.
shed
lento
there is no grammar you can trust take this one
spark and follow be lost all sorts of things
are so in shed tune for a start though it will find you
take tip of tongue or piece that join’s what’s furthest
from mind whole clans have gone missing
with one mad idea o wilderness of shed and manna
old meteor is home here and otherworldly light
for treasure shed’s worth of something
is much of a much and that’s good homespun
in shed there must be room to stretch
a beam from which to let limbs loose
so many things shed are lost but memory holds all in
and so it is elemental with tin you can have fire
chimney to point air’s fresh where window’s gone
great outdoors are all in a shed I knew a bloke
whose shack sloped down as added to till it was
well in the ground with demons, dark woods
Dante and Beatrice close in a corner when
the council inspector came you see you musn’t
live in shed unless expelled, doomed for a certain time
to tread ‘til invention makes up for misdemeanour
then you slink back with smart new prize, lickapaint
fresh as a pet, you’re a puppy gis a hug and all’s
forgave and you forgive as well go rude good night
enough of that
leaves should blow through a shed – gives
a good impression of drought and there must
have been water once or trees won’t hang about
see seven sisters and the saucepan – there used to be
a door it is an act of irrigation out from under radar
smile in a shed or smirk half knowing it is do with
face of elsewhere, what-if, worlds to come
and without end hear the possums snore
sit in dad’s last chair until one better’s found
you’ll think his thoughts no matter
no need to split ears in the place of scheming
you can be dad yourself go on! shed’s
something we have long since hatched
this is solitary patch where one among
the eachlings does as all expect duty to England
must once have been, forelocks tugged towards
those Thames-shed hulks what’s past is makeshift
to belief the lungs abrim, the prod of hearth
while with three wishes you’ll admit a parliament
is mainly shed wait for the others to clear out
then spill the vision you’ll wear your gumboots there
because… to limp’s alright, implies past wounds
in the gout afflicted shed a stumble to secret
best brew stash or life’s last anchovy see, shed
is an heroic place – no screens you wear a singlet
and yours are the human arms in the cage
of all the world’s mosquitoes
o hallowed shed
raised once in penance
a man could fall to his knees in there
when God is bloke to him
there’s billy boil for fervours steadies you can sing
if there’s a song an ear into the night though mostly
and in the gormless dark when gremlins come
from miracle to miracle a shed’s laid bare
dream the secrets in the big soft chair
dream a sun – it rises so many perfections to life
then death must be perfect too in shed we dwell
on it – there’s time rain on the roof’s a kind of proof
and also it’s a dare apologies are best framed here
you can rehearse them on the way because
there must be distance and purpose? where’s
my stick to point intelligent design new fences
are imagined, the strainer posts right wire
made tight pumps primed whole kitchens
bathrooms planned effortless overhauls
(as it much after seems) it’s in just such
the shed survives, transcendent all sorts
no one can be said to have built it
I call that theology if ever one’s knocked down
(forbid!) that ground is consecrate to those
of hushed deport who place the spanner by
who sight the apt bolt gone
though true bottle may be bring to the brink
mustn’t get maudlin with the beam there’s
nothing drugs won’t mend shed is site
of sacrament, covenanted so some are
boneyards, some are tents, each to own
sheds are museums, crystal palaces
world fairs that no one saw I’ve heard
of shed Hiroshima bright with something
none should see pit-bull to guard
a season or so of shed heads sold
you could retire and world go hand
the peasant is the king here
where monarchs tinker with old crowns
no need for revolution nor is there call
to rhyme in shed you wear whatever pants
you like – sarong, sari, jellibayah when light
tires of the garden there’re still these leaning
posts, this tarp smell of dam water imbues
a pinking of dusk clouds looks in
you’ll make your own false idols – see how shed
is existential binning the chocolate wrapper
there’s a sense in which it never was nor does
guilt enter into shed itself is graven image
but kind thoughts will Christianize hear words
with wings unseen in shed we won’t call them
angels the lesson is time’s preciousness
so go where it won’t reach once out of nature
one shapes the golden bough to sing exceptions
of a proven rule – such accidents as goanna, frog
count digits on your salamander
by incident of refuge come, a web is wove
baroque perhaps but all that grows here
is by hand, else phantom of limb long lost
a conjuring, all tricked together radio pours
to the paddock and this is a heart to heart
because the shed’s a mongrel thing
has every mix of paint it is best blasphemy
against those sainted aunts once set foot
you can walk out of it pure into the night
just a puff of breeze between stars and doom
and guess the way we go
.
thanks to Kerri Shying for inviting me into this poetry marathon #PeetMeNotLeave... The challenge is: 8 days, 8 poems, 8 invites. Selected poems will be translated and included in The Russian Almanac anthology. And let me invite Susan Fealy. Today's poem is:
considering the uses of evil
the child is drowning in the well
you hear the screams
you know where there’s a rope
the knowledge is like an echo in you
you know it’s a dream
and you wake to dodge the bayonet
come for your heart
you say – 'I didn’t do it
I never did a thing'
still the same dark
inside the soul
the wallpaper peels
rattles the wind
but always the same pattern
eyesight weakened
sense of smell dimmed
each meal has less taste than the last
not so many years left to this world
the emperor finds every day
it’s easier to order
the executions
.
