In her heart a maiden

what does it matter come the day
it’s only chatter what they say
she’s had her life, she’s old and grey
mad as a hatter anyway

she turns her head with with muted cry
to hear these words as they pass by
she knows how fast the years can fly
how all lifes plans can go awry

her winter feet now feel the chill
all steps become an act of will
but she can bear life’s bitter pill
while in her heart a maiden


You exist in the poor length

of my second toe, our lip and Irish eye

that pinks upon the island air.


I’m bored cleaning corpse from

empirical floor.  I pack jaws

that don’t speak, at doors to centuries.


Sing – give us wars that ring

in your elbow, sting of injury,

and porous nuance.


I heard a man tore you once

and told your whanau in desperation.

They stood, and taught him to carve.


It matters, in the new-bled day

that pours out of sun or piddles in the rain,

I learned a wing healed upon the plane.




Note- plane as in planing wood.

poet’s path

you’ve gotta kiss a lot of toads
before you find your prince
you’re gonna write a load of dross
read lines that make you wince
but there’ll come a time 
(one hopes)
some day beyond the clatter
and croaking of false frogs and toads
you’ll find some words that matter 

Me; Orator

Tell me, stranger

–  your eye amplifies me –

Are my words away though,     as I hear them?

blown out      damp as the night air.


It’s owned in my brain; tight

until I speak             and ooze.

An ear of mine cranes, in exile – a dog.

It can     not    near    the master’s voice


that creeps    and climbs    and peaks

at the white hair of your temple.

You won’t stop me

they said you can’t do it
that did it for me
the rest is

Attention Seeking

it’s time to move he says
can’t have you falling down the stairs
at every chance you get
attention seeking

our home is perfection she says
looking out over the ocean
other houses hidden from view
and no barking dogs

but they start looking anyway
at hutches and rabbit warrens
neighbours within spitting distance
as they nearly all are

they explore all city suburbs
short list their preferences
a few streets here and there
not many fit the bill

they consider a retirement village
a ghetto for the elderly
while watching their net worth dwindle
but the children approve

Yes they must do something
sooner rather than later
before one of them carks it
attention seeking

What my daddy done told me

skinny women look cold
my pa always said –
for warming the bed
man needs buxom instead,
somehow that has always
cheered me up



‘Immunity Beyond Repair’

Far deeper lies all reason for my churlishness

For most unbridled qualities are seldom seen

unless one genuinely explores the sedimentary depth

of human nature, of pain or the life that has been


“How sad,” they say “Such a broken man!”

“How wrong they are,” say I

When ’tis merely a tried and true antidote for

involuntary exposure to stupidity and ignorance


I feel no compulsion to undergo surgery

To allow gloved hands explore the merits

of an Optorectomy, designed to cut the cord

between perfectly working anus and eyesight


“Such a foolishly fragmented mind,” they say

“We have the technology beyond convulsive therapy

to successfully remove his crappy outlook on life!”

“Really? Why are they so blind?” I ask myself laterally


Surely we have evolved beyond such flawed empathy

Strived as a race, to selflessly understand others

How sad the integrity of bland minds must be

when unable to see, the wallowing value of happiness


*~ Pearldiver ~


Copyright © 2017 Rob Welsh – Pearldiver with all rights reserved.

A is for Acrimony

Armageddon activates
annihilation awaits
– are any attending?

alarming arrays
and arresting affrays
autocrats amending

as angels accord
an acrid award
– ashes are ascending




a layer of cobwebs

sticks to my fingers like candy floss

but does not taste of strawberry

sitting stale and bitter on my tongue

yet cannot be swept aside


a patina develops on surfaces

reflecting only blurred images

the true grain of the wood is lost

polishing no longer an option

cobwebs gather


Road Kill































All round

Of Aether

only gods may breathe

that bright air beyond the stars

mortals are denied