Intimate offering

Take me down
into the heaves and rushes
of your tumultuous ponderances,
and I will, with willowed stick,
begone those noisome addlenigs.

Koru

Slivery and silvery,
tiny seashell pebbles
slip into my footprints
as I walk to the water,
where I bend to wash
the green of my pounamu
blessing it
and the meaning behind
our partnership that
it encapsulates.
The roar of the sea
sends the whip to my heart,
which pauses briefly,
fleetingly quiet
allowing the ache of our love
to return and return

Nicholas - 1

You are wet from school
I lift my ironing tired arms
to tousle your hair

Happy Birthday Duncan (apologies to Glenn)

It’s a city sun saturated dawn.
Paice Ave flatmates either
scatter to their roles
or stay in their holes,
depending on the after effects
of an evening of everything.

A trip to the fridge results in
a yoghurt breakfast
and a trip of another sort,
leading to the garden of sheds
and nylon couches amongst
the washing pegged to the line
patiently waiting for yet another day.

Mackerel clouds sit in the sky,
camouflage kit
your trademark clothing of choice.
As sentences from a Burroughs novel
spill from our mouths and
become dissected to the sounds
of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit,
my eyes get stuck
on the blades of grass
which my feet have melted into
and I am reminded
that you wear glasses.

87/88 summer time past time

It’s a city sun saturated dawn.
Paice Ave flatmates either
scatter to their roles
or stay in their holes,
depending on the after effects
of an evening of everything.

A trip to the fridge results in
a yoghurt breakfast
and a trip of another sort,
leading to the garden of sheds
and nylon couches amongst
the washing pegged to the line
patiently waiting for yet another day.

Mackerel clouds sit in the sky,
gold dressing gown of paisley
your trademark clothing of choice.
As sentences from a Burroughs novel
spill from our mouths and
become dissected to the sounds
of Jefferson Airplane’s White Rabbit,
my eyes get stuck
on the blades of grass
which my feet have melted into
and I am reminded
that your name has two ‘n’s.

Morning

I lie alone on the bed, our bed
and slide over to your side
where the slats are set to heavy
and the warm still resides.

You’ve abandoned these sheets of white
for the drone of the sunrise traffic
and the call of a long black
on the way to your work.

I doze off to a place not unlike reality
where the three princes of serendip
have bestowed good fortune on me
by introducing me to you in a crowd

I wake to the jangling of my phone
It is you, and my fortune remains good
and my heart and my body ache for you
as I listen to your sweet whispered nothings

Saturday and Sunday in Auckland

Thin rain falls on us
in the warm
as we step into an
evening at the
Auckland Philharmonia

She sits upright
pony tail hair
falling loosely down
that ramrod spine
not quite touching the back
of the chair of steel
thighs open as her
legs clad in black
straddle the cello
arms and hands
instruments of passion
as they move
intent on the rhythm
……stilleto sophistication


Glaring midday sun
favours us
as we beat our feet
in an affair with exercise
on our real estate walk

He sits upright
In a faded van of grey
parked on an anonymous
suburban street
silvered hair greasy
left arm leaning hard
against the grimy
ripped vinyl of the drivers seat
withered bicep wrapped
with black tight tourniquet
fist clenched in expectation
right hand delivering
the needle of delight
as his dog hangs hungry
from the rear window
… heroin hallelujah

Title fight

Polarised disguise
which frame your eyes
analgesics for dulling the pain
The blood - it drips
from nose to lips
Big money to get punch drunk again

Banjo

It was ‘83
I remember the ritual rolling up
down shotgun alley
before the live poetry readings
at the Globe
the drug taking is vivid
the details subsequent to those rituals
fade into the haze of illucidity
I can’t recall if we went on Tuesdays
or Thursdays, but it was a ‘T’ day
then after the poetry
it was afters at Just Desserts,
and after the afters
we are back in the flat
where I listen to
your live poetry before bed
“Put a little sugar
on your eyeballs baby
and look at me
sweet like you do”

Purple Haze

We played at
preciousness
with that purple
weed we smoked
while sitting
in those 70's lounge suites
in the 80's backyard
amongst the overgrown grass
on those languid summer days

That was Me

You were one and twenty
as I remember you.
Perched on the paint peeled stairs
outside,
with your book balanced
on those slim brown legs.
Writing poetry
while listening to Dylan
and learning to
alliterate your lines.

Sleeplessness '83

Murmers in the distance
silence from the street
ticking of the timekeeper
disallowing sleep

Drums of rain off rooftop’s tin
creeping into mind
trying desperately to rest
but peace is hard to find

In this noisy, but silent, lonely room
the plants feed off the light
which you fixed so easily
.... I wish you could fix the night

Rakino sunset

Rakino

I thought of you this morning as I got up and looked at the sky
the wintry greyness awaiting its recycling by the night
Imagined you both in the dinghy over the reef
Hauling in fish if you were lucky and seaweed if you weren't

Trudging back up the hill that always leaves us breathless
with your catch (because you are lucky) and the rods and the fishing bag
I was wondering who would go up first,
the man or the boy, as you share your life's time.

Tears

Standing tall

head upright in pride.

But you cry

when no-one is looking.

tears of clear

wipe them gently from

your face of light

Lament on Lifts

Wanting to clutch the naked walls
you stand desperately
eyeing the fluorescent roof
of silence
in this haven of solitude in the crowd
insecurities bouncing unspoken
from mouth to mouth
in screaming quietness

Eating me for dinner

What are you going to do with me?
Fry my brains?
Stew my thoughts?
And then slice me,
piece by piece
for dessert?

Integrity Blues

Your spring sky blue eyes
sear intently
into the chaos of my character
searching out the truths
coaxing me to become whole
preventing me from splitting
into a myriad of pieces.
Stare...
the blueness becomes you
and helps me to become me

You...

If you could hear yourself as I hear you

You’d be listening to the colourful jewels, of your wit, your words…

their priceless ability to tease and entice my laughter

(a sound I was becoming unfamiliar with).

If you could see your eyes through mine

You’d see a blue alive with light.

If you could see your body as I do

You’d see yourself move with a gentle might.

You whirl and twirl me with ease

and a rhythm that pleasures me

as I answer to your soul’s movements.

My back pressed to your front..

Your warm hands pressed on my naked skin..

guiding me.. sliding over me..

Sleight of Mind

I wonder where
you are now?
My muse for a moment
until the drugs
and the drink
and your sleight of mind
threw me to the wall

Checking In

The sunlight soaks
my bedroom curtains
when I wake
I check my mind
like a mother checks her child
How are we today?