dear memories

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the tide
moves onto the beach.

holds onto your toes,
grips you; and pushes you

firm into the granuled ground.
it chills and refreshes,

calms and enlivens,
but then-- as quickly

as it arrives-- it is gone.
Leaving with only dear

dear memories, of what was,
and what now is not.

people roll in and out
of one's conscious life.

much like how the ocean
swirls around the ship,

sinuously, kneading the sides
with a soft and firm caress.

supporting the load, watching,
providing danger and exitement.

pushing towards a destination
and at the same time restraining.

then the winds die down,
and there is calm and all is gone.

dear memories of what was,
and what now is done.

i walked with a zombie

felt that air on my face
and the palm wine on your breath,

the okra is good,
but the pepper soup is so much better,

i can sense you my spirit child
you want to be so free

reeking havoc on the very people
that have led to your doom.

pain –

guity pleasure creates enormous pain
may it never happen again.

Critical Mass

Born in the city -- but not particular
(sounds familiar)

Legs that ache whilst pushing past hills.
Tumulous crowd of rainbow colours.
Apparently to be critical

but seems

Unaware of the politics
riding oblivious
To norms and convention trying to create

A difference.

Masses of event (but masses of thought?)

… Critical

Exhilaration reins in atmosphere

Pushing down haight street cheering,
Shouting out against the b(l)eeps.

The island by the city

away from soulless city searching

on landing shore empty shells

create wonder to wandering eyes

before tongariro walking on volcanic crunch

before the bitter limerock of priest spa

before sulphuric ochre whispers past

the native is trapped on domain drive.

we visited twice the suffocated marae

he taonga Maori and performers “experience”.

cement meant to soar by westward eyes

sweat and work creating falseness

a world reduced to pleasing visiting crowds.

we seek the spiritual taha wairua

even though we do not know it yet.

me and he we tred lightly from the boat

leaves brush our legs; soft rustling greens

unencountered I stop to

smell,
touch,
taste

the sweetness of waiheke

as breeze passes upward laughing

making peace with the world; pleasure

surroundings finally greet us as pepper

and glassy berries tingle touching lips.

sitting down watching pastoral meets local

-- glocal --

leaves of the vine
thousands of lives

and the aquamarine circles us

as the wind flag pauses and sways

channelling hope, accepting the past.

together you teach of aotearoa

the beat ships onto the island by the


city

Yoga

I meditate

think of you

There with me

We hold hands

whilst doing

Corps...e pose.

Full moon in Hoi An

Flickers of green in a land of silk.
River on the right, of the bike
Wind rushing through free hair
(On the way to the waves).

Watching the blue and the white
Whilst women dangle trinkets.
Buying – to help, or, to hinder –
(As an american approaches).

Engaged in a book,
But soon conversation moves me,
Questioning myself, questioning all
Political views in the world.

Talk turns to debate, turns
Turns into excitement. (Investigation!)
Watching the swinging silks
Of pink / brown / yellow.

Walking by the riverside--
Over the Japanese bridge and beyond
Drinking the bottle of wine,
As the monkey watches on.

Talking of nothing, of something, of everything;
I was walking in new pink sandals whilst
Pushing the night out
To its essential limits.

Lanterns dangling overhead as I was
On the exhilarating ride home.
Bright silks lengthen
The full moon moment.

Anais, Anais

"talking a broken dream, with spaces, reversals, retractions, and galloping fantasies"

i found you Anais Nin,
i found you and i refuse to let you go.

i feel your hot breath on my cheek.
i feel the blood moving thru your heart as

i caress and palm your breast.
i dreamt about you last night--

i noticed you out of the corner of my eye,
i stared at you, i made you blush,

i moved into your soulful space.
i long to use words to make your heart race.

i know what you are thinking, what you are not thinking,
i can see you think too hard, as well.

i want to turn my back on you, let you move behind me,
i want -- oh, Anais, Anais -- i want to let you find me too.

the englishmen

the englishmen

are the loneliest at the bar.
staring into the bottles
or at a newspaper

waiting for something
or someone

who is never going to come.

for leah southwell-wright

I close my eyes and remember you
sipping the cold, heavy and sickly sweet
substance, that brought about your end.

I remember you,
like you were sitting here
in front of me,

I remember,
your sarcastic tone,
and your narcassistic and

strangely meek style.

the way you moved around the subject,
and moved around others.

you caused them to spin with confusion.
(and then some).

but you looked on confused yourself.
unsure as well as completely sure.

a social commentator, never a sheep,
a leader to the unleadable.

you were revolutionary.

a legend.

I would worship the ground you walked upon

(if you still walked).

an august love

An august love
Is as fleeting here
As the break
Between the fog.

I wish I could hold
Onto this for longer,
But reality brings,
brings me back...

