Sunday, August 26, 2012


Although you walk
through the darkest of valleys,

you've dispersed
into sparks of light
that dance over water-

no shape, just movement-
so bright and white
I can hardly bear it.


Dance with me
soldier, sailor, tailor,
stitch back together
all my tatty ends.

Applique my heart,
it's a start.

Stand to attention,
don't mention
differentials -
we match in the essentials.

Dance with me -
a jitterbug of fireflies
beneath the trees
in February,

fancy feet upon emerald grass
through all the sapphire dusk.
Our diamond tears
from the past flung up
like water caught in sunlight.

Lucky Numbers

59, 95
64, 96, 125 over

These are your numbers.
Your lines are wavy.
When you move,
they jump alarmingly.

I don't know
whether your numbers
are good or not.

They mean blood
and heart
are still moving
at least.

The lady
behind the curtain
next to me
has failed to pee
in a cup.
She wants a drink
so she can try again.

I don't want to hear her.
All I listen for
are the small beeps
that mark your numbers
as they change,
change again.

Monday, August 13, 2012

The Grey

Filth in the grey,
the way you say
The mouth
a hollow bole
of tree
scooped and filled
with writhing mites,
Not enough to speak
of past,
the lines of it etched
in your skin
Deeds supposed long gone
remain -
in faded green and blue,
gang tattoo.
Can you clean
your filth away
by bleating,
freedom, light,
self esteem,
As your days seep away,
beneath the last strata
of dermal layers
the ink of
every day and night,
street or path,
blow and bruise,
received or given.
Like cracks in
ancient whakairo,
through to bone
and through bone,
each line remains
until those very bones

whakairo means carving