Those who do evil,
In Gods name,
Are deceived,
The proof of the fruit,
Reveals the root of the tree.

There are amongst us,
Those who would perpetrate monstrous acts,
In Gods name,
Proclaiming God to be great,
Whilst destroying,
Those whom God made.

They are deceived,
The fruit of their deeds,
Reveals the root of the tree,
From which they feed.

The Shed

Beyond the clawing lace webs of spiders, secrets crouch.

They are on dusty leaning-down shelves, in the shifting light of a far corner.

Who comes here, past the red iron flank?

Secrets come. This is where they reside:

In the twitching summer light, peeking through boards.

Come feel the dirt floor against your skin.

Sit in the corner and weep. Stand in the shadow and howl.

Seek the light, the quiet corner, the dusty chair.

Close your eyes. Listen.

It is the footfall of time, a spider at work, a mouse in his hole.

It is your imagination, the flick of a bird.

It is the laugher of children, the awful sob of love lost



The Path

A path was cast aside for your arrival,

I was preparing our sanctuary amongst the burning flowers,

They flare and smoulder into smoking ashes,

Lost days thoughts are the language of our dreams,

You ignited the weapon in me amongst other delicacies,

I’ll still rise with a roar, rage and omit it all,

The grinning devils underneath the shrubbery,

Knew the score and how I felt exactly,

What they did to you was a set move quite frankly,

Its how they work, calculated and deviously,

Consequences didn’t matter to me,

I could smell the darkness of incense and its insecurities,

I wished for a bell tower and rifle to accompany me,

I went for a walk to dispel my anger then I saw some graffiti,

Under an arch of a railway bridge next to a stream “love has no ending to me”,

A voice loomed from the adjoining trees,

Sent a shiver up my spine reminding myself how dangerous I used to be,

Where ever I see a wild flower amongst the pale green grass it reminds me,

Of the fabric of blue squares of that path made to bring you towards me.

Love Cats

He figured she must be the same as his last cat                             two-cats-love

Had often strayed as a kitten

But hadn’t been given full satisfaction

He was going to make her feel like the sun

Take her all the way there and some

Give her burning eyes whenever she saw him run

Rock her in his arms until she slept

Protect her from any threat

How others would stand up to take notice

Knew what to expect

If they dared to go near their nest

He’d breathe her every word down deep in his lungs

Follow her adventures climbing furniture

Massage her paws whenever they hurt

Brush her fur when she felt inert

He’d point her towards each sunset

Tell her he drew it for her

Tell she was equal not his pet

Love is not love when it comes to cats

But these are loved cats

Love cats

Love cats

Love cats.


By all that is unholy,
I am the dark mirror,
I am void,
Devourer of worlds,
I am WAR,
I drink the blood of infants,
Drain the world of innocence,
I dwell in the crippled soul of humanity,
I twist,
I turn,
I am greed,
Venal, lustful,
Jealous power,
Raw and old,
As old as humanity,
Hot fury,
Cold hate,
The bad penny,
The poisoner of minds,
I am militant Islam,
Ism schism,
I am the schism,
That turns the face of man from God,
Worship me with your blood,
I am WAR,
I am empty,
I am you,
If you cannot turn from my embrace,
I am unholy,
And you are mine.

Deceived. P.Rimmer.

Those who do evil,
In Gods name,
Are deceived,
The fruit is proof,
Of the root of the tree.

There are amongst us,
Those who perpetrate monstrous acts,
They proclaim God to be great,
While laying waste,
To those whom God made.

They are deceived,
The fruit of their deeds,
Reveals the root of the tree,
From which,
They feed.

Hurt. P. Rimmer.

I stand with freedom,
I stand with fraternity,
I stand with freedom,
Personal choice,
I stand with equality,
All humanity,
Is born under one sky,
We are leaves on the one tree,
We are connected,
When you hurt,
I hurt too,
I stand with,

and if you that night had swung

And if you that night had swung,

say, from a rope tied to the rafter…


What then? Would I have lived

like the dead, long years

piled high in dust… Until,


when? Friend,

I’m dying.

O, sterile!

Wind. I saw


myself in the mirror,

mile a minute.

Going for it, you. You

ask for it, you do.

Would I live


my days in that

first floor flat

in London…Friends

dead, or gone

to some

other hole they call

home. It hurts,

yes it does.



