1.v.21
486
2.119
in just about May
a pinch and an almost punch
in almost May
the butcher bird
and a song of pipes in the rain
lie snug lifted stairs height
her blessing
a chat with the queen
to desk
we go through crowds
as if to dine
a squeeze
full of future young
and you my pet lamb
innocence raging
lives to love
then sleep was a proper country
we were to invent
from all the proper hunches
still April
all hours in the clock to bet
30.iv.21
486
2.90 (misnumbered set)
2.118
heaven sends the weather
(for a field guide to Australian clouds)
it’s just in the moment
and some can sleep through
for instance the sun strikes home
it’s in Babel
cogs turn
the upstairs
they are receiving petitions, prayers
anyone weather wise can get a job there
call them facilitators
pass on but leave these learnings
say zeitgeist
anything any day happens
heaven makes so
flood on the spot
you can tell from the words
all the historic resources
as with emanation
omens read
roofs built to catch
they are writing the script
in beanstalk clouds
crops yet to grow
here’s hurricane seas up
fire falling all out of the equal blue
and guess what it’s about?
a tree speaks
‘who goes there?’
in the allegorical weather
a public downpour
come again
the weather whiskered
the gone-through weather
it’s like this inside too with the pills
harder you think the less you feel
on the march or in retreat
pitched
a head for it
and the weather’s yonder before us lie
wrestling a roar and a rush
it’s lightbulb time
beyond belief
ghost given
a call to weather
lose a self there
shall we name the bear the dog the fish
(but this is all after ourselves)
hot pursuit!
ants know
there is an otherwise swarming
in some parts insects are the weather
frequently whip some up for a wish
aliens have
so we will
brittle winter ye know not when
nor melting moments
fix idiom
naked people in it
exposed to under roof
in only their ideas
a house call of course
weather such as underwent
never quite comes to climate
never prediction but decree
turn on a tap for more
not the same
remember weather back in the day?
your own breath minding and stretch
suggesting you yourself are the weather
and write it here
that others may read
though few attend
devotees or custodians?
affiliated with a fire
smokin’ weather
thunder faroff
lucky strike
weather worlds us again
and take this skin
lik aeroplane landing
like aircon hush
always at a guess
breathe!
take the measure in
degrees and bars and bask
if bliss
weather is heaven sent
29.iv.21
485
2.89
the hat factory and the yellow room
ekphrastic for Margaret Olley’s studio
(48 Duxford St, Paddington -- now at Tweed Regional Gallery)
‘because I have a face like a pudding and it’s easy to draw’
fill your head with flowers
such statuary
teeter too
the vindication of spread and pile
like a certain shed
you’d never have guessed from the street
life as vast array
palette dry
Classic FM goes on
the chair inherited
furniture older than anyone left
reminds me of Bernard Hickey’s Lecce
that vintage
things have fallen
there they lie
though one must not say ‘come to rest’
pods and pots
table set still
how is the table cloth clean?
here is a midst and how the mind’s carried
gather the outside in
the garden head, undomestic
scrub canvas
gum leaf, bottle
all to come back
from sketch not scratch
making icon of self by extension
the day’s a pun
every inch of life in
taken up
who makes it to the wall?
take harbour
take streets go on after
off Stafford Lane
odd things anatomical
teeth in the cage concealed
brolly broom and rug worn through
a porcelain hoarding and poppies
for wilt at the day
objects of lost provenance
stairs wound up to sleep
ribbon, confetti, leaf strew
the floor itself a dig
see colours
of the kitchen spiced
see The Nurses’ Dictionary
a box with ‘fragile’ -- that’s a joke
(but possibly all is)
all faux supported Corinthian order
things about to come into their own
‘studio first and kitchen second’
a cushioned world, with all required
never wished for another
she knew where everything is
all lost to the trouble of where to be next
and here we are at home
28.iv.21
484
2.88
people who do everything
you meet them everywhere
mind you...
it’s nothing for them
ant and wing with
gust gone
dinosaur people, tractors too
and take the underawning sky
a shortfall, heaven felt
people at play
shining people and so-called
supremely confident
then in the shell, foetal
come in all colours, textures, moods too
lions, tigers, bears
people who know everything
meet in a thereof
on the hop
tiptoes
often on the hop
people who have to tell you
this that
brim with truth
people of the heart
in one breath together
call an ambulance now
illegible poker face
one in a million
up to new tricks all the time
tie themselves in knots
far from fact
slow starters and explosive types
people you’d count on your fingers and toes
pen and ink people clouding in smoke
deep in furthest thoughts
culpable of course
often spotted on veranda
sunshine folk and snails
saints and scribblers
clever, blind
I think you can see the world that they’ve made
I think you know the kind
27.iv.21
483
2.87
the people who were hidden
you can see them now
they’re in the picture
they’re taking the pictures too
call it country
know where I am
kept quiet
picture that
people who were silent
they are still protecting secrets
paper aeroplane, jetty
leap off into the dark
those who were mute
hear them now
speak for themselves
it’s out of the mouth of a canon
jelly folk of a singalong bounce
no one speaks for them
this long road
and the bones of the gone
the never quite vanish
all because
one lie to kick off
believe anything then
like thieving’s okay
just the once if it’s us
if God gives
invisible people
can you smell them now?
something won’t wash
but tricked to belief
the people who were fucked up
the people who were buried
now they are crawling out of the grave
they’ve lived it
everyone’s asking -
who dug that?
will it be revenge?
people were furniture before
they were landscape, fauna
and curled up under a missed truth
not just us
everybody was
but it’s turning
the world, I mean
people who were hidden before
you can see them now
