#402 - lost

 

1.ii.21

402

2.32

people get lost

 

in their secrets

in thought

call contemplation

at sea, in a sandpit, or eyes up

 

tell themselves all sorts just to believe

people lose themselves truth much as lies

so much for the sake of better than not

 

it’s every animal anyone is

we tree and leaf it just to be

 

inclement or listening to the news

are often lost counting           

and number selves lucky

 

some wake lost

and wonder which

lose their way to breakfast

or postprandial

then alone among pages

 

some hopscotch lost

good intentions paving

 

or in a vanish

just the way of things

(prayer lost in some certain knowledge)

 

in the mind of all, tug this

poke here

do loop the loop

walk till the dog is lost

 

forever after in the day

and tremble

 

gone in a mirror where one’s often soft

hard on selves and far away

 

gone glimmer

lost in for the words

awed up

 

many as much in a cloud of themselves

 

lost in the one breath

love to and strike up a rhythm  

 

in the garden lost to bush

 

it’s count to a hundred

open your eyes

I always liked sardine

 

leave filthy pawprints so we’ll find them

 

in ruins

wonder what

burnt things broken once were

 

a privilege to be lost in own time and tune

 

fingerposts fall

we’re lost in this page

and where to go?

 

or is this all a sky pretending?

 

lost can be faked too

when they way is known

but only so far … then we go on

 

everyone’s at a loss in the end

 

‘get lost’ one’s sometimes told

and one makes an effort to remember then

the nicest thing could be said

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

poor little fellah, beak still straight

never got the window idea

couldn’t quite break on through  

#401 - are we Sunday?

 

31.i.21

401

2.31

are we Sunday?

 

is sky blue?

 

so many of us of another time

tree in its antics up

(never thought one or the other

but knew)

                                                        

watch water

in a stillness

season halted here

come to me questions

flutter and

 

see the surface bubble up?

 

who’s that landing?

fly to the dead bird’s colour lost

(thing beside the shed)

fade to…

all unfurl to ask

 

skies are days too full to fall

 

could this be a song?

 

that eye’s shut

 

over skin

guess hearts

fine webs you cannot see

 

a radio war burst where

 

sketch edges tell

and guessing again

 

skies too full but do

                                and

stand under a fan for summer

                               

or out in the sticky

roll afternoon

 

we made the world just here

 

there’s nowhere but

                   else and so

                   swim in

 

meniscus bliss

clouds come

creek run

stroke, kick, stroke

 

then in siesta trix

 

slipped over the border

nobody knew

a Monday barking and the bins

 

magic of the edge to day

and long of evening

shone like the rain to come

 

a tipple snifter kingdom come

edge magic

and postprandial

 

meniscus bliss

now in the swim

of come again

the rain

#400 - an inappropriate encounter in which physical distance was not maintained

 

30.i. 21

400

2.30

an inappropriate encounter in which physical distance was not maintained

Auckland, Friday – at the Grand Millennium (and how often is that?)

 

 

notes written on a used mask

passed

‘bring me a beaker of your most Marlborough’

 

then

(eye quicker than suggestion)

in flagrante delicto – yum!

 

readers, harden your hearts for this

it was no bumping into merely

 

they had been wearing underpants

but now all bets are off

think trampoline if must

 

the minister cannot control the actions of every individual –

then what kind of a government are they running over there?

(we note it was Brigadier Bliss in command)

 

let me tell you (and who will contradict?)

this was head over heels

 

wink first they went and made their own brink

mustn’t we all at a pinch?

 

slap and tickle

of course had the nod

and blindly horsing about to begin

 

a taste, a touch

then deeps of the eye

and gone

far gone           

 

a little spray?

shall we sanitize this?

 

for their sake here

hoping there’s no more news

but for the families to share

 

sign in

with a code

perhaps joyous event?

