to Frank Le Baige

how many of us
have scratched
such names.
i go down
to the beach
and have a
look at the
foot of the
sandstone cliff
where it arches
over a hollow
hollower then,
a spot i’ve known
since childhood,
for that my
brother’s name
he dug out
deeply, i
thought then,
some 50 years
ago with stick
and blade and
bragged it good
for a ‘100 years’;
one of his usual
i’d long stopped
to believe in.

i imagine
i do
see something
faintly there
like something in
the tidal shallows,
the shadow of a
flounder moving
out, imagine
i’ve found a letter
and he was
right i can
go on dreaming
i’ve found it
even 50 years
from this life
into the maybe
a name as
good as
his word,

which was
never to
be believed

april /december 2016


‘use it
to the small
black end
so you
are holding it
by your

I was going
to say
as they bicycled
past me

on the footpath
while I filmed
from the grass
a blackbird

with a small
clear stream
in its glossy
yellow beak
amongst the last
of the leaves
to the fallen

because I thought
she said
to her friend
I thought
I heard her
say ‘what
do you want
to do
with your life’

but she didn’t,
close, something
resembling but not
requisite the pencil
comment, they would
have thought I was

poetry is
offering unsolicited
but we have
this agreement

hanging on the estuary

hanging on the estuary
inspired by reading contradictory reports on the state of the
Tamaki estuary and a late stroll along its eastern shores

maybe it is
getting better
maybe it is
getting cleaner
along the estuary
toward evening
spotted a heron
every hundred
yards or so
fishing in
the stillness
a sunset up
from the

tamaki estuary
dusk, 25 july 2015

Tough times ahead

Tough times ahead

Be ready to face tough times ahead,

Figure it out like jam with butter and bread,

Tough times that test your mettle, make it hard enough to survive the scare,

And grab any opportunity that come its way, cache it in as rays rising from glare.


Make every moment count, every drop that falls,

From your sweat, like water on dry walls,

Paint a picture crimsoned in brightness on canvass,

Never build in your story of success in a short frame.


Don’t stay stuck up or stranded,

Without any motive to survive or push forward to,

For when there is a shower from God, Almighty,

Things could anyway and for sure would sway to and fro.


There are advices from people all around,

Accept them as lessons from the crown,

For when there is a need to out throw,

Intense pressure is surmounted upon innocent soul.


Every moment is crucial, every second is justifiable,

But the mettle gives in to clutches of the will,

Will is quite powerful to steer in towards way,

Sometimes above and sometimes droops down under the bay.

Tough times are typical to face,

They shatter the head and shake the base,

Of a stable person’s attitude and gravity,

And befools him time and again creating depravity.


Chillness is felt in nerves, so do they tremble,

Under irresistible thunder of motionless thoughts,

Thoughts preoccupying and boggling the mind,

Trying to escape yet getting bind.


Soul ventures out to find peace somewhere,

Yet longing for it drift away the only boat,

That seems going the right path or way,

And steers away towards an unknown darkness.


This tests your patience levels,

Checks into your blood pressure levels,

Asks in for your magnanimity,

And creates freakiness and anonymity.


Times that surge into your dream,

Of reaching the pinnacle and zenith;

Make you remember each moment struck at,

By clock of testing times, of turpitude that playeth.


Convert all negative emotions to assertiveness,

And chisel away the friction and roughness,

Process the difficulties as and when your perceive,

Testing times grind the moment you do receive.


There are blows felt directly on head,

Take the “bull by its horns” or be ready to be led,

By a stronger person having an affinity for success,

Or get drawn into an ocean of mess.


This mess does extrapolate a weird silence,

That piles into more burden of tests,

Times don’t test, they just echo the feeling,

Of the illogical beast to end your tireless reeling.


Do peel away your fears and let brightness sparkle,

From dull voice let the lion roar,

For times do giggle and juggle,

Around the person and embellish him to struggle.


