Wednesday, September 20, 2017

Kit Kelen #627 - in a library


627
in a library

all sorts of

stairs lead up
lead down through

of course a magic forest
a factory for rhymes

walls and ways through
there isn't a blank page

but the snow hut is waiting

is it an empire or a ship at sea?
just the idea gone mad?

there's the left hand of the thing
reverent nod, old faded facts

there are some books you can see right through
I hope that every day there are more

there's book under book and a shelf above
I have been fired out of a cannon
and the clock folded in around

I came to be the question
all the answers have to be
what a weight!
what struggles!
what a price they pay!

I borrow as much as I can

now and then succumb to sleep

you can only read so much into things

we look for everything in here
for a way ahead
for love

how small a place it is when we vanish
how little we are to go

in these books
carry me
further and always further
to where
I have to be finding
my home

Kerri Shying R - # 321 - Houseworker


Houesworker

one of me             gets an enema before breakfast
just remember             take the empty microlax
from the cistern tank    welcome Monday  light

swarovski crystal                bedroom window
sends in rainbows             where the clothes fell
in the night hasty with seeking out completion

sentience stalks             all the versions of myself
I do their laundry I know them all too well  and
how much sleep       with what ease     where these laughs
belong           


James Walton #73 Potter's Wheel




I saw you straight away
although you had to point yourself out
to the avid collector recalling years

you were always on my horizon love
like a maker’s relief embossed on an urn
the artisan ownership engraved

by an apprentice’s hand
how beauty is marked
by the young's flensing hope

cut down to the bone of broken despair
then braised for dyes to hold shape
in the overlay finish of earthenware

did I tell you I am awash with cracks
yet the enamel evokes a chrysalis
no matter how you hold it up to look



Rob Schackne #470 - The Sharp Knife Shadows (redux)

The Sharp Knife Shadows 

                 (after The Delgados)

The sharp knife shadows
the patient horrors surface
from the sea of mind, sea of night
upon all these zoo animal days
muttering unreasonable demands
pointing through the rusty bars 
at the blue things, the blue sky
deflected as if by semi-trailer, doom
typhoon, the busted brakes of love
soft forms beneath the counter wait
shotgun, club, machete or stun gun
& should there ever be a metallic song
a metallic you, then I guess a metallic me.


Tuesday, September 19, 2017

Kit Kelen #626 - word in edgewise



626
word in edgewise

bee loud glade
and fire in head

in the everyday
hard to get a word in
all between the traffic run

it's the already said
the old familiar
here's Prolix the Tautology

white noise rafting in your head
here's all the queue – a journey's worth

birds follow like a trail of
not-to-follow crumbs

we're moonlit
shone in the stones
needy

you have to really mean it
just a word in your ear
sometimes made map

you say
outside again
shouting through machine roar
double glazing

but after, the left out's
what most comes to mind

as in you'd meant to say
all hum
and that's the city
it's like light rounding
all says home
it's automatic speech

you rise to what
becomes a challenge

you have to get away

track was first for that
and nose before paws fell to it
just to drum on the roof of hell

take careful steps
as if you might tread on someone

as into a question mark curled

come to a clearing in the forest
in words alone
I'm the rhythm come

you'll have to dream to here
you know it

we've all met before
and here
sigh for a silence sometimes

I can hear them listening
those smaller than I can see

no one interrupts

Monday, September 18, 2017

Rob Schackne #469 - "Ah it was just a flash"


Ah it was just a flash
answering on a talk show
the question 'Why do you write?'
my reply lasted well into the break
and continued until the next one
I went on and on and kept at it
till the next and then the next
there were lists and catalogues
colours and smells and stories
the hostess gradually lost her smile
and still I talked about love
and the oceans and the fish
and the forests and the people
staying in the light and the vigor
no I won't go into it now 

what would it mean to you
only I mean it went on forever
no hook and no resolution
the cameras switched off
the auditorium still filling up
and I saved to the very end
their reason I was there
signifying something

how could I count them all
and woke up sweating

anything really

Kit Kelen #625 - cerulean ekphrasis - my precious fetish


625
cerulean ekphrasis
my precious fetish

culture in the capitals
between the scribble
and the image set

every cliché
once a truth
before that – we're without

I fear the work
it is a noun
don't you?

