Good Intentions

ezra-and-faithGood Intentions.



How are you?

Do I really want to know?


If I did, it would mean I truly cared.

More words flippantly tossed into the air.

Gone for good?


I will see you soon.
I must have you round for a meal.

I am puzzled by the way your eyes glaze over.

I mean it sincerely

And yet,

I am busy.

Surely you know how it is.

There are more important matters.

Don’t be huffy or hurt.

Then you vanish

With no goodbye.

Sometimes wrapped in good intentions,

And yet,

Even if I don’t like you,

Care for you,

’tis rude to admit it.
Words . . . words . . . words,

All I hear,

Insincere words wafting in the wind.



Goodnight, See You In The Daylight

I’ve been coming home for months.
I am so tired of the doing of it wrong.

There is the wind
and there are the trees

Which is it
we are talking about?


I blow hard, I lose leaves,
—the symbiotic tree tops, the storms
strumming branches, and arms
pointing everywhere—


I blew hard, I lost leaves,
but I am rooted in the soil of the truth
and not the hydroponics of belief.


What I see and what I see
of you, this will do for truth; the
temperature today, in the raindrop
or the shadow, not in what is forecast for tomorrow.




boyfriend in a coma

Say it

when I don’t expect it.

Rattle my door.


Listen for

the padded paw across

plush sand, the muffled



Look for flickers,

odd numbers of molecules,

a minuscule dislodgment

of furniture;


a child hiding in the garden

at midnight.

I shall commune in sighs.



Given up for dead poor sod

a year today, and today

white bones upon the shore,


 I live


Cast No Doubt

Fear is only in our minds but taking over all the time, there are those who love to hate but their dart cannot pierce unless you let it.

I found the road to nowhere but I’m trying to escape, but I thought I found the road to somewhere because I know there is something there for me.

I think, I think too much, even in reality people lose touch to their own purposes, but to focus of what will lay ahead can only build a bridge to reality.

In this hysterical realm I am myself and my soul is not for sale, beat the pressure don’t play the game that they test you.

Have you ever wondered how it all happened yet you have got get up and try, I’m not afraid of what others have to say, the only way forward is to advance.

Turn it around give it all, break the back and watch them lose it all, I’ve been watching and waiting, I’ve been searching I’ve been living, I now walk alive.

The Pull Of A Distant Heart

Each, and everyday wishing you were here,
this distance between us I cannot bear.
My heart aches and it’s no joke,
I feel like I’m drowning, and beginning to choke.

One day we will meet I know this is true,
some nights I can’t sleep,
longing the need for you.
My hands desperately reaching out,
this love we share is worth it without a doubt.

Time is of the essence,
I need you now,
this so overwhelming,
but I’ll get through it somehow.

You’re very special,
my princess can’t you see,
I desire to care for you,
and give every part of me.

Each day I wonder what you are doing,
the loneliness echoes,
and my heart is brewing.
Without you loneliness fills the air,
but to know that you are coming, I won’t despair.

I wish I could just fly across the sea,
meet you, take you out to dine,
how wonderful that would be.
One day I’ll look back, and you’ll hear me say,
as we remember the calling,
and the pulling each way.

A Farewell

I am on the wall

in hand-painted tones.

My sister, too.

We look young,

hair patted in to place.

Mother’s work,

a dab and a lick.

They hang in the hall

beside mum’s room.

I saw her there

pale and worn.

I love you, I said.

Love you, too.

A mottled hand

raised in farewell.

I see her now,

hair in a silver splay,

a white crocheted cover

drawn to her chin;

she is everywhere:

the bone handles,

the doilies,

the sense of calm.

Even, if I look,

in my young eyes

Haunting Visions


I cant fight these visions they rain holy pain, you can feel my torment that drives you insane, yet I feel the same with what will burn into flame.

You can take it all away and make me whole again, you took away my shame but left the promise of pain to call out in your name, I feel restrained as the world goes black again.

The silence is what calls me just like spiritual food, the sky was battered and bruised where many things shifted and moved. Something that took flight wanted to take a bite, but retreated from the light.