The Look

A point of focus. There.
The dog’s eye, fixed.
She crouches, belly on grass.
Not to kill; to bewitch.
A foreleg forward.
Then the rear – slowly.
The chin lowers
and the quarry recoils,
fear in her yellow eyes.
This is not a dog, it is a
forebear – wolf’s mind
imparting terror;
what might be;
howls of ages, screaming
from two dark unblinking eyes


written of a dusk

the black ship
black hull
white cabin
a small freighter
anchored on
the lull
the accordion of
sky in ripple and
wave in an
inner harbour
seeing its
name, in straight
up letters the ‘Ulysses’*
what fool would
name a craft
after a flagrant
wanderer a man
who could shoot
an arrow
at nothing
yet lose it in
the next world
beyond the ditch
let this ship
steer clear
of his command
clear of storm,
keep on
the plotted
path the safe
drawing of a
mermaid and
ocean of soundings
figures on a slant
or i foresee
wretched years
for the crew lost
to a drunken fall
like Elpenor*
lost to a siren
in platform heels,
lost between
the beer the sweat
and brown hips
the beast* running
far with them
running them
far from the ship
the black hull
fast under the
captain’s eye
heartless as sun
a ship that
even if they
made it back to,
the deck of
reef and cloud
the long lines
to be taken
up and put away
shorn of dreams,
would never
see them home,
endless journey
burning in them
like an offering
of fresh kill,
meat smoking
out the soul
with dusk.

feburary 15-18, 2012
auckland viaduct harbour

*Latin version of the Greek name ‘Odysseus’

*allusion to the sorceress Circe, who changed many of Odysseus’s crew to beasts. Refer also to the George Seferis poem cycle, ‘The Arognauts’.

*One of the young crew of Odysseus’s ship. Seferis makes Elpenor and his fall the subject of one of the poems in the cycle.


three poems (more disparate lines)

Morning Dew                                                   5 September 2015


You’re the girl on the swing

I still think about.


I have lain

among the clustered

flowers on the lawn


winter-long, for the soft

fall of little feet.


The Master Fled                                                                                                          6 September 2015


The master

fled, driven

downwind; to scrub the floor

and toil the field;


hard after

years of wilderness;

where wisdom’s nurtured

by thought alone;


to be undone by experience –

the bitter years to come.



in green                                                                                                  1 September 2015



‘eco’ is in green lettering,

which is good business.



(In private most of us own up

to ourselves, away from the crowd,

the casual rounds of work friends et-




Most of those guys on the

building sites are ok. Tho

misfit, I fared better there than when

I wore a suit; unless I dressed

to be cool, which I did, distinguished

from City business men, con-men –



Here it’s all harleys and

grease and leather,

which makes me sick.


20 years on, well,

I’ve a Parka, good for shelter

when it sucks and blows.

The Planter

Now he is almost out of sight, a hat pulled down and bent at the wheel;

eyes on the crop as the curving steel forms little mountains of soil; an

old man with strong hands guides the little orange tractor.

Here he is again, spanner on the tines, tightened just so, and

they flex in the deep earth and the motor shows its displeasure.

He comes here every year to grow food for everyone but himself:

Baggy trousers smeared in grease, old shirt and rising dust,

the gulls trailing and wheeling, wings against the purple hills,

orange beaks stabbing at the turned earth.

It is a man’s pleasure: alone with a machine, set fine


The Window

A lace curtain dancing
on an oak window,
drawn up for the air.
I want you to be there,
in a bent-cane chair,
a beret – perhaps,
a book on a knee,
cotton dress and the
scent of wild roses
lifted and swirled;
for the chapter on love.
Close your eyes, now.
Listen for the wind,
its teasing whisper

3 poems (sailor)

  1. Counterpane


The Sailor flung his bag upon his shoulder

to ease the dark day

that weighed upon his soul.


You have flown

the coast  to be

his sole companion;



beneath the counterpane,

struck high

Atlantic  waves.


You have found

beast and man

magnificent; and


confronted by this, lost







Seasons! Castles!


I too

wanted to






anywhere but

here; with you.


Christ, I know

I’m no sailor, tho

1 day the Idea


of a Man may walk

the water,


who knows what for


  1. Love, our nerves are fingered


love, our nerves are

fingered like strings.


Those memorable images

still trembling,

shadows on the water.


These oceans are



(for all intents

and purposes).



I intuit

2 eternities.


The nausea



The eternal return

of Ritual murder,

say.  Roll, oh;


be kind. Tho I feel

like a shadow sometimes –

a bare soul,


in my mind it’s

skin to skin

with you

here. I think

you know.


3  We should sail


We should board a ship,

do you think? Sail

the brooding miles and



from here.


by my



We drive and I’m

in another world.


As far as I know. I’m

51 in 2 months



young in some




This is rubbish, but still

we should sail.




The Cedar Lodge Motel, Hamilton 31 August – 1 September