I am a Kiwi who grew up just south of Dunedin, New Zealand. I am presently working with, among other people groups, orphans in the ex-Soviet country of Lithuania.
I enjoy frantic seven-city, seven-night and seven-gig poetry and short story tours of Europe. I have recently had a collection of poetry published by Vineyard International Publishing.
I am also a jazz freak and wish I could write poetry similar to how Oscar Peterson writes music.
before
tired sheoaks
struggling to fight
invading pollutants
of a future closing
together we two, three or six
would sit
in wee morning hours
caffinating
24/7 freshly roasted aroma
grubby footpath
ruddy tables
tired groaning stalls
Ethiopian Vienna
jazzed out veins
sculptured cream
hiding bitterness
it was all about the coffee
toot toot!!!
and now
it is all about you
and our last memories
together
at Potts Point
before
the leukaemia
Brutal and Beautiful
During the week
he sweated on Central's
sunny roads
smashing black tar
into cracked brown earth.
He spent his weekends
in the safety of his
state-house fiefdom;
sucking cigarettes, drinking
Speight's and watching
the gee gees.
Then on Mondays
he was gone again.
We kids knew no different:
the stench of stale fags,
peeling yellow weatherboards
filtered sunlight
and Mum's tired tears
slipping down her
wet bruised face.
She died from too many years
of having her heart broken
by the thing she loved the most:
the smell of her summer's road.
Today her husband
sits alone
with his arrogance,
dusty television and
overflowing ashtray.
Blood holds us together
brutal and beautiful
he is my Dad.
Dislexia
haunted sucky memories
day schools
of lonely lunch-boxes
there
their
they're
polytech
lath, gilloteen
random words
for scrabbling attention
here
hear
hare
reading book disco
jumping flashing screaming
slowly chasing
wear
where
we're
never believed them
thick not
just hurting
tear
tear
tier
carrying a past
fretting four a future
walking with
dislexia
dyslexsia
dyslexia
My Taiwhenua
I am secure in my ponga palace, allowing
the mud to wash my jandalled feet.
Wash away dirty Baltic beaches,
communist scars, garlic and salami.
Seven long years I have longed,
longed
for Papatowai mud to breathe
from under my toenails,
for kererū, bell bird
and Gipsy Caravan coffee
to set my starving soul free.
A repatriation, a watering
Otago, Te Wai Pounamu,
Aotearoa.
An estuary, waves, rātā and
cricket. Glorious bloody cricket,
but I don't catch the ball.
'Cause I am returning to
snow and slush, European
potholes and dog poo.
Returning to shrivel in
soggy skies and mourn
the breathing place of my soul,
my taiwhenua.
Unrequited Love
blood lines drain your heart
bleed you dry
an old Soviet war
took your sons
& doused your flame
inflexibility is your friend
misery your companion
but it is me
sharing your sofa
judging you &
understanding nothin'
in silence we curse
curse Lenin
curse Stalin
curse the bastards
who stole your soul
it's all useless
'cause
none of it helps
you spark a smile
and express your
tea stained love
along the velour
& into the fabric of me
