Rob Schackne #1016 - Here & There

Here & There

There was no
reason to go on
I could find no words

dims
photograph
shouts
impression

distinguish between
tenancy possession
& another long abiding

helianthus
turning to the sun
then one sharp in focus

in the beginning
when that host dies
metempsychosis

so me too
put me on the list
I will need to be transformed

KA Rees #28 - Rhythmic tic

Rhythmic tic

with lyrics from The Pixies

a)...chairs from Sweden. The same ones at Dad's place. So
who wants to go to the Mall? No? Thanks for lunch Johnny.


b) Pleasure’s all mine, mine is all the pleasure.
If man is 5,


a) We will see you in a bit.


b) So, are they coming?
And if the devil is 6


b) Are they going shopping?
then god is 7


a) See you later then. Yes, come on Johnny.


b) ...Tobacco sea
monkey

a) What was that Johnny? Great Dane called Betty? Lovely dogs.

b) ...one thousand glass pins

raining since lunch

b) change for an emergency...

air, breath of these

a) Oh why not a holiday?

Kit Kelen #1392 - shallows

1392

shallows

some consist of not much more than will

is it to live to be?

deep in the facts of the matter

as any tree as any weed

and there are some who wallow without

go like a knife through the sunshone day

the ignorance of ancestors

flies like a flag

over what you’d call…

no one remembers

but solemn sad

possession

all livelong

do you have the ball?

instinct with it we are

suppose

if the forest were gone

then we’d breathe

Kerri Shying R #583- night n day

it's late at night and all the gremlins
watered well    are running
munching facebook
sending emails     flick of the wrist

glint of the brain    my sleep
seduced along the hall with cocoa
and soft lights    recoils
from hailstorms calling

ping   ping  ping

1391 - was lost in it

1391

was lost in it

wrong table

too far

I, the thing to not fit

who’ll help?

in the Gregory’s a street gone

on the GPS

throws us another state

there we are

if space then why not time?

no one knows they’re mad here

where to go?

no way back

but the pages turn over

they in their sleep too

let me leave behind

on foot

nor the crumb trail

circle around

wrong book

where on the shelf?

it’s inside

on the under the print

don’t drown

you could try

but you wouldn’t

I must be the insect

unnamed

randomly directed

antennae attenuate

look at my wrist

no watch

oh dear

oh dear

I’m late  

Kerri Shying R #582 roll around the racket

roll around  the racket

solid as a marble
pain   that shifts

glass hip to dense
as pie    shoulder joints
like hound dogs   want to be
involved in everything  exhortations
aimed at rest

imagine   sat about like Herman Munster
stiff and square  bound to say oh fuck it
start to lift
and scroll and turn the pages

at night  you sleep
a letter in the envelope
 corpse pose   snoring
 pain is just a fee
to pay

KA Rees #27 - Pastoral Mode

Pastoral Mode

If the Simpson’s were the archetypical family, then John Milton was the normalest of the norm. He was neither rich, nor poor, he rented in the inner western suburbs of a large city on the fringes of a continental coastline. He owned old stereo equipment and a mountain bike given to him for a present, that he never used. He swam at the local 25 meter swimming pool and dated a girl named Jillian who pestered him about Moving In Together. He was non-committal about dating, palming Jillian’s concerns with shrugs while he cracked open bottles of Pure Blond with a potato peeler. He was careful with the recycling. 

In the beginning was the word, and the word was god. He thought that may mean language was god. The uttering of thought. But wasn’t that a bit creepy in a big brother house kind of way? When he sat at the edge of the swimming pool and watched the sun reflected on the surface of the water, he wondered if it was all just a series of patterns; if so, he wondered if the iron hook would find his flesh tasty in a Homer Simpson kind of way, or whether he would sing Five Bells as he paddled in the shallows.

Jeffree Skewes #124 ABC

a
so 
now we
know that
while reading 
between the lines 
the great Bardo chanting
once a lifetime to 1 nanosecond 
each breath the next is infinitesimal 
until the ends of time one constant cycle is 
all we know will return so we live in veins under skin
between verbs on tight ropes walking and falling forgetting. c
equilibrium the only trait worth refining I say resist 
past feelings believing them as the presents 
these self-made mirages blind us from 
receiving the love of a moment
each one another chance 
we are here alive
breathing air 
affirming 
I know 
we 
b 

KA Rees #26 - Chair for a king

 Chair for a king

Under a broad limb fig, against a sliding table 
in shade, this chair is made for a fleshy king.
Summer fruits surround its empty frame held in deep
wooden buckets, barrels cut in half and forged with iron. White
and pink peaches, pale green pears; ripe flesh. Fists
grab, fingers drip juice, straw light filters through
the flecked canopy of leaves. Beneath
our feet, foundation stones, angels and demons, humans
hold fast to the seven and the ease in which it ignites.

