Show Me The Treasure

Crows have been dropping clean-picked bones into my garden. Spying this possibly macabre undoing of the buried, naturally brings to mind Walt Whatman’s Leaves of Grass.  While it’s unlikely the earth has extruded what seems to be a duck femur,  the ground is supersaturated and seven eighths  mud after so many weeks of rain, anything, bone or water is unlikely to be swallowed up. Did the crow drop it from the jacaranda tree directly above, or let it fall while winging past? Is this speculation pure idleness or a bona fide interest in avian habits?  

Crows have been dropping clean-picked bones into my garden. Spying this possibly macabre undoing of the buried, naturally brings to mind Wal...

Here we have two types of chairs to sit and read in, same but different, so please get comfy and open up this link to Recours au poeme, at  http://www.recoursaupoeme.fr/essais-chroniques/ping-pong-visages-de-laustralie-carole-jenkins-po%C3%A8mes-et-entretien/marilyne
and read away - in English or French.  The translations of these eight poems by Marilyne Bertoncini, poet and translator,  came out of a set of work prepared for the 32nd Internatioanl Festival de la Poesie in Trois Rivieres, Quebec held in October 2016. Merci beaucoup to Marilyne B and the Festival for their invitation and wonderful festival. Viva la Poemes!

Here we have two types of chairs to sit and read in, same but different, so please get comfy and open up this link to Recours au p...

The go to address for all hard working poets this month is Cordite, I will be the Guest Editor ( yes, with that Fancy Uppercase) for the Toil issue.  And here I am,  just to show you how committed I am to  blood (okay it's cochineal), sweat ( midday in Oaxaca late April it's compulsory) and tears ( maybe later, no point in being melodramatic). So, see you soon!
  http://cordite.org.au/guncotton/jenkins-toil/
 The Kind of Poems for Toil:
I’m looking to meet the lone toiler, the staff, whole professions, whole guilds.
What I want for TOIL are energetic and intelligent takes and insight into people at work, singularly and collectively; the jokes of the mathematician; the travails of plumbers; trade secrets and tricks; the mastery of crafts; the dance of deduction for detectives in all forms and the plied threading of making.
I’m looking for toil in its broadest sense, the quotidian tasks both paid and unpaid. I’m looking for poems that explore the fabric of working via wit and lucidity, and please consider yourself invited to make the most of that diphthong in toil, and whatever it rhymes with.
As to form, be my guest as to what that is. Set out hop-scotches of ideas that skip to it, send scintillating sestinas, quatrains, haiku, sonnets or be that agent of free-verse. I’d like to see landays and crazy coherencies of rhyme and rhetoric.
Work can be microscopic up to panoramic. Put that work toad to use.

The go to address for all hard working poets this month is Cordite, I will be the Guest Editor ( yes, with that Fancy Uppercase) for the...

Here Bart Brassica ponders, not just if he has ordered too much butter for his cake, but what might be done with his butter hillock.  Unbeknownst to most everyone, and until very lately Bart himself, Bart is a fan of contemporary poetry and his contemplation of this lardish lump has evoked in him a reverie, a recollection of the poetic rendering of all things buttery which he has recently read in the new online issue of the literary food magazine Alimentum by his favourite Australian poet. Really, like 99% of the rest of the world, Bart only knows one Australian poet, but here he differs as he has become nearly obsessed with Carol Jenkins.  It took Bart a while to realise Australia was not in  Europe, but then it has taken most Australians quite a while to realise this too.

PS Naturally you can read the poem Museum of Butter online by clicking on the link to Alimentum.

Here Bart Brassica ponders, not just if he has ordered too much butter for his cake, but what might be done with his butter hillock.  Unbe...

There is an elegance to Rilke that survives even his translation into Prussian Blue. Unwittingly I've drawn his ears too large, but that is all the better to overhear the conversation of angels.
This set of Prussian Blue sketches has made it over the line between a set and a series, though I speculate that perhaps some of the Blue-ed in characters from the Robert Capa series may well have been poets. 

There is an elegance to Rilke that survives even his translation into Prussian Blue. Unwittingly I've drawn his ears too large, but th...

The first thing I think of when I see Frank O'Hara is his poem 'The Day Lady Died' which walks the reader through a hamburger and a malted, a  nickel shoe-shine (the nickel is my detail), toying with the idea of buying Les Negres by Genet, Gauloise (the French thing was obviously big) and finding Billie Holiday's face on the New York Post - announcing her death. O'Hara doesn't quite take the news on the chin.  Perhaps more on the forehead.

The first thing I think of when I see Frank O'Hara is his poem 'The Day Lady Died' which walks the reader through a hamburger ...

This is another blue derivative taken from a photo of Rimbaud at 17, where he has already hit his poetic straps, twenty years before his death, and three before he abandons his vocation as a poet. Though he looks glum, even melancholic, I suspect that his work 'to systematically derange the senses' might have been more fun than doing an MA in creative writing.

This is another blue derivative taken from a photo of Rimbaud at 17, where he has already hit his poetic straps, twenty years before his ...

Like learning to whistle, sooner or later, an interesting note occurs, and for me, this might be one of them . ( Though one note doesn't make a song, to paraphrase the swallow.) So,  here is Yeats, mis-cropped, with present ears and eyes and nose, but his mouth is out of frame, busy elsewhere with words on paper.

Like learning to whistle, sooner or later, an interesting note occurs, and for me, this might be one of them . ( Though one note doesn...