Integration

I hold you in my palms
two objects in my left,
one in the right.

i
Harsh, sharp, hot
held in the left
you glower
mandarin orange
jagged, searing, heavy
you are dominant
- change

ii
Second object flat
also in the left
you are a blue-violet plane
golf ball rubber band texture
small, flubbery, cool
inconsequential
- movement

iii
after inconsequential acquiesces
to dominance
you come together
your currency of exchange
an alteration of shape, dimension,
temperature, weight, colour
Dominance also cedes
texture and temperature
but takes a higher position
- negotiation

iv
I hold two objects in my
left hand
same size – round
one orange
one green
one up, one down
- moving forward

v
Circular, orange/green
burnished metal
A peace symbol
held in my right
ambient temperature
weight – one pound
- the right path

vi
My palms are open
facing the sky
rotating them they come
together,
three objects
merge
- union

vii
Two arcs of magenta
bisected by
a thick cobalt blue line
come to rest
alongside my heart
warmth radiates
A third eye appears
- knowing

Synesthetic Time

Reading you
fires neurones
long ago left for dead.

My mind colours
a million possibilities,
and a myriad of futures
hover between a spectrum
of clearness and light.

Time takes on
the momentum of a surf wave
with decades morphing
into the turquoise depths
of a thousand centuries.

Consciousness
remains intimately bereft
of the experience
in a parallel life.
And death is a violent splash
in the moment of a rainbow.

Ad Infinitum - In response to Heart String Theory

I
move backwards
into the future

comtemplating
previous lives
confronting choices ….considering

points,
lines, several
tangents with twists

folding
then unfolding
creating, multiplying, diminishing

expanding,
changing, collapsing,
enlightening, loving, dying

I
turn, we
exist, into infinity


To read Heart String Theory by Crunchy Weta go to:
Crunchy Weta: Heart String Theory

Bent

Her hair sweeps the carpet
as she arches her body
bending over backwards
to unravel the braiding
of your thoughts
your words.
Chinks of sunlight
shine in her tresses
while piece by final peace
an understanding flourishes.
She straightens
then stands
giddy with the loss
of blood to her head
and losses of another kind
she sits
to imagine
stroking your suede cheek.

Many of you

i
You didn’t come.
Locked away
in your room of dreams,
to heal a body and mind
lost in the wanting
of a man who is no longer there.

ii
It was a party
of some couples
and a couple of hopefuls
An array of humanity…

iii
Your gift, your bone carving
is a thing of much beauty
of some significance and lost hope.
I watch you polish it with pride
your gnarled 50’ish year old hands
holding it away from your
mick jagger eyes, so you can see.
I want to say thank you
for it, the time, your sentiment,
your cooking, but you have left.

iv
It was great to see you all again
Five years of shared intimacy
faded by days of work and parenting
jaded by break ups and death.
Lifted and lightened also though,
life balanced by joy
and the play of our children.
I enjoyed sharing the sauvignan blanc
and there were no after effects from
whitebait fritters tonight.

v
Poets, two of them
accomplished in my eyes
clever.
Shy, how could you be?
You could rule the universe
with your poetry’s
universal rules.
Oh how I wish you would recite.
I imagine you up at the microphone
strong poetry, strong imagery..
(maybe after a strong coffee?)
Wait until my wedding day
you will be asked!

Twilight Time

Will I remember
the sting of your stories,
the whip of your words?

In the miasma
of muddled meanings
I fall asleep
to catch snatches
and echoes

Voices
from the endarkened
cupboards of my mind

Fee

It is great
to hear you talk,
our voices tripping over,
playing chasey
as we chat.
I swore I’d ring you soon
a year ago,
but life ran away with time.

Parenting

I greet you
with arms I wish
were covered
with velvet,
to soften the blows
of a hundred
misfortunes.

When I help
to pick up
the pieces
I hold them gently,
privately acknowledging
the part they
play in making
you strong.

Autumn sun - Haiku

Though it is autumn
sun shines through the cabbage tree
imbuing its warmth.

May Haiku

Under dark storm clouds
The deep emerald sea churns
Passing gulls cry out

Kina

Photo I based my painting on

Marking Time

While it
has been
a gradual week
there have been moments of punctuation.
Question marks around the unknown,
times when the brief pause of a comma was required,
a period of full-stops,
and events of exclamation mark proportions.

Haiku 06

Earth sighs and drinks up
Spent leaves float atop puddles
Sorrows last seasons

Naive Simplicity

Your brother is born
while you sift the incredible
from the yeti and bigfoot
pages on the internet.
You whistle the theme tune
from the X-files, and become
transfixed with the facts
of science fiction.
Your brother is born and
you look for lost marbles,
your eight year old mind
missing the miracle by a mile.

It's a kiwi thing

While the radio talked to itself
about the day’s news
we woke up and made love.
Then in the time it took for our
shadows to do a one-eighty
you had flown away to
the island of snow,
towards the mourning sounds
of mutton birders.

Draining

To save us from drowning
in a cityside pool of sky tears
you don cardboard clothes
caked in the mud of yesterday
to dig a trench around our souls

Ether-reality

Whispers,
ethereal visitations,
your sojourn a frolic of frivolities.
Muse for a moment
on your beneficence, your abilities...
Under some daylight
tree out there you too may turn your
hand to a poem

Emotional Ephemera

It is slippery today
forcing it causes falseness
and failure
Better left to its own devices
devilish vices
devilish voices.
Minds wander to
places best left unvisited.

Yet yesterday
it was sunny side up
running...
outstretched arms
against the mirth
of the southerly wind
on a west coast beach
where the gods were
thrashing about in the water.
Eating mangoes to the
going down of the sun.

Threads

Old habits die hard.
Adjusting to change
I wait three phases of lights
before choosing my green.
Your unmet daughter
is born and starts school.
Visitors must come
in the back door
and leave by the front
so there is no opportunity
to bump into recognised sorrows.
Rommel’s cave was tidier
than I expected.
Window wipers
make small change
of the leaves
on the windscreen.
Light sees its opportunity.
Is that why all the pastry is yellow?

Do you know who you are?

We have not met in two decades
and as synchronicity would have it
we still haven’t.
I imagine what those years
and too many indulgent vices
have rendered.
You were never good at self care.
I remember your bedroom....
sad love poems
bursting out of draws
and your naked pillow
exposing its stains
from the perspiration
of sleepless nights