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.

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.

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

‘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.