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the poetry of 
Mark S. Leabeater
From his new collection
Flash White vs the Bag of Nails
(dadadata, 2005)
 

See also http://www.warr.com.au/mark/

 

 

SOME LINKS

NSW Writers' Centre

Poets Union

Directory of Aust. Poets

Artransit Poems

Written in Sand

Les Wicks' page

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"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

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.
Flash White vs the bag of Nails or Leabeater’s 1st volume Prismatic Navigation  can be ordered from Dadadata Press meusepress@hotmail.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.

 

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Alive again,

"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

particular addresses,

their most natural faces

 

alive again

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:

exponential potential...

 

before reality

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               

jet viscerally

through my years

faster

and faster

 

  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

from heaven

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.


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Artist in the round

world

roundabout turning

only

to turn this rim world's local & temporal 

structure into truth & beautiful

streaks of confluence

the It

the pretty amazing

 

Sitting in that old fashioned

X  legs

way

at the legless axis

of Eternity

until

 

don't

 

even say

 

a thing

until

 

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

thinly disguised"

 

and by, and by

all this haven endures under human                                                              

picnic tracks,

so

if anyone should ask you what yr doing/

said

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

musing

this day & away,           

anyway)

 

 

 

 

 


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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

or an

(arborist?) experienced person wanted to poison trees...

 

and i'm sure

all this planet needs

is another growth industry.

 

 

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THE HYDRA stared straight at me and

across the many ways,

and said:

a symbol/ knew just what it meant/ said  <<*>>

"Get right

inside the mythologies, Max,

feel like yr

going through

some changes?

you can

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

day...

 

...you/ can

cut off yr nose/ to

spite yr face, you can

plead ignorance, you can

walkabout in grace/ & never

know it

yet

 

i'm yr many lives/ yr nexus wife &

the ganglion of yr passions"

 

said the Hydra on the path.

 

 

 

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Satellite

modern pyramid

high the pinnacle

of a gritty swarming gridded world

glinted spacious a spire

yon charged

imagination on

telescopical spindle of fire

 

reached at least above the stratosphere

and at best beyond expectation

 

in the simultaneous universe

 

a sensational aerial begins transmitting

snapshot

photo imprints of 'something':

seamless

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'...

 


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Max's psychedelic dream

 

i see a living human undead skeleton/ a vine,

mine own/ icon of im(and/or)mortality, entwined~

riding high

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 &

sweetly moving

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

darker skeleton, 

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

imperfectly expressed/

reaches ungraciously

up & out, to outer space,

only as a significant banner

of the journey penetrating

into space,

or

the ponderously slow motionly                                                    

joining up of the invisible dots...

and the why? is completely invisible

too.

 

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...

therefore

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

silver threads

as:

is the trail...


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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

on its

long, ineluctable ellipse

O                                                 grazed                                            the blue/black sky,

                                                                                                                               blazed                  

                                     

the obliviously miraculous

romance under nature

 ...mirabile dictu...               

un and even

(under nature) the ancient romance

 

 

                                                                                                   

                      


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Star

 

flower,

 

 

*

 


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MYSTERY FLIGHT

 

Seated comfy in an aeroplane

cabin/ varnished woodgrain

cabinet, leather & silver/

an old world DC 3...

& there's me

sipping a martini/

dreaming reality~

 

~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 &...

 

um, yeah...)

...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

to...

...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)

down there...

 

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)     

and i,

 

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  ~

 


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GREEN JESUS

 

Born from the bleeding wounded

green jesus

run between

the crossfire guns the shot ruins

the domino towers of material fortitude

under sphere of the magnitude X

ink bleeds

cold designs from undone tomes

where no footprint

tests the endurance of the savage steady rain

falling fingers

living running dying crawling

sprawling finger roots are prying

underneath the sullen black earth

the golden earth

digests 

heroic blood & dynasty history

so softly so softly

away & away &

...low thunder:

kyrie  eleison...

the incantation

of a rain spun bell.

 

 

 

 

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MEUSE PRESS publishes this collection.

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