There’s always a stop to every count,

Always a motive to every pound,

Always a desire to rise and unleash the myth,

Always a fire to win with all grit.


Always times may not be tough,

For toughness is hidden in impact,

An impact plunges in more effort,

That drives into superior personal wit.


Where’s a way to live in peace,

When there’s all by an large a losing spree,

Of disappointments, disagreements, disproportions, disadvantages,

That do deteriorate and admonish a person to give up.


Hence trusted times are waiting ahead,

‘Trust’ being synonymous to tough test lying ahead,

That ends up the fear after building a bed,

A cot that comforts a dying pledge,

A pledge to rise and uphold the task,

Of winning and filling with success the flask,

A flask of sweetness and taste of victory,

That is beheld by tough times covered graciously and beautifully…..






there’s no blood & the faint scar’s from years


I’m not

home anymore not high not

stoned but                   away I’m



fit to hold your

stare say nothing         This


is the best I have been

long term

the least disturbed

In dreams my


cut’s     not so

deep as to leave anything

more than

worn skin

Purse Kept Gems

To search outwards defines strength,

To wander in the fields of black roses and purple orchids,

Dance around and around under the late summer sun,

Tumblers of pink lemonade, gin and chock full of ice cubes,

Straws and a slice of lime to accommodate,

Gather yourself and meet us there,

We can watch the sun cast it’s light across the evening setting sky.

This art does hurt.

The fusion of good words,

Entwine the threads of conversations,

Little purse kept gems,

Cropping up matters of hope,

Decadent the poison is to be removed,

A vortex of whims dragged below the lavender flower beds,

The chopped heads of flowers will fall to the earth,

Dusty and devout throughout the late afternoon,

Struggling for breath in between,

Drowned in a river of mothers weep and pink lemonade.

to an elderly magpie

to an elderly magpie

at your age,
sir, you’ve
scooted zoomed
across a plethora
of skies
pulled finest
worms from
thickest lawn
raised families
scattered them
to the four winds
in handfuls of
black and white
fished the
sky for clouds
flown circles
round the
the day
you feel your
wings turned stiff
at the shoulder
errant awkward
trembling at
the stretch
no will to
scoot and
zoom the sky
an endless thing
you never saw
the edge of
will you
throw it all
into one last
flight to
crash and burn
or just stay
on the branch
let the wind
ruffle you away
ruffle you away
either way
free as
a bird of
birds the
soul at last.

1 May 2013


SONG OF THE LARKS. -Written by Taylor John.

I. Cheer.
-Worsen – The Day..!
-Cheer up!

-But, (tonight) most – look
Such –
Deviates !

II. Lending. (Larks).
-I’ve, reached – for,
The Stone..! (Why – on,
-Each, Hand – like,
A worrying – Ache: of –
Bitter – Man’s,

III. Where We Do Stand.
-Where – do, we –
-Do, it..! (It – will,
Be – Done – my,
Friend! It – will,
Be –


A DAY AFTER THE FAIR. -Written by Taylor John.
I. The Child Has A Little Drum.
He – tends, to it’s Sound: like –
As, if – it’s,
A Jewel; of –

The Child – has,
A Little Drum:
(A – Day, after –
The Fair..)

II. Goodnight Mr. And Mrs. Flowers.
..We – are,
Arch’s: to –
False Alarm – of,
Their : Gayest’,

Goodnight – Mr. and Mrs. Flowers:
(We – have, Arms : not –
Budding; not – budding,
Works of Terror..?)

III. The Hurt Has It’s Own Innuendo.
..(It) Pour,
Heartache: out – as, if:
It’s – a, Broken Seal;

(The Hurt – has,
It’s own – Innuendo: it’s –
Certain – kind,
Of Deal..)

IV. Gentle People Have A Generation.
..(They) Tend – to,
Give: (instead – of,
The taking – of,

Gentle People – have:
A, Generation..