chiffon umber silk
snow lingers
habituates to line

every battle shapes a beast
wandering into the other's dream
as daylight cast

I am
so there's a story
found fleece in deeps

see strokes
and be the camera catches

picture the crowd's knowing murmur
home in the poem
they can do titter too

don't touch!
the hagiog tastes best
nailed up

is the image?

it is a landscape
we're indoors

my head swelled till the laurel popped
gimme some ekkies – I'll feel

so little time
light me up, will you

a cat named Lonesome
just the red socks left
and a couple of Buddhas look on

we're always finding a new way to carry
new places from, to which to cross
that's poetry of it

has to be uncomfortable

we all go over the cliff
but not before we hit the wall
catch fire
tear hearts out
ours

the one's work another's crossing out
never quite complete

be very afraid of the work
aren't you?

I like to make fun of myself
there's time

is your piano prepared?

Sunday, September 17, 2017

Kerri Shying R # 320 - hymns on sunday


 hymns on sunday

I grow hibiscus
tall   I block

your eyeline 
            it’s a fence           

between the life of me             the life that I
imagine here     there you

not raking at the earth    hear
listen to that leaf blower

line trimmer follows up
your Victa       more spark plugs

than the car across the road
Sunday  is            to listen

to your syncopating tendency
to clean            my hard heart

bounces you             burn up
on re-entry           
desist and cease
your rattle
on my bar


Rob Schackne #468 - Looking Up

Looking Up

Just a single poem
playing loud enough
to wake the baby:

Always a way out
from the edge I see
a suitcase by an empty road

The cover’s good
they’re shooting at you
decide to stay where you are

There are six stars
in the sky tonight
don't count the buildings...

Maybe two poems away
from death I'm writing
this very carefully:

Outside tonight
in a Shanghai courtyard
after a good curry
at the Indian
a light shower
under a bamboo stand
it's all the umbrella you need
when of a sudden
a huge gust of wind…


Kit Kelen #624 - every morning

624
every morning

a poem!

come from the Land of the Lullabeast
the other world's all jingle jungle
always stuck half there

through the windows
out of a dream

shiny bright
and fresh of air

draft let in to dry
painting itself out of a corner

because of breakfast waiting
poem in the tum

one that spins
and one that flutters

where bitter swallows pill
shave wool

or a ball bounces hills faraway

legion of lines!
more than you can ever edit
less than you have known

with no authority as yet
it's every poem on its own
recognizance

and many bail!
see strewn where bin was missed
re-prime the page till pure of

hat to chase up through clouds
that's the poem and how you're here

words-first often
dive into the light

it's without thought of this world or others
I bid you a good day

Saturday, September 16, 2017

Rob Schackne #467 - "Madness and poetry"


Madness and poetry
it mattered to some
replay the old records
leave those kids alone
question mark the page
rock the dictionary

the times are different
play the phone for hours
and wish to sleep a life away

I interview a 14-year-old today
name of Snake he was cool
trying hard to escape

mum and agent in the room
the name of the game
change his name to Scott
what can you do
poetry and madness

it mattered to some

Rob Schackne #466 - Imagine (redux)

Imagine
                       
                       for John Lennon

I wonder if you can
imagine all the people
hungry imagining you
the children being beaten
imagine the next cruelty
the tears the terrible fears
the million factory stiffs
imagine the mine workers
well I wonder if you can
go underground hear the siren
feel the weight without religion
imagine you can’t move
well I wonder if you can
imagine a world without music
the end of sound and song
of sight and thought and colour
imagine the rocks and walls
the hard pain and sorrow
imagine all the people
well I wonder if you can

