the poetry of
Mark S. Leabeater
From his new collection
Flash White vs the Bag of Nails
See also http://www.warr.com.au/mark/
"Leabeater's poems blind us with their luminescence. He uses every stroke on the keyboard to forge poems of great dexterity and inventiveness." Alan Jefferies
Flash White vs the bag of Nails or Leabeater’s 1st volume Prismatic Navigation can be ordered from Dadadata Press email@example.com
for $13 (AUD) which includes postage.
There are 3 CD's available, each 70 mins plus, all up comprising the entire contents of the book Prismatic Navigation. "Lazily spoken psychotropical poetry overlaying soundscapes of unworldly ambiant, rock, jazz and sound effects from wildly ranging environments."
CD 1 = Book 1: Metal Night. CD 2 = Books2,3: Phoenix Max, Freefall & Tapestry.
CD 3 = Book 4: Posthistory.
Each CD same as above price, or $30 with pris nav book inc. (or $35 posted in aust.)
Pris. Nav. - the book alone is same price as flash white.
"Now this is living!" i remember saying
of the wireless life/ unencompassed,
as i flew feet first over
the sleeping town, the many
houses i had lived in,
the people there i knew, their
their most natural faces
in our college days
when the wireless life/ was all aspiration,
all good possibilities, none bad/
when any of every imaginably desirable path
spread out all ahead fully
amazing/ly unencompassed/ that is:
got in front of it all (as it must do)
and here we come &/ there we go again,
opening & closing/ doors so long long time
no longer there/ go clapping by under
my nightflying feet
feeling the warm dark, a summer night
a diffusion of voices
through my body like Beethoven
music, and out through the top of my head
the hours/ days/ the years flew
inside me/ shot right through me
through my years
until such ever acceleration
tore the sail of the dream,
and the un-dreamer sprang up
in/to (the rattling room) split second before
the cyclone force 7
exploded (((the window)))
and the glass between waking and dreaming
intricately fallen & windchimes to
so delicately/ this incidental view:
a sliver crescent/ moon slung below
the star of mysterium (or i think it's Mars)
out there beyond midnight,
and touchable/ who knew.
Artist in the round
to turn this rim world's local & temporal
structure into truth & beautiful
streaks of confluence
the pretty amazing
Sitting in that old fashioned
at the legless axis
yv got something to say, don't
put a fish in a tree or a
bird in the sea, that's
been done before
(reaches into the whirling mass of skies,
selects a silhouette twig, and
on mirror coloured waters, draws):
"an uneven heaven not even
and by, and by
all this haven endures under human
if anyone should ask you what yr doing/
nothing (as the easy river & the breezes)
(as therefore also simply)
whatever i want to do
(and that's the why
the sitting here quietly
this day & away,
wanted: laboratory rat
wanted: "laboratory rat"...
may as well try for an interview
as any other of these
squares in the evening post
just make me feel sick
as a sheet fed machinist
or a butcher/ or a
plastic film extrusionist
(arborist?) experienced person wanted to poison trees...
and i'm sure
all this planet needs
is another growth industry.
THE HYDRA stared straight at me and
across the many ways,
a symbol/ knew just what it meant/ said <<*>>
inside the mythologies, Max,
feel like yr
cut off my head
& i'll just grow another one,
cut off my head i've got
any many more;
head me off at the pass & i
know the other way, i'm
yr best inter
ests at heart, cruised in velvet
at the end of the bone bruising
cut off yr nose/ to
spite yr face, you can
plead ignorance, you can
walkabout in grace/ & never
i'm yr many lives/ yr nexus wife &
the ganglion of yr passions"
said the Hydra on the path.
high the pinnacle
of a gritty swarming gridded world
glinted spacious a spire
telescopical spindle of fire
reached at least above the stratosphere
and at best beyond expectation
in the simultaneous universe
a sensational aerial begins transmitting
photo imprints of 'something':
light from unhuman event
so far away, this light has taken
all of time to cross
the crescent of timespace/ the simultaneity
> at the speed of light >
via all frontier/ out there...
(the techs gather around a monitor)
could that really be ?
could that really be ?
'the origin of the universe'...
Max's psychedelic dream
i see a living human undead skeleton/ a vine,
mine own/ icon of im(and/or)mortality, entwined~
on a heavingly ginormous slug. the slug is knowledge.
the skeleton's like of chrome,
or sometimes/ these wind chiming bones
are transluscent, a wine bright
like of glass blown with a constant &
warm internal light.
some other times
these bones are just/
are only a dirty
opaque decaying &
scar/red bundle not even white/ they're grey.