 

and this – girls and boys –

just happens to be the sort of reason

really why

today

so many of us are here

 

 

 

 

 

we, the tribeless

 

out of blear night

because we dreamt it

and told the dream

 

it’s in the genes

swoon distances

tendril to be more

 

while everyone else is pretending

we fell out of the rain

are sprung up from stone

 

not a people at all

but we are soil so rumoured

mulch

have always hidden in words

scrolls curl up in a cave

 

peer hard among

will you tell us apart

 

vanishing reverie city is

of the book and far

roll a way in

 

we, the wronged of an any-king stroke

 

come hide me under a street of strange stars

 

gone, lost and make a desert our own

 

sky for a screen

bloom and manna fall

there is in ink to fit 

#399 - the first acts of my ungovernment & a parable in a dream

 

29. i. 21

399

2.29

first acts of my un-government

or

the legislators acknowledged at last

 

having expelled all thoughts of republic

 

peace declared universally

with every kind of song and dance

guardians tickled to a fit

esperanto

everyone listens

we take turns

 

money’s abolished

the budget is open

machines, but only if they’re fun

 

everyone will get enough

sleep, cuddles, sweetmeats, admiration

and every tree may grow

come koalas!

 

your golden age

the borders gone

Zeus patron of the exiles, cross-dressed

open to all suggestion

 

this is a world of infinite care

acceptance

or do as you damn well please

 

no one is blamed for what they can’t help

everyone held to opinion

 

do we need watches, clocks?

no crimes against humanity!

where no one will remember tomorrow

or read between these lines

 

all this is proclaimed – a NO year plan

must have been the way I slept

 

and those who believed in us

whom we loved

 

the dead shall rise

to our conversation

argue the toss

and call account

 

it’s all looking good from here

 

 

 

 

 

 

no one ever looked up to see

 

I dreamt a parable

one does

of the headless chook

and the equally fox

once in a Chinese city

or outskirts

(dark in a light smog dawn to come)

 

that chook was last hunted

peckless

and afeared by smell

hungry, as was the headless fox

 

others had fled

but the fox couldn’t see

of course couldn’t

 

and I stood between them

so they each went on their ways

in hunger

ever in hunger

away

 

#398 - in a whimsy

 

28.i.21

398

2.21

in a whimsy

 

thereof untame tell

come heaven it creature

blur worldly whereas

smudge and breathless

of wishes as well

oh happy luck lit

fall in the cracks of  

set forget

dare you to do it here

 

 

 

 

 

 

lightless

 

firsting drabday

fine webs and hung

abandoned with

naked as and does

 

sharp second falls

of the winded tree

the rain all drape

drink in

 

dark of where the spirits went

far forsaken down

 

come ending of

but might still with

 

begin arrangements now

#393 - the hoot

 

27.i.21

393

2.27

the hoot

example of constitutional ornithography

 

the hoot

perched on my shoulder and sang

a weekend’s worth

woohoo!

 

more than an honorific

 

preciously petal

up atom and fling

drunk dirge                                      

 

the festive hoot

all what-have-you garlanded with gall

and get-even

 

giftwrapped in fact

lovely wreathing!

 

under a party hat

too tinsel

hoot’s a slutty round and shout

for he’s a she’s a jolly good

brush by

rub up

whisper it back of my …

 

asked hoot to name its poison           

(bit of bunyip in this one)

 

and I along with, held

up multiple bars

(your gangster hoot to boot)

 

consider the hellish

and devil-may-not-even-care

(in pond with newt and toad-eye)

 

the hoot un-7-veiled

a champagne splash

fast cars

frequently encouraged to scoot

 

a fleshly

bedded for the whim

that’s why

it’s boudoir

 

we should be led by The Hoot

and once might’ve

(appoints the Prime Monster

and cabinet of little horrors)

all just for a hoot, you understand

that is how they are paid

 

and as for me – chalkface, shopped –

I cultivated a harmless hoot

sat golden in the singing boughs

as had for a song

 

just a breezeless hootsworth

and a hootenanny

 

last seen in the shed with a rake

(that’s a compromise position)

 

it was the any-beasting hoot

I mean – all bets heartful                    

 

shameful yet playful

rude hoot

(just a little damnation to spice)

 

when mentioned

went down like something proverbial

 

darker than ever down

I found a hoot

on the floor of my sea

a wake!