Kit Kelen #1390 - the box in which I fit

1390

the box in which I fit

very little air

and shall we say it’s dimly lit?

why not?

say what you like

no one will hear

tight corners but I get around

some say ‘hear the trumpets sound’

feel fear

do nothing anyway

it’s logical in a scatty way

they say you’re toast

but you’re compost

and they know

how you have to think

who built the box in which I fit?

no one ever owns up to it

this one’s down

he’s taken a hit

a pigeon’s hole-in-one

and so you’ve had your fun

cotton socks blessed

and fancy bits

how long will I last in here?

place bets

believe you me

it’s a straight place

they once called it a cabinet

that implied some ministering

there ought to be a song to sing

how I have no regret

all my life they’ve worked on it

to bundle me in

for all my sins

no one said a word

no one even winked

they look over the patient

pale and wonder if he’ll blink

pass the mallet – a little reflex test

this special place for you is best

they’ll even tell you that you’re blessed

to be so boxed with bliss

it’s everything for which you were taught

and needn’t give a second thought

hello worm

and hello ant

nice creased pants

but rather rant?

will this one turn?

between his teeth – see that?

the bit

there isn’t even room to sit

lifetime of service

here’s what you get

this little box in which I’ve fits

and now I stand to attention, salute

because I know my duty

it freaks them every time

and can’t be helped

if by now I’m

just a little fruity

still the bastards crack the whip

to each this box

the perfect fit

must say

could not have thought of

but must thank you all for it

Solkatter (Swedish) lit: Sun Cat

n: dancing reflections of light bouncing off shiny objects...

They lined the halls for you, Dear Lindsey.  

A flash mob driven by grief and genuine loss

They gave you an honour guard 

Salute to the fallen they stood to watch you leave 

for the last time. 
Although many cried, I could not tell you how many,
But many more were just as grateful
that the world had brought a true Solkatter to their life
to help them remember there is always light

I've seen fire and I've seen Rain, I've seen sunny days that I thought would never end, I've seen lonely times when I could not find a friend,But I always thought that I'd see you again - Fire and Rain James Taylor

I sang my grandsons to sleep.  

It was the usual silly songs that we sing every night 

(a man came to our house, our house, our house a man came to our house to sell us a broom)

Truth to tell I like it,no matter how much I might say I did not

(so we asked him to come in and we hit him with a hammer and we hid him in a cupboard in my daddy's room)

But this night my heart was heavy, voice was rusty with tears unshed and words unsaid. 

(they just think its silly, the young no nothing of the end)

But then I thought of you, Solkatter.  Without a conscious thought, 

I straightened up, smoothed out the tone and lifted my voice and sang my tribute into the night sky. 

So many have said the words and many have said them better but I could only sing my heart out for you, and now I write these words that are trying to catch the dancing reflection of sun on water, your smile as you plan some mischief. 

I can only do what I can, knowing others too are having trouble with the words. 

Said goodbye, turned around/And you were gone, gone, gone
Faded into the setting sun, - See you again Carrie Underwood

I hear that in the end you did go gentle into that good night, a sigh and you slipped away.

It is we who rage against the dying of the light, 

to never again hear you hold sway

to know you lost your fight. 

Only the good die young?

Well you weren't always good, and weren't so young,

But still the world will be a little duller without 

your sun cat smile 

skittering around the place.

Warming all it touches.

Then curling once around and settling down to sleep

In a warm spot in the Sun of our remembrance.

My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies
Fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die
I can fly my friends - The show must go on, Queen

But I can see you now: 

Listening to the world that hums in C major. 

Rubbing your hands together with glee as you look over your new chorus of saintly and slightly nervous seraphim. 

"Right you lot, enough of that.  Lets see you smile!

Lets add some overtones and wipe the floor with the Limbo Ladies and Cloud nine's at regional. 

We are going to have some FUN."

Is that all there is, is that all there is, if that's all there is my friends,

then let's keep dancing 

lets break out the booze and have a ball

If that's all there is - Peggy Lee

KA Rees #26 - Junkyard King

Junkyard King

Birds twinning shadows of flight. In the distance

man has made an arrangement of wings, always the jealous thing

götterdämmerung, junkyard king.

In the twilight colours spread into the skyline of your veins; a rose hanging there.

Cabbage palms raise fronds for alms, fingers spread in luscious breeze

a kookaburra swings on a bowed power line, flight tucked up in night.

Remember the boy stuck in black, the purple of his eyeliner

not yet dirt beneath his lids, his voice remains the pale heart of discord. In Wangaratta

the sugar cane, the beat of wings, moult of nymphs

Echuca, Tatura, Wangaratta. Tears,

a minor god in the evening,

the fifth thing of everything.

