here's one
early
light is coming
we are misted
to the tick tock in it
drip with the first lit leaves
it comes to us
in all this flutter of here-we-are
in first steps off the nested branch
and in the song's first bar
we sleepers are
come to light
for
the record --- it was like this --- I was looking at Kerri's new poem and I
said, and I believe this is VERBATIM -- 'that line in the middle is the title
... and there's five lines either side, so it's symmetrical... why not make the
middle line the title? there's no reason why not... eleven lines, let's call it
an elevensie' ... and I am proud to say that though my efforts with this form
have been fairly miserable, Kerri has taken the ball and is still running two
books later ... so I believe I feel some justifiable pride in this matter!
Kit Kelen #1024 - let the yarn repair (for Kerri)
1024
let the yarn repair
a tribute poem for Kerri’s elevensies
the middle line’s the title!
elevensies!
like a poem you wear
and listen for flowers here
(you could be deafened!)
in the sunshine of it
of a midmorning
snout deep
in a cuppa
lollop of cow
once dozy
set sail
now a truce with daylight!
(that’s how bright the future is)
listen to and through the chatter
this is Kerri’s hand-to-hand combat
it can go all kinds of ways...
best deadly
woman on porch
jibe, quip and
(she is a humorist of note
and keen at repartee...
like my mother-in-law’s fridge magnet –
‘age and cunning will always defeat youth and good looks’
but Kerri and me – we’ve got the lot!
it’s chronic!
we had this epiph together
and it was simply this –
the middle line’s the title
or, to be truthful,
it might have been
the title’s the middle line
anyway, why shouldn’t it be?
the title in the midst
the name of the thing
for an either-end balance
in media res
why should the eye be governed?
and follow this to a logical conclusion
… read in any direction you like
start midst-most though
I had a crack
but she is doing it every day
Kerri found the hexagram seesaw and sat
I feel like I’m still up in the air
held there by medical mysteries
and she keeps us reading
she keeps a room of wool
I keep it all between my ears
she keeps a shed of stuff
I have stuffed my shed as well
elevensies philanthropy!
that’s better than religion
nevertheless
heaven’s above
and don’t look down
Kerri is a woman of the big picture
– wiggy prophet of the Next Testament!
there isn’t a picture big enough for her
you fall into a poem like hers
expecting a clock to sneak up
like something deliciously due
another pot of tea too
a windmill never sleeps
but mumbles on the nothings
both epic
and gastric
in her own prism
(of cuticle dawn-light)
in skin
let’s not forget – embodied!
all those years of it… it’s almost as if in
blackfulla chinawoman
welcomes us
and once you know the middle is it
streets are cryptic with find-a-way
think of a first prime minister
it’s everything mnemonics
else how are we here?
you know the waves ride out from this house
reverberate? that’s what they’re calling it these days
Green library
taste me
there’s nothing that we can’t discuss
the corpus asserts
a body of words
words of the body
and the stranger graces
trouble in mind
how differently we choose
all equally far from/ by sensation
the sky ...
of Mayfield!
Mayfield of the settled dust
suburb the city approaches
(with caution...
where substance of us is a poem
hence this form of words
or fall into rhyme, like error
all vanish in one so
then here’s the kiss returned
I ramble out formlessly
I am myself being rolled out
although I know
snout deep’s how to go
elevensie!
a kind of a jumpsuit this poem –
a discipline
matinee jacket for a grassy knoll
so seldom smile
and curl up warm
bring your own apology
(sorry trumps guilt every time)
poems come from the remains of poems
how sad would you like to be with the fact?
it’s must be tea time again
in Near Miss mansion
views expand the shrink wrapped world
long strides taken
hidden from the air until the moment comes
to breathe all
on our cul-de-sac safari
(reminds you of Jules Verne, that does
and down in the volcano…
[no bracket ever finally closed...
armadillo plates overlap
how the planet goes round
there isn’t shit to save you from the job you’ve left undone
sweet trees
sweet sea
sweet sky
philosophy!
bug impervious
launcher of little fur missiles
can’t have too many autopsies
as long as yr alive
tending to what needs we heal
and stretch to be
keeps ya goin’
it does
curtain eyerolls
handcuffed pulse
Wiradjuri wordworker
a pleasure to jam with
to riff on
to honour
great enabler
and listener too, teller of truth
I salute you
and I launch you
once more into community
into the breach!
and struth!
if you can’t hear me
even if...
sing out
will ya?
there’s no smile sweeter than now!