 

because hoot’s its own funeral too

and hides in a party of words

(yanks reduce to just breasts)

 

concupiscent hoot for a hotty

(lick, groove)

 

and in its original whimsy

dripping

all emotion too

 

buried my own mid-treasure

woke me most mellifluous

I put away all adult things

 

we’ll have one

do I hear ‘why not?’

 

sing cucu to a hoot

and then you will be too

 

in favour of

fly a hoot for fancy

se-metaphoric

raise a hoot after

surrender to say

 

and ah for after

post-hoot, so as to …

 

after, everyone said it was

lay down with the dogs

and woke with the hoot of such fleas

all ears!

 

hear it on the street some blindings

morning of a kettle drum

and horns deep in the head

 

is why

I keep a private hoot from parties   

ideas of a riot

kind of declaration

and everyone thought it was me

 

but you wouldn’t want to rely on this

there’s THE HOOT SHOOTS THROUGH

for a headline

(cigarette ended the bed)

 

that’s just gossamer, you know

 

and tug at my own too

it’s for luck

because

any-hoot

don’t you know

(and I think that you do)

your everyday common or garden

and you should, cause I do

you-can-try-this-at-home

it goes from woe

and fast or slow

it’s a beaut

when you’re having a hoot

#392 - notes for amnesia day

 

26.i.21

392

2.21

notes for amnesia day

 

I forgot what the day is called

why                        

 

great crimes demand a lot of silence

 

gather together now to forget

 

teacher says come in quickly and quietly

hands on…

questions, neatly folded

 

come round like the sun

who’s collecting?

 

there’s the gone of us whom we still are

and everywhere like this

there’s a time and a place

 

like back in the sixties

before DUI blow in this

before the referendum

just one more

and one more for the road

and one more to forget

and now

can’t remember how we got home

but here we are

 

because

sang it in the trenches too

should auld acquaintance be …

 

and empty heartedly

in Zombieland

(isn’t that what it’s…)

 

but in truth

can’t remember

… a little further along?

 

perhaps

 

everyone celebrates starting a gaol

all salute the emptiness

 

it must have been at my first forgetting

so much simpler since

 

nuthin hi-falutin

 

where am I?

who are you?

no one remembers

not on today

but

you can smell something stolen

something big that was pinched gives off a good pong

 

take country

why not?  everyone else did

it was a done thing then

 

won’t remember

if not one empire

then another, worse

 

don’t apologize – it never ends

 

so many journeys and bring us one each

won’t or can’t?

 

this is the place to forget

it’s why

I cannot remember the ancestors

I forget that a year has passed

 

here we are

because we are

and love that old refrain

 

dogs at their bowls can still sit up to bark

 

drunk on possession again

on country

and whose?

 

bread circuses

forget the date

we’re on holiday

the weekend won’t end

not ever

but for evermore

(that was ‘a clear day on the highway’)

 

we could overheat

another cold one now!

 

one more

and another

 

conquer this too

will we can we

?

what if a war never ended

if trauma were whom

?

I want to be able to hear a bomb drop

 

what if

not here not today

mustn’t spoil

 

and one day grow up

truth to tell

 

EVERWHERE IS COUNTRY

(cruel in the days of denial)

 

in empire persisting

and whose is it now?

I try to forget to remember again  

and weary of the heat

what’s the date?

 

they were barefoot

so no one could walk in their shoes

 

we’re too far into the weekend to know

 

beer cool me, will you?  

throw tunes to the dinner dog

of course can’t see hear feel

can’t know

not now

 

truth yet to tell

look for a treaty under the soul

listen for the heart’s voice

 

but I can’t remember here

can you?

no

 

if you’ll just come along a little further

I am you are  

we

consider arriving

here’s the ill wind we

 

every day a day of mourning until

who will

what will

make it right?

