Category: Poetry

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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.

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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

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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

How I Get My News

  I never regret not reading the news. The front page headlines written by an aware individual who keeps delight on the simmer at having found the story of the missing child-rape case first. The television stations, projecting visions of chaos injecting emotion to hype it all up get you going, get the fires lit, get the smoke signals out honey, we’re not going … Read More How I Get My News

Teacher

  Fingers of sea uncurl against rocky black shores inhaling now exhale— teaching me how, guiding me in the art form of breathing.

Moment of Sentience

  Naked toes nestle into the folds of my hammock, which swings, easy, like the gentle head nod that accompanies soulful conversation—the air massages the oak leaves above, and the four of us are in holy existence; synchronized we inhale and loosen. How sublime does it feel to be aware of all this. And to wonder:

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Incognito

  Crafting a home from the bones up— here, where homes feel flint to lay, here, where wildflowers venture wild, here, to the steady whine of the bus approaching the red light, which dangles in front of the library.

Snug Wild

  Atomic algorithms do the soul not a lick of civility— these buzzy bites aren’t earmarked for matrimony to my holy pivot. Nah, it is wilderness which soothes the ruffled soul—

Trichromatic

  From monogamous Mind does Heart steal a kiss. Stern rebuke. For Mind is loyal, frustratingly so, to that rational lover called Brain.

Warm Summer Nights

  It’s moonlight time and I decide I’m insane– with Seneca and someone else’s dog for company, I consider life beneath Davis jazz and note I’m nothing like them.