heart

hold it high

here we are in the season

as wished

no one is responsible

I dream it

sniff my way there

among the littlest

and the least

I hear the song of spring

Kerri Shying R # 622 - Another Ted Bundy Show

Another Ted Bundy Show

I am this
found   object    not alone
   in bed   climbing frame
of cats  warm scented  sleeper
cave of dogs who taken from their mothers
make do the best they can

today I change my pain patch

netflix pours like honey   on the toast
   of womens’ bodies   kitten

ransacks the dressing table   and I long
for order and all this
to just stay still

Rob Schackne #943 - Yes Yes

Yes Yes

Maybe this time
we don’t jump
off the boat
wade in
tie the ropes
and wait for
yesterday
but gaze
at a distance
in the depth
count the stores
play a cassette
the cards out
and the rum
what the hell
who wins
takes us to
another shore

Kit Kelen #1220 - the long night to Europe

1220

the long night to Europe

science fiction noises

and the rumble of wheels not there

the blood has always been before

runs around

in corridors

and past made beds imagined

strip cartoon

pageant of things glorious

for having been

fall in with

as if

Byzantium

in the long rigging quilted

days identical

trouble of wheel

of fire

there are pinpricks of light

they grow

it was always a tunnel ending

the forest fallen, a fleet

yellow light

bibles of wheat and of corn

long night to my skin

so lovely pure and kill for

symbols to go with

convulsions in the unseen

you would never dream of

it's their hearts make dark

brought upon themselves

and we – how far from harm

here, not here yet

where my skin was once

where my blood has always been before

just when you think you can't fall lower

call the new day bright

so often it is

it won't matter where in the world you are

this skin full of it –

vain pride

everyone will be great again

it's how the dark begins

Kit Kelen #1219 - look down on my country

1219

look down on my country

about to vote

it is a desert empty red

frilled dune with

clouded about

raintaunts for a hat

someone has lived every inch of it

story of their skins

and me in one too

you can see where the rivers have been

I have voted already

in the sky threads to dust

I am looking down on the fleeced land

it's every way sunstruck

stroked, some might say

another drink

am I the only one drinking?

so many sleep in the face of it

not everyone can

I take the last of the day, as offered

my country is an underworld

so far till dawn now

so many things as never before

many are voting for things that were

in the hope that they might be

I am making up my mind already

now all the light gone from the sky

the mangrove can't-call-it-a-coast

but we end off the fishing night north

dark sea in the fallen stars

nothing is sudden but the way we look

we were given to understand

almost half led by the nose

to greed alone

best they can do

vote for your skins

and which one is that?

vote for belief you don't have

vote others out

lest they get in

grow old

weary

sky so soft

it covers us all now

here is our love to care

take last of all the offered day

you don't see past the world's edge

but you know it brings you round like salts

this all this is ours

last light could be first

our presence for the irony

applause for who we are

could be

bumpy upstairs

I drink the last light in

I have voted already

sometimes I'm the only one awake

to see over my country

and know there's still a chance

Kerri Shying R - # 621 Gone our Les

Gone our Les

what’s ramshackle  today
 at the crushed in  run-up
  to the truck  

loved his saying     autie
 some sweetness beneath
  all the grey   the blue

trunks with twists   turns
 of phrase   and fortune

resonating red-neck
 long gone    now  for real

Kit Kelen #1218 - the emptying

1218

the emptying

clock where I was

all the world's daylight saved in it

dark where I am

and dark where you are

orphan and almost

that's who we are

it's the same word rhymes us

same night

it's all mortality

things surviving

strange continuations

a garden overgrows itself

a kind of pride

in rise, spread, bloom

a beckoning of seasons

garden wishes to be a future

I run backwards into time

turned back for

that is the echoing in these rooms

tear left

against the world is turning

everything happened here

we all went into the book

house of dust

all smoke to begin

so much gone-ness

soon you forget the thing you forgot

but blink and all as it was

this is the deity we trust

approval sought and given

much touch

and a kiss for the top of the head

here we are

all around the table

each trying to get a word in

but the house is over

I was last

we took time from it

it was made of time

walls blank now

where the world had hung

air finished with the words

I'm the last out

I don't turn off the lights

I do a vanish too

Kerri Shying R # 621 Anzac Day

Anzac day I’m free to do
what   the rich folk   say
my world   slender with
the remnants    of the ones
who came before   these
counters    of commodities

just the same as who said
send them in   it takes
a lot of dead
before you win
a war

Rob Schackne #942 - "Stretched out"

                      (i.m. Les Murray)

