Category: Living on Purpose

[Untitled] Balloon

  My earth was bare and open to all I swept myself wide and inhaled the breathing of the long willow wisps waving hello to the swathe. My horizon was long and luxuriously so with nothing to hinder the wide smiling world upon which draped my earth room legs until the gaze of the coming dawn. Here was a palace, a magician’s parlor a … Read More [Untitled] Balloon

Towel Off

  Towel off a bit, draw up a stool you and I are going to chat. You aren’t so empty— oh, to the contrary you’re vibrancy incarnate. Your tidal waved attitude you swell so well and it goes–unnoticed.


Leading the Brigade

My Auckland e-bike, a long black thing sporting a waterproof saddlebag and a rectangle motor which spoons my seat tube, is heavy. The bike is hard to hoist over fences and it gets caught going up curbs. It’s tricky to swing around to fit the bike stands and near impossible to rotate it to hide the saddlebag from lazy snatchers. It’s especially difficult to … Read More Leading the Brigade


Why I Paint My Toenails

I’m your classic case of an internally-distraught people pleaser. I would like everyone to be happy, preferably on my account. So that they will like me and I will like myself. But when I draw one knee up into my armpit chest, and let the other one fall open, and I unscrew the lid of the toenail polish—a dusty rose—and I rest my cheek … Read More Why I Paint My Toenails

At the Coffee Shop One Afternoon

  When the man in the hat ordered a beer from the high school barista at the coffee shop, I politely declined the impulse to stare; him, in his funky, retro cowboy-hat and single, dangling hoop earring ordering a beer from the kid behind the espresso machine who giggled. Poor kid. I wondered which was redder: the lad’s salty cheeks or the man’s full-body … Read More At the Coffee Shop One Afternoon

Poetry in the Rough

  Brazen chipped callous lines side of left toe, stretches, white, as I stretch wide— toe pockets marked with shadows echo tide pools and wave drops pitter sand from the mat of the car. Chalk elbows graze along the grey window sill, dragging slip lines of dust mites bits of me I haven’t missed.


The Trouble with Dozing in Parks

“Hey, excuse me?” called a voice. I jerked awake; and was horrified to find I had slipped into fetal position mid-doze. I pushed myself up to lean, awkward, like some uni-legged creature. There was a man standing behind the knee-height wire fence which separated Starling Park from the streets of Ranui. He had black pants and a dusty white t-shirt, which revealed sleeves of … Read More The Trouble with Dozing in Parks



  He walked high and loose noteworthy jingles in his gait; the last was a pocket of change from the corner shop and the first the cataracts we politely ignored.

The Sands Tell Tales

  The sands tell tales of arduous tracks of long, lumbering earthy strides; there are those before me who have pressed the sand with leaden burdens and dragging hearts, the prints of souls unsatisfied. Then there are

Shell Theory

  My praise is but the catacombs of waves the stuff of ant children and young sunflowers. Waves speak quieter than I, and go much further. I wave, the whole earth grows— how my arrogance is so!


Wild Man of Swaziland

  Buck-toothed and dreadlocked the wild man of Swaziland plunged sugared fingers into a bowl of cheesy potatoes. He shifted his restless feet for a firmer perch against the mountain scree, and spat out a hunk of chicken poo. Plump beetles scampered around his hairy ankles looking frazzled to existence; the wild man took but peripheral notice his attention otherwise committed to thick fingered … Read More Wild Man of Swaziland

Celestial Gala

  Cosmic harmony dances upon toes, & the sun which sweeps arm hairs to spring bouquet, (so fit for a gala) keeps time.