Ph'tang Yang Olé Biscuit Barrel

[Janet]

Hiya Neil- Glass House is really well done and perfect title. World news is more accessible than ever with all our various gadgets- we get that window of awful stuff then we go about our days. Provocative.

Poemectomy- nice. Enjoyed the personification and especially appreciated: And she says./ “Fix me.” And I recognise her face but can’t quite place her name

[beeswax]

How to judge, how not, and how true. It's easier to look away. Liked the poem

[5th column]

Thank you to Bees! Here's a bunch of old cobblers for today. I'm almost done here.....



Novella


The question is -
am I near the end?
Is this the savouring?
If it is I'm unimpressed.
It seems there's no plot
and I forgot what happened
at the beginning.
I considered stringing out
the closing chapters
after all there’s no sequel
but I’m worried the anti-hero
might not go out with a bang,
just the echo of the starter pistol,
or worse, a poem.

[beeswax]

Hey Neil. That's great! Keep it up. We're well over the hump.

[5th column]

Thanks yet again to Bees. Yes, hump overcome...

[5th column]

Fade to Gray

My sister sets down her glass
drained of all but the remains.
She regrets there's no grave
no stone to visit, that so much
time has passed only the voice
remains, the image having lost
its definition, as has the blade
of grief. I listen
thinking death over.

[Dunc]

5th

Poemectomy — An enticing vision, the girl, the road, and I imagined joshua trees and mesas too. Struck by "legs .. / .. made of pride, which looks a lot like chrome".

Novella — Gad, it reads like a metaphor for NaPo!

Saving Marilyn Monroe — Most impressive poem, touching, warm, balanced with edgy ideas, well-structured, a pleasure to read.

Fade to Grey — A picture of reflection, and one I recognize. Nicely done.

Thanks

Regards / Dunc

[Emily Bronte]

Hi, Neil,

Some wonderful stuff here.

"Fade to Grey", "The Safe" "In the Green House" (glass house?) and "The one where I miss the bus" all stayed with me in particular. You have a way of writing something that seems simple at first glance, and then it hits you in the teeth.

We are on the home stretch now!

cheers,

Mari.

[5th column]

Many, many thanks to Mari and Dunc for the visit and kind words.

Dunc - I was reminded of the moment that spawned the last poem by your own.

Not far to go now!

[5th column]

I pour myself in
you tack into the storm
my precious cargo

[Donner]

Hi, Neil,

Just like Dunc, I recognized and related to "Fade to Gray". The poem uses the sense of hearing and sight in keen ways - in my case, it was the image of my dad that remained, but the voice that was lost - and ties the concept of "regret" to a very concrete image of a grave and stone. I found it interesting that N's sister still has those "regrets" but the sting of grief has faded over time.

Donner

[JFN]

Neil, glad to be back at your thread. The end of Tiffany is killer. I live the fact that, bar that small first part of the list, the entire description is focused on adornments, as if the clothes make the woman. Nicely done.

Good news from Rome, nice to hear. There's something quite ominous about those magpies though.

Some really strong imagery in Losing It. I especially liked the hand/arm blade/axe descriptions.

If I tried to run down Box Hill I would lose my feet very quickly. I liked the description of the tumble here.

Fantastic opener in Slow Motion Replay. The shifting between the italic and standard text oohs interesting. Found the needle/record repetition oddly pleasing as well.

Glass House is a gut-puncher. Is that genuinely how it its done today? Brutal. I always thought the law was that the stones should be such a size to survive a few throws, but things change I guess. The title earns its place through the proverb it alludes to, and the odd image of the light magic carpet vs. heavy upheld slab works well.

The first line of Poemectomy reminded me of something epic, or at least sounded to be in that tone of voice. Having tried to figure out what I think it's The Lament of the Rohirrim from Lord of the Rings. The break on a needle // through the eye works nicely to reverse the common phrase.

The title of The One Where I Miss The Bus... had me grinning from the outset. S4 S5 I think is my favourite section of this one, especially all those concrete images in S4.

Fade to Gray has the right level of sentiment in it for me, nicely balanced.

Good stuff. I'll try and drop back in before it's all over.

John

[Julie]

"It seems your moment has extended past the door"

!

"how little heart there is in the mouth. You hold my head"

!!


"red, so much depends on that
the colour of her hair, and the sun glints off the chrome like a needle

through the eye"

Lovely allusions to Williams and Atwood (presumed intentional, but lovely even if not)



"where your mouth is the room
where the dark is a lid, you swallow shade. "

!!! Lovely.

[5th column]

Many thanks to Donner, John and Julie. This has been a slog...The most epic 30/30 fail so far



The 30/30 challenge!! (again! failed! again!)


Marriage


In order to understand
a circus, have elephants
carry the mainstay,
have the strong man raise it
up in the centre of a field
of corn. Have the audience
trample a path, clear the way.
String the high wire and trapeze,
hang a man upside down,
by his knees, beckoning,
have a woman make the leap
between her swinging perch
and his outstretched arms.
Hold your breath.




The Art of Noise


(Costa Coffee)


Gilbert wrote about Lynda Gregg,
who in turn wrote White horses.
Quoting Hui Shih, who said
they were other in the mind.
I saw an origami unicorn.
Then he described the Japanese
colour of death and how
he felt for Kimiko; Pale amber
in winter light. O’Keefe wrote
Water follows salt. And I saw
a Sumo wrestler throw a handful
across the rope to ward off
evil spirits. Snow retreats. Coffee
corrupts the sugar in this spoon.
No matter, we live in the spaces



In Order

to understand the world, first
blow a globe from molten glass
and hold it in your fingers, feel
the pain; a snowball held too long
a shell barrage let loose on the stroke
of midnight, a counter offensive
delayed til spring. Let the shape coalesce.
Peel away the charred skin
of your fingertips and your imprint
is embossed in mountain whorls, river
valleys woven into the frost.
Now take it out and on a freezing
morning hold it up above the outline
of the horizon. Wait for the first ray
to find it. Wait for it to chime.


I give you my hands
weave a heart breathe into it
feel the way I do



Prior to Ignition


Time fled, but out of respect,
left the daylight frozen in its tracks
half way to falling and the world.
in-between: an unmade bed
each wave still-borne. At the junction
a taxi ticks, waiting for the lights
to change: red, mid-diminished
ochre, yellow paused at orange.
And in the coffee shop, Americano
suspended at Espresso, sugar,
less than candy more than dust.
A second split, before exploding
into tomorrow’s news.

[5th column]

Singlish


(Found poem)

The taxi driver, in all his busy driving
pomp, announces. Today rain lah.
Rain, not, rain, not, rain, not, rain, not.
I said. So it always ends on not?
He said. Can lah.

Unless it rain.