I wish I could read
These to you (with
My best poet-
orator voice)

I sincerely wish
I hadn’t fallen deep,
Heavy, longingly,
In love with you

Throughout the month.
So that when September
Raises its ugly head
With memories

Of the dead, of return
And a heavy toil,
I wouldn’t feel this
Deep, heavy, longing,

Despair.

a thick and heavy red

rattle rattle rattle goes
the naked fridge. the bass lingers

the percussion crashes
and the breeze slides in

cutting the coffee-rich air
with a bite, and a lick

to soften the blow
of your sweetest absence.

there is a beautiful pink-haired
maiden to my right, and to my

left a dark, sultry brunette,
although, who would know?

the yellow glow of this
environment frames delicious

and the citrus bites my tongue
before I turn to my work,

whilst the white fog moves above
outside, and the tree glistens with

a thick and heavy red.

The waves roll in and out

The waves roll in and out
as i lie next to a round circle
and a temporary turtle

musing

recent history,
dub philosophy.


-- you are

a Wanderer
and a Dreamer
a Shaman and a Seer.

my silent muse
and my outspoken listener. --


i lie still passive

(the waves roll in and out)

Waiting
Watching

for your next move.

The waves roll in and out

In and out
In and out
In and out

the crescendo builds

as the spray coats us in saline mist
and the birds descend
and the winds breathes soft promises
and the
and the


and then

asleep.

Orange

Something is very orange in the way I think about you

I can’t place my eyes on exactly why or what

But it is definitely so so deep,

Organic, sinuous and warm, so natural to me.


Orange.

It came to me, this severe orangeness,

Bright like the brightest thing I have seen in this, my favourite city,

And hopeful, simply and hopeless, just the same as the

Amber light. No stop and also no go.


Orange.

So juicy and ripe and fresh,

A citrus sting, that tingles and tantalizes,

And leaves me wanting another bite

Not a small bite, and not a big one either.


Orange.

I long to peel back all the layers

And examine your insides, to learn

Nothing and also everything,

I want to smell you acutely.


You are oh so
Orange.

ella waltzes

ella waltzes
and the world spins.

wind blows paper, whilst remainders of light strike us down

displayed beyond; silhouettes
made of sharp and fresh and

the future passes above us, knowingly,
the past rests and moves in sight

we are still


calm.


the winds moves around and then within

and we in the present feel the cool,
friendly ground
pushing into
our backs
as the wind whispers fate

and as the sounds all around remind me
to

strike the keys and stop.

rest the fingers knowingly and with steadiness

meditate

feeling the white between the black,
and the remote coldness
(which holds us back but feels the most intense and particular down the sides)

and then it does
and then it does
and then it does just

stop.

deep dreaming

Chords breaking on discord
(sergei recites) down as I glide down

Finding myself
diving down
deep
deep
down
into the wreck
(like rich did)

I saw you-- with her --
Down at the very bottom

Paralyzed
(did you want it to be like that?)

Staring at her
Whilst she

stared back at me
With such hostile negativity
That I was scared, and also somewhat ashamed

To be watching.

I turned to head back
Just as the cleansing came

I swam up fast,
broke surface


Then remembered I had now lost you.

white guilt

My tutor called it white guilt
The guilt of the white man
My hands are so sticky, with the
Blood of sixty million and more.

But the sixty million is just the

Start

Start of our legacy to the world
My ancestors, the captain on the
Slaver ship, throwing over
Cargo

Whipping children in the fields
Teaching the uncivilized masses
The heathens
The darkies

So much blood on these hands
I shudder at the truth, the hidden
Truth that is not to be found in
Any textbook

Our wonderful country,
The homeland, the fatherland
We invented the concentration camp
So much blood

The sixty million is just the

Beginning.

cape reinga

trying to cast the spirits away
but nothing’s left.

his sad old spirit stayed where it was
a continuation of the memories
a continuation of the ghosts

a continuation of the remembering.

journeyed against time, against wind.
pushed to the edge of the edge
and for what?

for an empty promise never resolved.

the winds pushed them, held them on the cape
trying so hard to fly away, leave this world behind,
but the gripping hands held them back.

after fighting to get to the ends of the earth.

the ends of existence,
the rock face wouldn’t let them be.
paralysed feet, they held onto that hard rock,

unable to move, unable to speak.

she looked up to the white sky, searching for God,
clinging onto a hope that she wasn’t sure remained.
searching around I found emptiness.

the dirt roads carried them to our goal.

with a vehicle soon to wither and depart,
with the good mood, it withered and departed,
with the wish to live, it withered; departed.

like the spirits cast from the tree at reinga -
might love rise up and leave us in the dead of the night?

hawai'i

naked creatures drawing in the black
buoyant and green turtles
the long windy highway.

hallucinations at the top of mauna kea
angels demons cloud your vision
whilst rays open eyes.

pink, purple, blue fly by
hard lava flow rock
another crater in history.

red hot sticky passion
playing in the waves of the ocean
papaya brunch, itchs tea.

faint stars but bright planets
heaps of aloha to cleanse the soul
enough warmth soothes spirits.