Tag Archives: mushroom in a tube

The Myths We Make

After our amazing collaboration on the long poem, ‘mushroom, in a tube‘, Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke, Ric Williams and myself have teamed up again, this time on a poem titled Project 823: Urban Myths. The idea came from an email that was doing the rounds, stating that in July 2012, there were five consecutive Fridays, Saturdays and Sundays, a rare event that takes place only once every 823 years. The email called this phenomenon ‘Money Bags’ and asked you to donate accordingly, then send it on to at least 10 other people. If you didn’t, it would mean bad luck for the remainder of the year… This of course is an urban myth!

So Michael, Ric and I have taken the idea of Urban Myths and stretched it to breaking… it was again a magnificently playful experience, with each poet, really pushing themselves to bring something original to the table. As with ‘mushroom, in a tube’, who wrote which parts is not important. What is important is that the parts were written… Here’s a sample from the poem:

Project 823: Urban Myths

—G’day Jupiter!  This is Johnny “The Kid” Saturday
talking to you from Kangaroo 1, Australia, planet Earth.
I’ve got a headache over my left eye, and
I’m seeing purple koalas – this capsule
does strange things to you after all
this time – but no bullshit, it’s
great to finally be here.  Do you know
The Easybeats hit “Friday on My Mind?”

*****

I know there are other tragedies to consider, but
here, these apples will put a shiny taste in your blouse.

*****

vertiginous alone the young virgin
verily comes curly-loined the lion
lamb halo-headed holy haruspex

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New Collaboration: mushroom, in a tube

This past three weeks, I have been collaborating with Michael Fitzgerald-Clarke & Ric Williams on a 26-part poem, mushroom, in a tube. I can only thank Michael for kick starting the project by forwarding on the first part of the poem, inspired by an encounter back in 1996, when a stranger walked up to him and said, ‘here’s ten dollars, man’ and promptly planted said 10′er in his hand. From this gesture, has grown a poem with a spirit as free as the man who inspired it.

In composing the poem, all three of us agreed to push our writing into new territory. To extend the creative spirit. It is our plan to make sure this poem makes its way into the world, but more on that as things develop. For now, I want to share three sections of the poem showcasing the voices of Michael, Ric & myself. But, in keeping with the openness of the project, our names will not be assigned to any particular section.

May the words take you…

**********

g.

a masonic lodge
besieged by monkeys & women

feed them fish & grapes

&, & this is the most significant
triplet in this
holy sequence

granddad, why did
you steal a pomegranate?

it has no intrinsic value, grandson

OK, back to where
t+he action really
happens to be

today under a poem_e_granite tree

o.

they will find my body before
the moon slips off its black
latex glove: :before the trapped
dog chews through its hind leg

transmitters wired
into the left ventricle
shift blood out the door

in a fevered alley, in an un-
marked cul-de-sac, the ex-
ecutioner’s perfume all over
your hands: :a line is drawn

triumph of incision
mopping up the gush
of now

r.

poets too are frauds
as complicit as
the murderer
of light &
shadow

unname
everything
we claim in
dreams & say
“if paradox is not

& what i hold is nothing
as nothing is all of
dogma crushing
a mountain”
a grain

of grit or as
Ram Dass said:
“everybody is a hustler”
every hustler
is holy . . .

at an imaginary poetry
reading all poems
as scintillating
as fresh as
pressed

galaxies
with all the hot gas
swirling out electric tendrils
like Buddha’s last paisley dream
of a perfect Govinda burping the holy

names of everything never
conceived in the mind
of man . . . neti . . .
neti . . . neti . . .
swoosh

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