#391 - certain events

25.i.21

391

2.25

certain events

 

selves said and gone

but certain events

are themselves a forever

 

parrot bright

mandarin tricks

 

kiss it could have been

or the ugly attack

 

take tablets from the mountain

little Rubicon Damascus

burn the bush

scroll up your eyes

 

in rain for the earthward journey

likewise the heaven lift

 

fire had to be a moment gone

day of the bombing

and fled who could

 

ants hollowed a log for lip and lung

 

no one ever sees the border

no one’s alive to cross

 

the city walls fall, the looting begins

man on the cross always up there

stone with the roll

come cradle again

 

lay like an egg

and I was the swimmer

race you up to the incoming tide

 

out hard boiled

day we came into our own shells

drink this or sniff, smoke

choke it down

 

day of the snake come in

love of a life or meant

 

someone’s head rolls into a basket

first flicker off on the screen

 

funny pages!

some moments

are spent in the passion

 

steps of the song

or an angry shout

 

memories in skin to touch

snow to the tip of the tongue

 

other lives passionlessly

 

certain forevers are instantly over

gone as told

 

first flower

and wings

when we took to them

 

first tilt

call a draft

hard covers

 

kind of a watch over, cry

likewise birth is being given

 

we each conceived

how else read these words

and the beaker of hemlock

lost pride

#390 - time dividing

 

20. i.21

390

2.21

time dividing

towards an essay on time

 

a war away

or call the dynasties, the reigns

plague summons

 

tell us out the weather

time the fire

and numbering a crash

 

events!

thoughts less then gone

 

this tyrant won’t adjourn

it takes the statues down

 

time and we slept through

late to rise

 

clock run like a dizzy world

and bending

sun and steady round

 

take time apart

the lizard creeping

joy of jaws

 

come through the shell

whatever means

and matter

 

elsewhere-ism

(having been everywhere in the heretofore)

 

where the river held

stepped off

 

the chicken in the egg in crossing

always why

 

time divides us from ourselves

 

in mazes of who’s in charge

 

time and the tree grows over

ants take down the wall

 

save life for later

or wish it away

 

and all of this despite however

the facts of here-we-are

#389 - High Street

                                      

20. i.21

389

2.23

High Street

add to a book of mother

 

a finger in the harbour

we’d go there to check the paint smell

sun thrown to the frayed floor

 

scraggle bush

uphill, flower lit

park whichever way

 

the tall brick past

red then

it was sandstone shade

street ferry ended

hours of the while away

 

and Aunty Eve’s along a bit

where Alice and all those animals

awash but I forgot the tears

 

had not yet ever come into a book

saw though where they were

left on the page for later

all paws to the moment now

 

were read to

travelled

must have learned forgetting then

 

up from the carpet

play down to the park

and doggy-do

 

swing of the picnic

unblaze of blue

the stillnesses of summer so

little white triangles puff and go

shining as cloud now

who can you see?

it’s a map!

 

and the bridge glimpse

(various angles)

that Greenway building eyesore

and insult to the memory of  

 

kitbag brown and some digits

worn colours … beginning with letters

like a phone number

like a uniform rotted under the house

from the war before we were  

 

play poker in the smoke

and leave it beery with the march

I must have been essential…

something along the lines of

what it had all been for

 

High Street was one end of the world

built safe and trudge

if only you’d bought just after those subs

the midgets

 

but other way along and weary

because it was a way

splash piers of barnacle green

grime harbour

 

pinchgut just there for a story

and who was that mad bugger

got between ferry and pier?

every time

they had to fish him out

 

blare blue of looking up

a breeze still

mirror lap nearly

little back forth rocking

we shall call a bob?

 

and back up the hill of a bit

too little for bob a job

but can watch

 

paint was always the freshest thing

came over the salt

got a lungful

 

were swtiching the pictures around

it was a long way up to the ceiling

we were checking up, making sure  

 

wringers in those laundries

of time defunct

from the Depression

they’d have to go

but not today

like the falling fence

 

thongs!

and the long grass

cut foot doctor rush

of silly silly mum