come for tea. demolish me. stay for breakfast. complain that the toast is burnt. say you love me. rape me again. let me feel your hot effluence over me. do me in a minute. do me quick.
locked out?
seems I cannot log in to post comments but am able to post a poem? anyone having the same difficulty? this posting as a poem might be the only way.
om namah shivaya
(30min. version: Sri Sri Ravi Shankar) The main road was open only during daylight. at night enormous flood-lit work resumed. I drove the Inland route, through beef & dairy 4am beneath the moon to reach the hospital to fix the finger damaged by a diving catch at mid on. a winding hilly road, narrowed— the solitary…
The Poem Veers Off in the Middle but Is Connected
Southern Summer’s ending. afternoon lengths are shortening. climbing down, with the first cold shadowy light, the first heavy rain the night last, to reposition the forks the mud doubles the boot mass and I think always of soldiers in trenches, their minutes or miles left to live, and the mud & puddles to walk and…
waves
He lies for the sun smiles & shadows play the waves of grass; & nothing changes. She thinks. Time’s constructed from bits, remnants the river flings; is aware bare paws pad the shore. There are gods here also who know the pull & counter-pull; the waves that roll yr canoes; long…
Lament # 1
unable to watch; your tax used, your txt and browser history stored, in the cold, indefinitely the abyss is on the catwalks, and all the Past is kept as landmarks. I yearn to make mistakes again, to wake on someones couch. or arm, and not know where I am. no maps to get me home…
Flightless
Friends overseas think it’s eccentric cute that we have birds that can’t fly. It’s not as if our birds are damaged defective, puckeroo. It’s not as if our birds are stupid dense flunked School C flying. It’s not as if our birds are lackadaisical lazy just can’t be bothered. Or too…
drive in the country
you too have asked Who am I & not waited for an answer. meanwhile there’s a house we might live in. some rustic shack & the wet asphalt is streaked yellow. there’s danger in the storm-rent sky, on the crest of hill we feel; it exists – in the mind for…
So you wanna be a poet
Read Colquhoun and Bird they said. Being the girly swot I was called I did. Downtime moments smiling to myself. Not just the gins. The joy of discovery. It was homework, so maybe not discovery. Lonely-Planet-sightseeing then. Even though I quite like Monica. Perhaps this can be forgiven, overlooked, excused on account of…
Toy Otalogo
I came across the book in the corner of a second hand shop old enough the stone step in had a concave scallop. And then from my home, from same but wooden, scalloped step in where the cat lays outside head propped on a mossy rock on top of the daffodils, it became in the…
a tiger tale
a tiger tale for her born in the year of the baker said ‘i will break your bread in my hands and find your fragrance with greedy fingers, your wine will sing in my glass’, she purred in demur and whistled between fangs of new moon ‘my coat would burn your hand in touch, better…
a reading of poetry at the Waikato Museum
I thought to stand on the top stair, check my watch smile for 10 minutes & not talk. it’s pretend, & how do i descend after that sip my drink as if it never happened; digest club sandwiches; delicates; anglosaxon monosaturates &, an hour later, when i’m in-doors & i’m nothing particular… …