Ride upon the winds for your life. Move on, move on always move on. Stay awhile only, then go! Through rain, fire and snow. Your friends are your only friends, Your destiny is in your wheels, And your fate is in your hands. Keep your enemies at bay. Tomorrow you will be gone,…
Month: May 2018
The Bungalow
Once, there was a bungalow sitting beneath the trees, In the murky meadow madness of the bungalow-low breeze, White and pale and very sad, waiting for a friend, Waiting for its misery to end. c.1976. 24 Claude Rd, Manurewa.
That Beautiful Eye
Your eye from the side is a triangle of white dipped in emotion, bathed in tears – a lid drawn down, through which tears carve ragged streams on windswept cheeks. Angles – light and dark – staring at nothing – the past; an intensity of loss, pain written at the edge, a sadness, glistening
the dying tree
If I thought about the future, mortality; developed feelings, a philosophy; was alternately stifled, lonely; doubtful of the neighbours – I’d fear being felled. Pray for a death one day dozing in a field when all my friends have passed away.
from Things Are Wrong Though Fair Enough #3
12 I’ve thought about this event, didn’t know how to write it or what it meant. he must have come home with me…maybe I offered him the couch? but I woke on the couch and he was at the round table by the window with the view onto the bottle shop and car dealers at…
from Things Are Wrong Though Fair Enough
11. A BIRTH I begin again on what it took: a Solar System, many bones, an undercover life. I am now become detective in the womb growing to a music from the room I form to muffled shouts and laughter, a waterfall in sunlight, dazzling white, and rain, prism clean as the space I am…
‘Finding Harmony’
Autumn rain is determined to tap against the panes of your soul Defiantly strumming your hair in deep silent reflection: Now is moot For you are lost to wind’s clawing of this moment; gone like fallen fruit Oh detachment, you stole her from me; so easily that labour is done Time’s distance drifts,…
leave us alone
The dead are flexible. Do what you will. Wrap them up in dreams. Memory. The dying won’t budge, are recalcitrant. Clutch at life, youth. My tie, too vigorously. You hear the suffering like waves in a shell; obliquely. II For a week I receive no news, not even an e-mail. It’s…
for a mother on mother’s day
for a mother on mother’s day were a mother knocked off now. the sponges, scones weeding, watering, the worrying, clear of any such labours at last no one sky can hold you, fiddling with galaxies, the tick of clocks, the cuckoo chiming out of a sprung swing door, curdling milk or already born getting…
Meantime…
Meantime… I carry pain carefully Like a broken egg in both hands I offer You all the bits. Then Tired arms fall (I’m not sure if you could use it anyway…) and the pain has drained through my pen… Meantime…
Man Of The Land
He is in again, this man of the land, a half-open knife, worn down by life’s grind: flogging unresponsive land, fighting drought and the taxman. He limps beside his wife Her shoulders are down; years of walking into the wind; years of scones and rough hugs It has done this His trousers are hitched on…
Lovelace
Coals to ashes at night Sunshine the day Steal the light before it’s seen It’s at the point where all rivers meet and the waters flow in every direction Dream if you can a field Purple orchids in full bloom People gather in the farmers garden A garden lined with black and white roses Sip…