Category: Poetry



— Vonnegut got it right, like really right, like Bokonon himself I, too am enchanted by the mystery of coming ashore naked on an unfamiliar island. Enticed to life by these sandy toes, sand that’s slid down my salty knees, peppering abundance of purple tulips knowing nothing, I see we are endless– Resolved to see just how far man might go.



— Before the world began, I bit my tongue in three places Before the world began, the blood beaded down my chin, a hot air balloon upside down Before the world began, electric hedgehogs blew hot air in my face Before the world began, I dipped a quill in the blood of my mouth and wrote you a poem. As the world began, we … Read More Beginnings


  As we left, we murmured our lives away. The ceremonious cork against the bobbing she-queen, Queen of the Nile we stood taller and eager for the red shores of Africa. Ours were lives of bubbles; great wads of the stuff tacky and sweet, stretched taunt they could take us places we thought. After we left, we saw it wasn’t a matter of up … Read More Direction

Who Gets the Final Word

  I don’t get a say in these sorts of things. We begin together, of course, but quickly am I kicked off the page ; dismissed for being, quote–distracting and unneeded–I stand to the side my lips in a pout, and watch sullenly, in heavy squints the ragged flow of the pen on the page.


Point Vierge

  It feels funny to be wearing a rain coat : the beckoning dawn counts my steps as I walk, stiff in the hips from a restless night, empty in places, shuffling along dark streets opened by a cloudy moon and the distant bellow of early ships coming in to port. It’s funny because it’s raining–little kisses from clouds cast patchy against the moon, … Read More Point Vierge



  Not a moment goes by that I see you proper : befit in tropical fern cloak ; a royal sunset from purple streak’d Ranganui ; peaks alight with unfathomable age drifts and shades of wisdom ; a thousand mirror words that instinct rise but I do not understand my mind too full, my heart too far.


  I am freshly washed and yet do not feel up for sale. I pass a table of soaps lined like soldiers against a creamy cloth shapes of ice cream cones and tea cups smelling like oatmeal pumpkin and honeydew lavender.


Wellington Central Library

. I’m delighted by the brave women and men who fall asleep in public library chairs. Sometimes bold to go for the window seats, the ones commanding view of the civic square, full shine of lunchtime yogis and sushi advocates. I take my lunchtime time to doze, thank you, they seem to say in endless gape of mouth, a stream of hahhhhhhhh hands nestled … Read More Wellington Central Library

Many Dreams

  Many dreams and not all find the surface. Stay real— stay here, get lower, go deeper, let it sink, let the mind anchor let the breath work and the heart beat and the music swell and the words which form beneath your fingers swell as well and the words and jazz and night breeze and occasional mosquito, there’s life force in there, too—

Gazing at the Ocean

  The vastness gets me, sometimes; to see all this space I cannot measure, cannot obtain—and then to see my human kin, just as vast, measureless, objective in such a state, a condition as this. All of them new to the act of human being, and yet vastly more prepared than I.


Passing a Stranger on the Footpath

  Low eyes met and the moment froze; a flash a candid viewing— the whole air held breath and here you shall always exist. You, held in new adulthood, ripped black jeans endlessly under


The Creek and the Tree and Us, Sitting

  Let’s just sit here for a minute, here, on this log, next to the creek which flows strong and clear. I have to show you this tree; a tree from the sun, from the soul on its own, a tree on whose long furry branch dangles wise chin hairs and me— swinging in my hammock safe and soundless the wind tilted my chin … Read More The Creek and the Tree and Us, Sitting