Ruby Street

These temptations & spare Change - something like a flip waiting the station like rain & leaving the Umbrella for the homeless office worker and another spreadsheet Revisions demand the Rising actions speaking louder than Other than the phone Pick me up o southerlies! there is no snow just some sort of ancient kindness Nothing gone begging But we're up for it

At any end it's about Durance And title - tho' calling a spade A shovel near Xmas Gets lost without party Some years end in yellow Some in smoky cumulus This day is a slender Green You can almost see the brush strokes So holding on, like 'holding the man' Is hard But we are not men! Which leaves us Outside, our arms Lifting the minutes of the Rest And holding our own green

smoke becomes us between each space we have learned to keep secrets

Inspired by Tom Beckett's Day Project , here's the jumble of my day yesterday, as my head remember late last night. dream and real, radio evacuate and spiel forgetting on a desk and horizon has forgotten me until I see leaf movement friends leaving excavate work lines white soap, pale body phone phone ascend and phone descend, a fiddle tune, humidity documentary about the Queen a little Urn in cricket hands coffee, tea, Peking noodle, stain ascend, lift, rise fall, incessant voice beginning to crack looking for a last signature eyes still itch long distance till you return own bed, book on Cook sauvignon blanc, sports screen negotiation stalls and flows green dusty air escape, you wish

The much esteemed Cordite is refreshed with issue number 25: Generation of Zeroes . And at last something to come home to, the sixth issue of Divan is finally on line. Some of my thoughts on blogging are here .

Yesterday I saw a bloke holding a teddy bear today, at the Devonshire Street entrance to Central. The man's thin greyish hair and beard matched the teddy bear's fur. That seemed kinda neat, I thought, as man and bear went off in a different direction to mine.

"What if, say, the manner of going over the ground were itself a poetic act, and not merely a prosaic means of getting from one place to another." Paul Carter , The Lie of the Land They have taken away our signs. Many years ago I mourned, ever so slightly, the disappearance from the main city train stations here in Sydney, of the large static indicator boards. Well, no, they weren't static - there was movement. A light would go on beside each station the next train would stop at. Anyone who was a regular could tell just by looking at how the board was lit if the next train was theirs. They didn't have to read, they could just sum it all up in a look. When you're running, the ability to sum up the situation in a glance is important. For some years these major stations have used screen-based indicator boards, which you must read as the names flow by quickly - or you must take a chance when a train is standing there as you rush up. More than once my chance has been w...