the poetry that matters

teri louise kelly

teri louise kelly was born in london but lives now in adelaide australia. she is the author of the memoir 'Sex, Knives & Bouillabaisse' (Mar 08) & the forthcoming 'Last Bed On Earth', she writes for the alternative & mainstream press in australia, is a short story competition winner in numerous competions, her first poetry volume is due for release in Feb 2010.

Thatz Feminsta Mista!

& freda kahlo didnt cum to my wedding,
too busy with the red people disembarking,
& i never went to my wedding,
tied up with the yellow people boarding,
& the big white whale & ahab did attend,
i heard, while over at the hollywood bowl
a phosphorous haze hung heavy as
the shaman danced & girls cried openly.




consentual conscientious objecting



jimmy the greek is running numbers of 150-1 against me,

those are more favourable odds than Moses, Brendan Behan, Daffy Duck or Christina Jorgensen got. the greek knows shit . . . he thinks i'm aktually competing.

i am not a participant in:

the human race,

the rat race,

the arms race,

the space race,

the egg & fucking spoon race,

the 3-legged, or 2-legged race,

the wacky race,

the kiss chasey race,

the great race; i have to be in the race to the grave. that checkbox is mandatory.

I am in a race with myself (odds in Vegas of 7000-1 against),

so far, i am only just ahead, by a nipple, maybe too,

i am too shit-scared to glance behind,

to see what i'm outrunning, what's in pursuit, closing the gap too fast,

its breath is bad enough, on my nape.

i still cling, valiantly, vainly, stupidly, to my choice to object to

co-dependent conscientiousness/& will, until the tape is broken,

they fired the gun too early anyhow. never send a man to do a woman's work Hank. i have the inside track, short bends, every inch counts baby. every second is vital, every first is forgotton . . . the race goes ON. Consentually.

absurd. i know.

In the event of a tie; i still die.









u know how it is right?

How it feels when youve

given all u can give

said all u can say

lied all u can lie

fessed all u can fess

written all u can write

begged all u can beg

thought all u can think

drunk all u can drink

eaten all the crap u can stomach

how that feels write down in the

pit of your gut, at the front of

your forehead, deep in the groin,

when everything screams ENOUGH!

U know how that feels right?

How it feels knowing u cant

face one more minute hour day week month year

of that kind of shit

how it feels when u wake up facing the

brutal reality that the total cost at lifes

checkout is beyond your resources and

that despite what they preach, life isnt

even an evens game . . . u know how that feels

dont you?





all the things i left behind voluntarily























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