I don't put many feet right
One in front of the other
But more to the side like
A drunk negotiating a hallway
I could stand aside
Or knock you down
(You wear that frown
So beautifully)
Or maybe both
I feel it my duty
Four on the floor at all times.

Lightning claps I take a bow
Press my forehead to the floor
Only more to the side like
A man crushed by the world.

It seems I'm not the supergreatawesome teacher I wanna be.

Strange how that goes.

Life is rollerskates and fudge.

I jhust love watching Wellington harbour

At night

When it's raining

From the comfort of the living room.

It's flippin magic.

The Autobahn

The future is cash in advance
We are living in the trees
Washing windows with our eyes
While tired turbos groan by
Bulging brimful of richer-than-thou
Like a spoon fed infant
In a cutler's house

They slice through the green
A mercapto river of luxury
Laughter like pinching a pinned foe
Toenails dug in, dancing
Dancing, dancing
Or was it juggling tomorrow
In hands made slick with guilt.

We dribble our thoughts
Through the thick soupy traffic
Electronic waves invisible
Speeding like doves from a gun
Firing into the air
Is it celebration? Freedom?
Hah.
Nought but the sound of a thousand feet
Falling against the cracks
And slipping through.

I was digging in my garden
And I found them
Seeking peace and solace
In the cool embrace of uncaring earth
They wriggled from the harsh glare
Soft, pink skin writhing in an agony
Not truly felt by me, but
Hiding their faces in their hands
They shed no tears
Determined their serpentine way
And departed.

These shattered hearts
And battered minds
We set apart
And set upon
We danced before
The dying sun
We laughed as though
We'd just begun
To start to start
And play the part
Plying apart
The shuttered blinds
And shattered minds
Oh how all the shadows leer
Oh aren't we all standing near

Floret
flourish
final hour
pouring
roaring
taste the
flour
ground down
count down
go down
fighting
hugging
bugging
telephoning
sing to
silent
ears.

She was the daughter of a painter

Jess on a canvas

Down the lane

Beneath the sparrows

Haunting windows

And the pockmarked underbellies

Of so much neglected spouting

Life was a canvas

Of opportunities gone

As though at birth a perfect picture

Crisp and glowing

Add life, like turps

Tear drops of colour

Washed into the pavement

By relentless grey rain

She was the daughter of a painter

But she strayed into photography

Black, white, greyscale.

“It tells it like it is” She says.

Though the party hats have gone
And the candles' burned away, and
Birthday cake ashes on second-best plates
Laughter subside to next door
Where it's pin the smile on the faces

She could stare down the memories
Things will be different next time
Better... brighter...!
But the brightest candles burn the fastest.

Inching up the mountain
Tumbling down again
The same old toe hold

The tree by the wishing well
Hunkers like an old man
Fishing corroded coins
With great gnarled fingers
Some days he shivers
Through the not-so-gentle balding
As autumn plucks his hair
And I wish to
Wrap him in a blanket
And his hands round a mug of tea.

Went to a poetry readings at Te Papa today.

Some really nice stuff.

One line in particular caught me

"Time is turtles all the way down"

With a Scarf about my Neck.

The wall was a whale and it told Me the truth.
Shot me up on a spout of gold, up and over the roof.
I was rumble-tumble flying for a second at least
But I bricked up my cave-in, I'm safe incomplete.
True reflections slide and shimmer
They don't look away when the lights grow dimmer
I held out my hand to a multitude
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad"
It takes a strong man to make it better.

The tunnel was an ending, in a fishnetlike way
I slipped through where the gutter cracks the paved
Staircase to heaven, piled of whatif's and maybe's
Slung back to style retro-newness of bell-bottom jeans
Here the turtles don't dawdle and the suns spin out loud
DJ, revolver, and strung out crowd
We would have laughed through the tears the skies bled
Blankness came over me, white-smoking lead
Split-second to departure, stretched figures
Yawning richness of disaster
I held time in my butter-cream hands
Like the pill that I couldn't swallow.

Truth butters the ears of the wise

I once watched a man fall to the drink
He was noble and proud and crumbling underneath
Like a New York city sunset
I once saw a woman step over the brink
Her baby was crying, nothing to drink
She was grim and determined
All plasticine and granite
Molded into a tomb to protect
Her child in ragged arms she feared more than death.

I once sat in a movie where the protagonist won
Tumbling through the rabbit hole. Saved by the gun
When smoke finally rinsed away, he stared into those eyes
Black pools afloat in the milk of surprise
It was himself that died.
I once threw some garbage in the can and it missed
Rolled into a fortress of yesterday's leavings
I hope the trashman comes soon

Dear self: You got lazy. You got rusty.
Time to step up to the plate
Where is your mother?
On the other taxi. It's parked right outside.
If only wooden spoons were crafted of earth.
Overtop puddings, kahlua and vodka
The three a's in alcohol,
With the "Aaaahh" to wash it down
You've cooked up a spiral
Staircase to oblivion
Put the brakes on reality
This is where I get out.

Save the Whales

A man lounges at a white screen
All the while bytes of data trickle and pool
Beneath the whirring lights of his desktop
Promising everything and nothing
Fingers lunching on the keys
Crunch, crunch, crunch
He punches out his mind
The artificial wooden desk
Bears silent testimony
Cradling electronic beast in one hand
An orphaned ball-point huddles in the corner

Acid-washed expression.
Every man is Adam.
In charge of the sub-committee
On reasons for existence
Thank you very much.

Secular humanist theology is the modern dancing bear. It has been detoothed and declawed, muzzled, and chained. Now it dances before you for your amusement, and if it isn't your cup of tea, you can always keep walking, no biggie. Sure it's very safe, but it's also lost its power. The very thing that made it any use had inevitable danger associated with it. People put up a huge cry against cruelty to animals, but what about cruelty to theology?
Save Now

Tests

Finding one's brain quite unnecessarily put to the ploughshare.

Or

A furrowed brow leads to a furrowed mind.

Or

Filling out a piece of paper littered with arbitrary words is the truest test of knowledge.

One

Alone in a crowd
Clasping hands with a stranger
Completing the circuit.