This Window is
This window is confidence, Documenting proceedings, Capturing moments, Cleansing views Challenging sentiment. This window is nourishment Filling the eyes With strong drink, And acidly piercing Over-elaborate structures. This window is furniture Re-hung like a
Morning's Reflections
Were meetings predestined then ours was intended, Great oracles decreed it as fate, and the auguries chattered With sweet benefactors and fêted to chance with a face. We were then both separate and free
Every Time I laugh Aloud (An Ode to Short People)
Every time I laugh aloud, who springs to mind but Johnnie Howard? Cathartic laughter eases stress which Johnnie causes in excess, So when I hum acerbic lines of Randy Newman’s quirky song ‘don’t want
For Harry (My College Room-mate who Died)
He cut his hand and it bled, the flesh Inside was red and the hurt discounted the flood Of red and vibrant blood that pulsed From the wound. But he was a warrior, A
It is an abhorrent thing
It is an abhorrent thing, this incarceration of your vulnerability, Profoundly cruel in the way you were beaten To your knees, blithely unaware it was a battle lost For your health and wellbeing. It
What a weekend
What a weekend, it certainly defied all the pundits’ trends, The ‘World Game’ French were trashed by Versace and petulance, The Wallabies by a graphic haka, while Wimbledon saw the Amazon’s Revenge and Switzerland’s
Beta Blogger Blues
Have you switched to Beta yet? It’s an even bet that if you have You quite regret your impulse To accept the canny invitation. It’s okay, I hear you say, the crew’s A clever
It seldom snowed – Part IV
It seldom snowed they said, Perhaps they’re right Although seldom was never In that endless summer Which tightened a fiery grip by day, Baking the plateau, Relentlessly melting its snow. It began as a
Forever Alight
Were meetings destined then this was one To take a leading place, the oracle decreed it fate In a matrix of moving matter, and the signs all clattered with Chance fêted as a sweet
Shirley of Serendipity
Where were you Shirley of the Sanguine Lake? Where did you disappear? The echoes of your empty house Were almost stilled yet held to soar the scheming rough And quaver in a hollow fear.
Out of ideas
If I don’t write something good tonight I will sleep Without the comforting Canopus of deep believers, If I sleep at all, and this light which ignites My enormous poetic conceit and guides my
Lake Otamangakau
I The roaring of Te Whaiau intake weir Intrudes as sleep eludes again To soar across the lake On white-tipped, swan-wide wings. A defiant wild cat’s call, a tuneless howl That crashes through these
None is spared your handsome smile
The mystery of a smile that glows within your eyes And is framed in an innocent countenance Passes not unheeded. Those transient’s hallway smiles and greetings offered through your door Are slyly seeking kisses
The Last Unicorn
The last unicorn was never free To chose another ending, The plaintive melody entrained With sweet orchestral strains Describing it was sundered in A soured rendition of Our heaven’s harsh dominion. We were never
A monument in words
And so I had a glaring revelation, I couldn’t find the poet in the man although I read his life composed by writers true disposed To tell it with veracity. They built a monument