Kit Kelen #623 - aliens



623
aliens

the aliens come as an insect thin mist
they land, expand
on skin or any sovereign touch
each is a flag unwitting

they might have been mucus
small enough to outrace time
one day we will travel that way
just an idea across ages of space

makes the insects monsters
puts the dinosaur back into bird
how ghoulish whet-the-whistle
and often just cause why

this makes God of all who who watch
take names in vain and gives
play on a scale come! all kinds of colours
we have a cross to burn

they might have three cornered hats
they adapt – will they need regular meals?
here is a song of their journey so long
and we have their blood now

they say the picture, sting, come to blows
you'll notice proboscobility
that's their feeling thing – weird garb
cock an ear to the odd we-are

some days simply have been thought here
two places at once – that's the trick
do they wash? what if grandma were one
had been? they're a way distance tells

everything teaches – you can't help that
could be tricked into thinking they're here
but home is all away for them – further more thought
there must be a formula

dreaming in our words sometimes approach
they name the thing too big to know
come naturally you might say
often the voice is disembodied

breathe easier that way
just as often thrown
so many segmented
carapace much of it

him/her would be taken to heart
that's a kind of welcome too
stranger – a buzz about the ears

between the worlds is like an ocean
no one worships there
and how charmingly sweet they sing
of the Tum Tum Tree and Bong

o caterpillar many make one –
be motto
Seethe and Sigh – a firm of solicitors
Dickensian to bone – throw shekels off

associate!
children whom we must attend
they're lightning where the tree struck
stolid – can't be read

though you may never see their rudeness
everything aches less
when you approach
kiss, miscegenate

feet on the ground
and take the breath there
been here before
wasn't there this once when

o mongrels! be one!
brace for their scorn!
a poem will have these last lines
it's everyone's work to translate

Friday, September 15, 2017

Kit Kelen #622 - ghosts


622
ghosts

the ghosts have left
the house still stands

earthy smoky ghost reek
the little loop they run

ghosts remain
the house is ash

we build to take them in

a call to arms

blood!

ghosts come sniffing after
a war must have passed here

you get that soulful smirk
skull rictus
have to shut the eyes for them

ghosts!
I've brought my own memory tribe

are they sometimes sleeping?
you'll grant a sentience to them

at peril
they are the moment spun on till

rise to the occasion
holier than thou

blind
and follow the leader

dumb mouths agape
past speech

just how much eternity
in each

they're winter bones
made mouse hole cosy

and they summer shimmer

Thursday, September 14, 2017

Kit Kelen #621 - rain


621
rain

and so we coaxed
this cloud to stay

and do the long awaited

patience!
the weather is a long time in us
here we come again

never rote
but like us
falling for

the whole round trip
was spur of the moment

wings gather for a welcoming
and sometimes shelter in the branches

not even this is the end of the journey
but dreams evaporate

it’s the precipice addressed
as if there were each green thing calling

a temperature adjusts to

so many times around this world
it’s another planet
you have to imagine
(there all landscapes are impostors
it’s only acid falls)

amounts to a tune
could be this happens inside as well

whenever it comes
there’s a poem
… how I love dripped onto

these leaves come to us
each a world
bubble of thought
thought ages ago
each of them yet to say
at’s why tank
and tap too

tongue out to taste
the last drop

where rain is falling –
home!

it’s the same with them with us
always a brink of some kind

manna’s this model
pennies have purchase
at’s why tank
and tap too

tongue out to taste
the last drop

where rain is falling –
home!

it’s whatever heaven says
I love to listen with tin
see what a sun says after

I love to hear it fall again
that’s why tank
and tap too

tongue out to taste
the last drop

where rain is falling –
home!

James Walton #72 Why is there a ?




This wheel
of greatest invention
almost a circle
causes three pauses
in every revolution
a stagger or stutter
from the scythe flat handle
the broken rectangle
a folly of spoke
to all reminders
a waning moon in scimitar
resting on an atom
perpendicular to suits
a sharp pointed query
the tin opener beak
to shred all flags.