Stretched out
reclining in a chair
pensive poet, vale
yes, might as well
make what you will
a cup of coffee
a book of poems
the struck hand
relaxed in trance
the hat's outside
the search terms
the available grants
pull the other one
please, gentle winds
grace and presence
now translated
a bit of forever
into other tongues

Kit Kelen #1217 - I keep a door in my woods

1217

I keep a door in my woods

is there some smaller than to be here hum?

beautiful biscuit into paint

over a stile it is a tree

was planed once, morticed

a rusting timber

leaves have stained

a world is passing either side

how many have come through?

out of this press, words otherwise

ancestors are

might lie in wait, climb stairs to it

and fallen just so far

a courtesy to knock

wait for the visit – my cure

the paddock between doors

the woods in the way

I hear frogs through there

cicadas of a summer long since

once I was lost for the word

keep them in the passage now

long grass waving unseen with the wind

still broad daylight in there

where a mansion could have stood

feet in the river

hung on a peg

only a nail

in my mother's long coat

the wrong key

nothing to lock up now

Tug Dumbly - Les Murray Through a Glass Bottom

Les Murray Through a Glass Bottom

Les looks down

through a glass-bottom

at the fishes and the weed,

at the reef that knifed the Sirius.

A big man in a tiny boat.

Only about six of us.

This much I remember, though

most of the time I was gilled

on duty-free gin.

I barely recall my readings

on Norfolk Island.

That’s another poetry festival

not to have me back again.

I get a flash of me and Gini

running into Les and his wife

outside a convict ruin on the green,

of Valerie being lovely

and Les expanding free

on the place’s history.

We find Dorothy Porter,

alone and under the pines,

high above Anson Bay.

It’s evening, and she so small,

dark eyed and self-contained,

far from anyone and anywhere.

She smiles. She gone too.

But what sticks most is Les,

too big in that boat too small,

peering down through the glass

into a clear green fathom,

and me thinking Prospero, 

what’s he seeing down there? 

No, what’s he really seeing?

Stuart Rawlinson #100 - One hundred

I know what you’re thinking

two plus years 

for a ton of slim words

older than my son

but shorter than each season

since then the man maths

has been painfully 

reformulated

an unequal equation that 

won’t solve itself

lacuna. Space in the loft

unfit to end

a paragraph in another place

missing suffixes 

mean paper in the bin
it’s a stretch, I know
but another sentence
should just about fit

Rob Schackne #941 - "There is the shopping"

There is the shopping
and the dinner, we
sit down in candlelight
the pleasantries
my body has traveled
well I listened
I am so weary
to be excused
what sort of mask
painting my portrait
by brushstroke
my face in the dark

Tug Dumbly - Woodwork

Woodwork

Your end came smooth  

as a shaving planed

in a tressing arc.

Only later did you rattle the latch

to coat-hanger

a question mark:

splayed and deep

as cold crow’s feet

run the tapering lines
of our own resolve

the haywire spires

of heathen hopes dashed

weave the wind  

like drunken ghosts,

or quietly folded

and put away

still tug at the sheets

to lie with their hosts. 

Frailed intention knocks,  

papery knuckles

at a lacquered box.

Hands that loved Cedar

to varnished beauty

now gnarled to the bed

in a nursing home.

Between metal rails,

tilted and frail,

did you know this

to be the finishing room?

The nurse’s clinical

click-clack spoke plain:

there’s no pretending.

you and I both know

this is the ending.

But you must have sized 

the rough outline,

if not crafted the thing exact.

You smiled, though couldn’t speak -

the stroke had seen to that.

Yet stroked the dogs

my mother took to visit,

dumb animals

you once fed scraps.

Kit Kelen #1216 - trail following

1216

trail following

I am following your trail

they are several

the way a word is more than one

how hearts beat for the idea

so many houses among are the same

where the birds begin

I am gone

they will come

and time refer to itself

time will, you'll see

here I am

this is the other side of the page

there are plenty of us here

follow the rules of the grammar to be

I am gone and how about you?

you never know which door, which room

it may simply be an idea

hearts hung

for how many worlds are there?

here we are for one

they are several

I am following your trail

I am gone

Stuart Rawlinson #99 - When faced with the morning

when faced with the morning

and it’s amber light

water droplets hang invisible 

in the air, the clouds’ 

last retreat: a vestige of warmth from a night 

cancelled and overwritten

words get caught; thoughts viscous, half-numb

the train will come soon

automatic doors swoosh-ready and right

the reverse flight

divert all calls, cancel my appointments

hasten the night