Tuesday, February 28, 2017

Kerri Shying R - # 16 Blinds


Blinds

i/

Morning, brief projector   of the silhouetted glory   purple
added later    around noon

when I sink back scan the painted space above the picture rail recalling
dawn       all day one full universe

cosmology and flow    fauna sleeping by the laundry basket  full of
lightness,  dreams.


ii/

Letting go the grip
on that    hearsay sun

told retold     here you
make a name    moist

on the skin    made
vigourous with heat exchange

tell me heppalump
get up and move no

five point plan     you
boiled star   insist

the day  constructing relays
failing understanding    wilful

girl   crunches  at her lozenge
when everyone   says   suck.

Monday, February 27, 2017

Just a remark about how much help you all are.....

I am in the middle of assembling a manuscript - and being the jittery creature I am, have been looking to the augers for guidance. Luckily I have you lot and the 52. I have to say I have incorporated many of the suggested changes to the works, and it certainly gave me a lot to think about.

The immediacy of the Blog is really uplifting, but for me the harder work of writing is mostly ahead of me. So thanks. I hope to be a little more forthcoming with my own comments as I improve at managing all this stuff.

Regardez Kez

Kit Kelen - in a word - for godsbother/ataraxia


in a word

so many of us meet
who never have
and never will

eternity
is in these traces

however brief
that may be

Kerri Shying R - # 14 - Know your country


Know your country

deep roots   fend off heat   those fires that fling themselves    cross treetop
to treetop  never pause to gloat on ground obtained below    the

wild hot teeth of fame     see  not one finger put   upon the  dark black
soil    my encrusting solid  cake of bitter years and fine spring days both   worn

to nubs   to wormy flub  for nothing   but this  now this   hate this   conflagration
calling birds to fly or die   nothing on four legs  will stand  me    and my

sly rhizome    fat tuber dull and heavy arsed      I’m plenty
I am planting for the green tomorrow    

deep roots    manured      surpassing tree

Sunday, February 26, 2017

Persona Grata #3: The Aphrodisiac Sting


The Aphrodisiac Sting

Grey on grey soft shadow
longing washed into insignificance

slides through the landscape
everywhere spoiled for beauty

the privilege of place and stolen time
salt water and mist

she curls her body in readiness
the nervous system on alert

it’s just water, love
ocean, sky, a picture of pain in muted tones

nerves don’t carry memory
that is the simple story

you can’t conjure it, it travels in cell tissue
in the backlit sting that lingers


silent as a phantom limb
ready for entry

Jeff Skewes #8

I amended #7 Empty ... took Magdalena's advice, so much the better 
tanx MB

So to #8 
Although this is a 365 reworking I still find it compelling here (order)  and a better version than Underneath #1.
I wonder what others think 

See link to #1 below.
_______________________________________________


Light finds its way
beneath waves

deep into crevices
their unlit cracks

underneath under-realised
illuminated opalescent shells

on ocean floors
tickling ancient tales

still detecting curious currents
emanating from above

unperturbed by questions
stained on traveler's faces

too far from home seeking direction 
and a safe landing

instead answers 
so indirect

that refraction and reflection
be the only means

to comprehend
a language so foreign

it must be sung backwards









image: Wagonga - synthetic polymer paint on joined multi canvas panels jskewes




Underneath 1. see

Kerri Shying R # 13 - it ends you know


it ends you know

there is just one more day of life to follow on this road
one sun one moon one meal to gnaw to gulp to wash and scrape

and moan about  to all   who cross my smallish sticky path
not so much a glider anymore   I drag myself   the sled pushed

forward packed with chattels  of the prophylactic kind  no more
of that  tomorrow      rest     that finished product  everyone is after

all day every day
will come

Saturday, February 25, 2017

Kit Kelen - for godsbother - making a map of the world


making a map of the world

for Anna Couani

boy's thing I suppose –
how far can you
spit
piss
toss your hat in the air
throw a stone
drive
drink
eat
smoke

I think of Yao Feng's road
running like a horse that's bolted

it goes a long way back

Hatshepsut takes a Punt

I think of Hanno
skinning girl gorillas

to sail beyond the wild world's end
for Mad Tom it's no journey

the map of the world –
whose idea was that?
Columbus died thinking he'd got to India
Magellan died in a rain of spears
Cook face down in the surf
Mercator, Mollweide, all their improvers –
what did any of them know?

what if the world had no end?
that's where I'd like to entertain
consider Monkey pissing on Buddha's fingers
just to mark the spot

think of a fold in the River of Ocean
and not just Hades, Elysium
but let's give endlessness a go

under the blood
fast past the clouds
in womb-light
there's a bible to read

girl rats steer by what they know
boy rats have the grid in their heads
and those lines off to infinity

of course this could all just be rumour
no one has yet opened the sky

we live in the same language
that's the miracle
of how we mean at all

so let's see how far
you can
spit
piss
toss your hat in the air
throw a stone

be a flea
and see
how far
you can jump

and how far can you get
with a story like that

you see why it is men rule the world

litiluism – the old Viking lore –
how little it is men know

Friday, February 24, 2017

Penny Fang #1 I AM

I AM
I am thoughtful and kind
I wonder about the loneliness of trees
I hear the cicadas’ laughter
I see a cloud wandering for its homeland
I want to stop for a lemon tea
I am thoughtful and kind
I pretend I am a feathery angel
I feel pity for the good men’s torturing hell
I touch the last ray of light at dusk
I worry about loss and lost
I cry for my dog
I am thoughtful and kind
I understand your maternal love for me
I say ‘can you not grow old?’
I dream for a white house
I try to go deep into your language
I hope I can walk across all the Britannia bridges
I am thoughtful and kind

Thursday, February 23, 2017

Béatrice Machet # 11 (for the Beam series)


Hello to all, I post this text (to be read counterclockwise direction) "in advance" because I'm heading to a poetry festival and won't be available for a while.

This is supposed to be part of my "Beam Series"and the layout here is not exactly what it looks like on my page, but almost! And I post this one even though it might seem unfinished because it somehow echoes Kerri's PTSD ! I guess my version is less traumatic ....








   Beam. Headlights. A cone and
inside the dripping rain
Its curttain  as rebel
ling its own weav
ing unit
of
measurement.   A   life                                                     a rock. As true as langua-
there  as  if  paralleling   a                                        ge as sure as history. As per-
sharp barbed world . The more                       sonal  as a  journey.  Till a song
one progresses the more it accen-               that  any  life  contains.  A  beam.
uates its thrust. It could                                                 lights ahead. Voices to                   happen  that we see                                                                                be recognized.
          it            
being
born.Beam
of strength jolting
its way to springing up.
As light as a veil as solid as