They don’t know how to listen, they are blinded by division but no one should interfere with their decision, so shake the dust of your cloaks and feet that was you mission.

The screams are loud enough to shred me, but inside all the dread can be cast aside to become free, like animals in cage and kept in the dark and cannot see.

I wait for you like the ice on the mountain side, to come together with your plan like a surging tide, to gather what remains and the good that will open their eyes wide.

All i regret this noose strung up by wrong, the quick sand has no laugh and sucks you under for so long, there is no new day or the birds to sing their song.

What was sacred is fading into nothing but sadness, can you hear the sound of madness, broken souls into nothing but badness.

What I see is the rage of the beast our makers see him as the least, he coils and twists with a hunger to prey and feast, on those who he claims his mark, relentlessly his shadow so dark.

The darkest hour will not show you mercy of its power, striking those down within the hour, will they see that things are not right, when will they wake up and fight?

He is the master of the keep, the disaster waiting and keeping you asleep, he is the master that is controlling the sheep, you need to awaken from your sleep so deep, for what you sow you shall reap.


I have been a kitchen hand,

a labourer, receptionist

at a Kings Cross hotel;

an alarm technician,

a music tutor;

voluntary case-officer

at the community law centre;

a waiter, barrister [sic],



ballet dancer,

porn star;



thief, drug dealer;

and, most lately,

part-time gardener.


I want you to know, to think,

that I’m diligent, intelligent,

adaptable, resilient, even;

tempered: cool under difficult

circumstances. I can turn my hand

to a number of,



my ascendant’s

gemini  – quick

to learn. Also, I read



Faces at the glassless windows.

Eyes drawn tight.


Look at what happened.

To us.

When we were strong.

Yet we lost.

We were family.


In a wooden village.

Locked tight in belief.

We grew food to sell.

So we had a chance at life.

And we lost.

We lost hope.

We lost pride.

We lost it all.


In this falling down place.

All-but forgotten.

Chalk on the walls:

Boys’ school, girls’ school.

Little store rooms.

Big rooms for parents.

Little ones for children.

They slept on the floor.

Close to the earth.

The providing earth.

The walls are falling;

brown scrim floats in the wind.

It was our home.

When we were strong.

Now, our tears dried on our faces;

we are the hollow eyes of our past

A Prayer

White stucco walls and a simple cross

reach to the sky blue, threads of cloud.

A little church on a hill, a solid wooden door,

closed and locked.

Pray outside today, if you must.

A shingled track leads the way,

past towering pines, plains views.

The people of the valley fall to their knees

on buttoned cloth, reach for salvation

among the angled high beams; seek

to cleanse their minds of clutter and fear.

A man of the cloth raises his hands,

to test the power of prayer


as night waits summer nights late
spring warmth waits like a rugby sub
in the shot you see of him on the sidelines
in the higher number his track pants off
and warming up the sea is sky colour
and that is the colour of my laptop
screensaver a pale blue yellow eye
shimmering wet moist reflective
and curved in its flexible state
warming my gluts and all
I can think of during the
drive home from the
gymnasium soccer
is that a.i. has
become a
the creation and completion obsessive compulsion
how I once spent the whole night and the next day
untangling a knot of complex wires and strings
bindings I had no use for, but having started
having started…but this wasn’t a ball left mysteriously at my door
step on one of the final winter nights
and although we are the technology
exceeds anything created intuitive
emotional apps our clear faces
and clean eyes and the precious
transience of evenings in the symbolic centre of seasons
changing this feeling, beyond
data or memory in excess
of the ability to process
unfathomable bit-bytes
of logic, and to arrive
on two feet and negotiate
bail-outs with the BIS
and work off completely
wrong conclusions, to
waste parenting and drive
off your children with persistence
in utterly false commands to secure their afterlife




better than both

               better than both

this morning
the estuary was
and better
than both its
gloss and
dabs of
not ‘as
they were’
the sky
a living
blue not
ground in
any workshop

tamaki esturay
morning, 9 may 2016