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Snapshots June 1 2005
I read Hafiz to a nun today.
The poem about religion
being a ship and poets,
the lifeboats
and all the crazy people
jump overboard.
She leaned on the counter
with her elbow
supporting her chin.
Waiting.
Then I read her the one
about the elephant and the ant.
"Is that all?," she asked and walked off.
Ann White, Jax FL
***
I was standing outside the picture
I was framed, the guys with the juice
in your head were banging the ceiling
the one truth that is no excuse
is in all the brittle trunks and dry levels
nothing hangs from the branch but constant sun
though my batteries are merged in mire
my wheels rack the tarmac
and suddenly it all looks like landscape
snaky orange and pom-pom green
below my footsteps of clouds, all that
I've ignored, and the noise continuing
you sing along because it seems smooth
until you pull down on the red toggle
the big fan whirring outside, I hope
should smoke fill the cabin
the field is broader than the field
and up here it could be blue
forever, even if you've clunked and
they're on the phone, the aerial
the balloon's gone up and hangs
in a pale yellow space above artifice
I can see for miles and miles
and over there, the magic lake
recedes and water collects
on the edge of the frame as if it could go
either way while the guy with The Fin Review
clocks on his stocks and the dollar
makes its mediated sense, cranked
on war smoky replays and ritual bulletins
somewhere behind me, the state's
in big trouble, the white powder
has escaped, there's an emotional yaw
to the wings, the drift of gum smoke
in a gully comes as no surprise
all the ironies are known
as I pass, these are my remnants
maybe they hold water, but now
they stick to the air, someone vibrates
the sound of progress city-to-city
and I would fly outside my picture
Jill Jones
Canberra to Sydney flight, 2 June 2005
***
Amidst all these ongoing plots
what chance of moving on
Enclosed by paranoid rhetoric how
can any one know what to
do to say to reach
beyond plotted fear & loathing an
articulate desire for peace be honest
now refusing such plots in a poem
Douglas Barbour
Edmonton June 1 2005
***
MONSTER RAMMY FLYTING
(vaguely after BEOWULF ll. 449-558)
The big yin got tae Heorot, nae problem:
"Ahm here fur the monster rammy, but."
"Aye," grunted Unferth intae his beard,
"Aw we bloody need.
Soddin mental that yin.
Think's he's a hard man:
Aw haw, aw the way frae Brigton."
"So," said Unferth, "come tae deal wi yon
Grendel bummer, huv yi?"
"Hear yi hid a match wi Brecca,
swimming or something?"
"Aye," smarmed Beowulf, buffin his nails
oan his sleeve,
"No a bad show, that."
So Unferth spoke
(pittin the semantic heid oan Wulfy):
"See you, yi couldnae swim
across a puddle in ra fog."
There wiz Beowulf, face like a midden,
glowrin somethin awfu --
till he came back wi a pit-doon:
"Despite yir gallus wit, Unferth, yir damned."
Then Beowulf spoke:
"See us a pint o heavy, jimmy,
an Ahl tell youz aw
how it *really* wiz ... "
TAE BE CONTINUED
Robin Hamilton
***
Snap 1 June 05
A grabshot from far back on a bendy bus, two or three vehicles back from a
main road. Because of all the people outside of and travelling in the bus,
and all of the adverts on the windows of the bus; and with all of the
reflections in what glass there is left clear, it is difficult to see
clearly or in anything like its entirety much that is outside.
Ahead of us, a small pushy bunch of a queue is beginning to congeal on the
pavement to our right: people waiting to cross the road we are using.
Perhaps three layers back, there is a woman holding a female child by the
hand.
Her expression is indecisive, inquiring and cautious; and perhaps worried.
One assumes it will resolve itself when she has somewhere permanent to stand
or is able, finally, to cross the road.
But there is also an emptiness in her face which is greater than the
neutrality sometimes called a blank stare.
She havers between the apparent emotions, especially caution and inquiry;
and there is something else which I find poignant and tentatively
attractive, discernible only by its effect, like a breeze, or a lie told out
of general hearing.
Lawrence Upton
***
I now know
the pulsing fruit
in my chest
glides deeper
deeper still into
distance
on the arc of
a phantom
limb's unfolding
something just
moved in those
branches; feels
like my tongue
escaping yes
escaping--
a line rippling
in the leaves.
what is this
serpent
but a trial
of light, never
forming any
word but I?
Gerald Schwartz/
West Irondequoit/New York/ USA
11:35 AM
***
77°F (25°C) at 4:15am
TrioWorks - Blue Skies
keyboard coffee notes
the wild flowers I guess
somewhere
75°F (23.8°C) at 4:42 am
inchoate
80°F (26.6°C) at 4:30 am
over drawn
104°F (40°C) at 2:36 pm
adobe yellow wall
cats walk up and down
Palo Verde limbs skinny
skinny bird song
everyday air
Frank Parker
***
FOUND
god
can be
found
preceded
by
goblin
gobony
gobstopper
goburra
goby
and
closely
followed
by
gödel
godetia
godown
and
godroon.
pmcmanus 7am
raynesparkuk
feeling playful
***
When we were fluent
And everlasting
And the economy of our landscape
All burgeoning and rose madder
Just like you remembered it
And hoped it would continue
Even now when we are burned alive
And remembering
We were there once
Together
Supple and smooth
All of our history yet to happen
http://photos1.blogger.com/img/2/1002/1024/when-we-were-fluentweb.jpg
Peter Ciccariello
Providence, Rhode Island, USA
5/31/2005 11:37:26 PM
***
Spring unto Summer:
The sun is wretched
The convertible is wretched
My ears are being tortured
My heart is being carved
Highway 1 is one long ache
River Road is a continuous motorcycle
The River End restaurant hangs by its teeth
The deep-fry oysters are grim to each bite:
Let me say once and for all
None of this, absolutely not one item, is true:
The ocean breeze is velvet across my cheeks
The sun is a subservient caress
My heart goes soft as the fresh-shucked oyster
Highway 1 is a fresh loom of late spring rain green
The River End serves bright wild sauté red salmon pierced on a lemongrass
skewer
River Road leads to a bed among the most tender of pink and white roses:
It¹s goodbye spring & hello summer
It¹s hello "full" and goodbye "splits":
My love is going to the highlands
And I am far from ready
My love is going to the highlands
And I am far from ready.
Stephen Vincent
***
RAVEN AT STICKYBEAKS CAFÉ
for Rosalind and Kay
'Oh, go away!'
raven drops his complaint
to a grieving grizzle -
ah, ah, aaaaaahhh .
long last note after
the death of love.
'He'd be good as sculpture -
see? The shiny metal
of his feathers, the fleshy bag
of his chin.' What would
we make of him if
he was made by us?
Raven perches on
a glazed tree root
carved into a kangaroo
beside the playground.
'He should be in a museum
under glass - not here.'
Real? Art is distanced
from this day, its chill
and laughing children.
Art? It is real root
and black raven -
Ah, ah, aaaaahhh.
Andrew Burke
***
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