2 I haven’t put them in Producers’ letterboxes for recording studios in times of lyrical shortage. I did stencil some on placards of low tide sand, leaving behind the business card of the lonely calling love of Poetry. Left alone they aren’t even printed— Schrödinger’s poems in a laptop. 3 When I take my Hobo…
Month: April 2017
Everything I Need Is Thrown Out
1 Each time I buy a new didgeridoo I like to wander for a month and find out what it can do by busking in the echo -tiles of an underpass and under the roof -acoustics of storefronts it was winter, north enough, I thought, but Rain travelled the sky in armadas of dark ships…
flower shop
flower shop to Naran and her daughter that flower shop at that corner of the avenue flowers in coloured buckets of water stood before dirty glass windows not a shop for exclusive shoppers but anyone simply in that dusty town who needed flowers for whatever purpose flowers had, in night-clubs gifted across beer-spilt tables or…
A sad farewell
I watched alone by sunlit edge of pond and meadow touching hands those flirting leaves that twitched and swirled gold dessication incomplete while water ruffling to shore beneath bowed willows’ trailing arms pushed tender shards of russet brown to curl contentedly in reeds no harsh sounds to be heard that day for everything seemed hushed…
What’s worse, being dead or dying?
Pine cone; you; red shoes, grass/New moon/pale sky, so cool – evening. Think: if you go does Day/ Night also? disappear as if it never was even here. Hold on,
WE
these days there is a shadow on my heart a stone so weighty breathing is suppressed such sadness from this time we’ve been apart and memories of times when we were blessed no sleep while eyes keep searching in the night your warmth no longer felt here at my side without your arms to hold…
from Nowhere/ Always/ Everywhere #3
In the waiting room at the hospital a young man, with a topknot and brown lakes for eyes, comforts, in a front harness his four week old baby. And I wonder how we did it, the lady and I— by living apart? Letting birds fly? Once a week, flock, once a week, sky? Meaning-phoenicians, weeks…
Letting Go
This cold, cold earth last resting place I heard your voice you kissed my face then all was gone without a trace in cold, cold earth This hard, hard ground no need for sight for those who lie in this dark night not to see again the sun, the light in hard, hard ground Yet…
Purple Glow
Man sleeps Dog sleeps Cat sleeps Snoring sounds Whilst washing swishes Dishes sit soaking in the sink I sit and think Cars flash by Lights flash in the night sky I sip my wine Contemplating… Meditating… Soul finally at rest Comfortable in my nest… A purple glow in my heart Resonating to the sleeping souls…
deep end
deep end to ‘Auntie’ Wanda Kiel-Rapana out Tolaga Bay way my auntie’s hearth and homestead earth there’s a wharf you can walk out beyond the breakers, a wharf to take you over the line where the tide changes colour as the sea deepens and the swell lengthens, a wharf you might think is a fiddle…
Poetry – Memo to self
a rhymer’s style is one that’s neat following form and counting feet free-versers claim their way is better no need to follow to the letter some poems only seem to ramble endless screeds all in a tangle esoteric styles depress me grandiloquence just don’t impress me so what’s the best thing I can do (the…
In Passing
What became of whats-her-name the one who hung around last fall? Or was it spring, I can’t recall? Seemed quite sad and melancholic. We thought she might be alcoholic. Remember her? She was with us at your brothers ‘do’ And we talked of how our nails grew? Well, WE talked, she listened. Or seemed to….