>> there's a canvas face glued on/ the death's head
and it's painted/ roughly
with the features of your own,
and always reaching, one boney arm/
one hand/ one palm
stretched high & wide/
which like the face is tattooed
with all archetypal images/ of a perfect life
up & out, to outer space,
only as a significant banner
of the journey penetrating
the ponderously slow motionly
joining up of the invisible dots...
and the why? is completely invisible
the landscape is the tangerine empty
seething void of potentialities,
landforms shiftingly implied,
and the snail trail across it
is self evidently... the silver thread... of what is actual
...is intersected/ threaded
with the trails of untold other riders/ "all together now"
creating the whole ...wide world of ...known forms ...as we go
...but we're also always/ leaving the known world behind us...
the slug, the slug is knowledge
- a wild & difficult beast to ride, in this dream -
with no saddle provided...
slimy & unstable, the slug
it knows no underlying structure but what it
leaves behind it...
the slug is perfect/ adaptation itself...
the godslug & i
only slither until:
to see what will happen, when
these bones finally, faithfully...
...these bones, it seems, (the evidence: trails ending/ desicated
end-of-line meltdowns/ of rider only, or worse; and trails restarted after the meltdowns are complete...) these bones mine own & their
protean (eyeless, earless, why?less, origins unsaid) silent mount
are constructed of the same being
is the trail...
Romance under nature.
~See saw & cycle clock
womb and fallow/ under night of new moon
the closed flowers of the day blooming tree...
~See saw & cycle pendulum
pea/cock hanging for action
struts right up to the saxophone dawn blowing
frenzy/ the mind of a thief crowing:
"the day will be ours" in
the time being/ spring...
~See saw & cycle starchart reasons spin the devices, see
the diversity of the seasons the same & slightly
different every year, the swing orbital
see saw & cycle
planet wound up to/ encircle Inferno,
at the dawngate again of the first day of spring
the feathered cloud human optic/ bursts into wing
soaring tropic: the stereoscopic
both eyes open
see by night &
see by day
the running empires over/ some lost amazonia
sunning like all becoming, the while
reverse swastika wheels within
sky of symbols within the sky revealing
the cunning subplots under/ galactic laughter gunning
the insensible rush of the comet
long, ineluctable ellipse
O grazed the blue/black sky,
the obliviously miraculous
romance under nature
un and even
(under nature) the ancient romance
Seated comfy in an aeroplane
cabin/ varnished woodgrain
cabinet, leather & silver/
an old world DC 3...
& there's me
sipping a martini/
~yep, that's me... apparently
traversing the Transvaal/ out there/ down there/
or then it's the Nullabor ("very dry,
with an olive"/ghost dry rivers. "Yes, wow, look at that,
and thank you, looks great, very much.")
& I look clean & ...definitely going somewhere...
nonchalant/ly/ confident/ly... (Hawaiian flower
loose tourist shirt &...
...until i realise/ freeze-frame-sudden/ moment-across-the-world/ that i don't know where...
like/ i mean, like no idea,
like: i don't know where i'm going
...like there is no/ it's a blank piece of paper/
there's no destination/ on my ticket/ um...
...looking out again/ looking out there... what's new? Looks like
some sorta/ anyway it's like never before,
night & day simultaneously, and like
it's ever new, like it's a balloon
expansion of the world i used to knew,
like it's become the world at large/
galaxies are spinning catherine wheels out there
beyond the naked eye, and
down there... down there... sometimes great cities are uninhabited.
And the ants down there, i know they can't see
what i see from the air, i see
the old cities below the new.
Sometimes... are you seeing this? down there
the Himalayas are
blooming/ light & shade/ flowers (pushing up/ like people)
every! time i look/
an entirely different landscape, down there/ looking up at me...
(dipper riding/ weaving via, now
monsoon/ season of drifting
islands/ towering anvil cloud islands)
finally i notice, from this
window seat be/hind a wing ~
the wing/s are feathered ~
slow sweeping ~~~~~~~~~ they're flapping!
This bird is dreaming
(swooping low now, over tangled green Ankor lost jungle/mpire)
anti-gravity feelings... and the displacement spells me
i am here /so very here/ this poem/ this fragile/ moment
before we wake/ following the cracks
branching out from the primary fractures,
surreal & jumble history/s emerging
in rapid transit
= these mysteries in flight ~
Born from the bleeding wounded
the crossfire guns the shot ruins
the domino towers of material fortitude
under sphere of the magnitude X
cold designs from undone tomes
where no footprint
tests the endurance of the savage steady rain
living running dying crawling
sprawling finger roots are prying
underneath the sullen black earth
the golden earth
heroic blood & dynasty history
so softly so softly
away & away &
of a rain spun bell.
MEUSE PRESS publishes this collection.