Kerri Shying R #581 - Sitting member

Sitting member

we sat this morning  on a
porch blue
as buddha's robe

underneath our arses
cats tinkered  in the dustiness
between the slats and earth
summer bringing lizards
white sheets dragging
on the long grass

malabar greens in pots
grow desultory
wishing
for a boat to sri lanka
a govt in canberra
who wouldn't care   if
only    they restricted
themselves

to planes

Kit Kelen #1389 - one of the magical meetings that can never occur

1389

one of the magical meetings that can never occur

it’s walk through the door of the century

of course to the planet’s other side

(much later and long before

my brother and I will dig for China

I’ll swim to America – all much the same)

point is you couldn’t intend a thing like this

but here we are

thick of the nonsense

kids love that

my father is seven years old

and I’m sixty – that’s his 1972

so unfathomably far away

‘see, how it’s all done with numbers’

not my strong point

but impressive to say

in any case it can’t be explained

war over, Trianon – work in progress

papa retired from the commandant’s uniform

world of wonders –eyes wide with

machines in the air, someone said

first car came

ping pong still being invented (reinvented as it turns out)

but here we are in the bush

2019 – very Jules Verne, very H.G. Wells

a little bird

‘see the blue? a wren

this one wants to get in

because of the mirror she sees

and can’t think past that

or learn, the way we would’

evidence and theory are later

echoes are in echoes too

we only meet here in the dream

magic our communication

my having no Hungarian

(but I won’t blame him now)

‘I know they arrested mummy

for what she wouldn’t teach’

I show him my ancient Underwood

(yet to be built I suspect)

a long time since…

‘is it something like this you carried to school?

no, not yet, that will be when you’re ten

I don’t say it out loud

ten

gave me my first watch too

and I’ll take it apart

to learn what not to do

I show him the scrapbook

and the ping pong table in the garden

say these will be important later on

when?

why are we?

who are you?

such things never matter in dreams

who knows what languages he knew

but seven is a long way to ten

I show him things he showed me

to keep the circle tight

this camera in the leather case

the light meter

flash powder

no one knows now

show him round the garden

he asks everything

and some of it I know

of course one’s tempted to say

‘much later, you will be my dad’

but you can’t do that to kids

I won’t say

‘this will be your country

you will have a wife, my mother

more than fifty years to love

but first a war’

no, I’m not Nostradamus

why betray a trust?

I too will not mention

what happened to father

empires all betray us

do we have some dobos?

I mean torta

(but there’s one to beat too)

I know a place in Sydney…

‘didn’t I say I couldn’t explain it?’

what kind of a place is this

and how

and how and why?

books! let me distract you please

even a few in Magyar

dusty, falling apart

encyclopaedia and the cook book long lost

still ten years in your world till print

and that’s Brecht

one of the good Germans

and so many are

you’ll love him

Beethoven too

I wouldn’t say a thing about ghosts or last breaths  

time when you’re seven is an endless burden

heaven is lovely then

so angel filled

and Jesus is loving

and Christmas

you’re just beginning to know

of course there are questions I can’t answer

‘didn’t I say that I didn’t know’

look at that bowerbird

swooping so low

the channelbills in the mulberry

the kookaburra for laughs

each next bird stranger than the last  

and a wallaby

novel propulsion!

can you believe such a thing?

like it’s hopped right out of the book

yes this sun is harsh

but it’s worth it

I know that you’ll think so

I’ll say

‘this is what we call a moment

it’s nice to stand out of time like this

like a nice long bath or when you’re with music

later, still this century, when you’re my age

there’ll be the strawberry candles

and it will be Rachmaninoff

one of the good Russians

and so many are

later, you’ll nap in this chair right here

I could show you your last cigar

unsmoked

still wrapped in what we’ll call plastic

a king no longer on the throne

the emperor is over too

and why do I keep that?

top of the head

the blessing kiss

won’t say where I learned it though

just a few words are left

I creak a little but it’s nothing  

no one ever shot at me

except that moron with the airgun once on the way to school

we only meet here in the dream

your dream now and mine

funny it falls to me to explain

the child is father to the man

teach well

it was my life

‘Pistika

now here we are together frozen

see how no cloud moves in this sky?

let’s take that for a proof’

and ‘next time next time

your side of the world –  

show me the rain stopped

just outside the Gellert Baths

under that hill was once ours’… in legend

a fool like me believed it all

won’t we live for a lovely lie?

there’s so much more I mustn’t say

knowing the miracle is sacred

why? ‘because they are’

‘maybe we’ll drive down to Balaton

in one of these new carriages

I’ve never seen it

or with papa’s horses

the ones you love best

we’ll trot down

times will be good again

I won’t say ‘never in your life did I suspect’

won’t say

but you’ll see in my eyes

that you are destined to survive

and you’ll make your own way