ode to 16 minutes before showtime at the first public showing

you are the heady space between nausea and applause
the dark seconds ticking by
with apprehensive good luck wishes
thoughts of every other moment we wished ourselves free of

humiliation and cluttered mind to find three chords
here on a fretboard, distortion pedal, ivory and bass drum
rest, 3, 4 and tuning. walk, pace, turn, fidgetting in
perfect time with a scratched nailpolished forefinger twisting

through hair and pacing yourself, too much punctuation and too
few word phrase lyrical melodies in the head oh peace in closing
black dustbound staged perfectly cramped sweaty bliss of
16 minutes before the clock countdown to relief and in all this

breathing is sometimes more complicated that you expected.

ode to elongated sentences, adjectives and syntax that wraps around the corners of the world

you solely possess the unerring ability to
make me smile, laugh, cry and sink
deep below waves of torrent emotion and
otherwise reknown experience and all

in a series of movement known as teeth and tongue
sharp intakes and breath and exhaling whoosh
words sound so different in the head when swimming round the
brain cavity rather than the resonators

but still on paper wrapped around corners
so precise and specific in their unveiling of perfect
adjectives and cobwebby words that were once loved and
left behind in the gobblegook chasing down on sunlight

leaving nothing but abrupt shadows of fleeting ideas
barely grasped but in bright dazzling light
you sit on the page so elegantly, so full and complete with
rounded bellies and strong thighs, architectural wonders

words that have learned to caress one another.

ode to the view from my window at 5.48pm on a Wednesday



newcall you're always

so hustle and bustle

with your crisp overfabricated

solid brick lines of 1983



you speak in short blunt sentences

of illustrious views you have

from corner offices

you whisper your smug delight to



church steeple

always so envious of her sleek lines

and how she soaks up the evening light

like a vacuum built just for golden rays

of early evening



both of you submissive to the

reservoir that holds all hope

within it's grey exterior

i wonder if hope gets warm

as sunlight hits the sides

of your great reserving force



how beautiful it is

to know the secret intimacies of the west

while facing east

seeing nothing of the fact

but knowing the full naked effect

of the sun setting at our backs



the four of us sitting so

resolutely on a quarter block

above Odeon.

ode to the Galbraiths chef sitting at the backdoor.

pink flustered mottle cheeks
ripe like peaches or pork belly

you stand like a beacon to
long hours and
damp hot sweaty
oil slick
conditions

the set of your chin is
vacant and motionless
as if born that way

busy
hassled
frought

this order and that
with one swing of a teatowel
over a jovially round shoulder
you pivot

back into orders of
fries and pies
pub grub

you wonder about
fine cuisine
and peter gordon
throwing pearls before
swine
and thank God for yeast.

ode to the cigarettesmoking man in ngaruawahia

lungbuster
in stubbed shorts with
a winter tan protuding
on strong legs

hiding in shadow
of a beer belly
pie belly
donuts and pastry
construction worker
truck driver
all the jobs you
might have had

causing you to wear
very nonFashion Week
fluoro yellow

on the side of the road smoking
in ngaruawahia

at least your lungs must be
warm and that congested feeling
must be comforting
at 7.30am

a waikato september

I am tired now
Just lately when I think about it

Whoever said apathy wouldn’t get me
Whoever said that you wouldn’t rub off on me
Who ever said
Cos I was never that honest with you
I am tired now just
Lately when I think about it just
Lately when I think about it just
Lately when I think about it lately

And my head feels a little colder
My heart feels a little smaller
My world seems a little shorter
Something must be gone just
Lately when I think about it just
Lately when I think about it just
Lately when I think about it lately
Things just aren’t the same

a little darkness now
a little silence in the staunch
white light
that calls me out of this sadness.

a brief sorrow
shared in ether for a soul
i could barely know
but love has grown so that i grieve her.

Lucidity Speaks

When you speak, how often I must
listen with baited breath
to hear the thing you might say
next, could be funny or serious

off guard, i tend to spend these moments
and makes me like an addict
for I love the rush of blood to my
head when you make me think

before I speak, so I don't get it wrong
so I don't regret, but I live regretting
these moments, precious, few
i spend in awe of you, when Lucidity speaks

it reminds me that there's something in the
air around us that I'm breathing funny
something makes me come alive
ideas that once were silent fly into

the sky that wakes and blinks in
blue hues that colour everything around us
somehow sharper with your eyes wide open
your voice softly speaking things aloud

where I can hear them, over rush of blood
and thought where they are blooming now
in sunshine of your fertilising mind, strange
how coincidence draws you to new places

where I've decided I would share a glass
of wine with you that was old, red wine that
I would usually treasure with someone dear
like you could someday be, you shake me.

for the sake of the moment
will you hold on to me
nothing like pretending
so in my head i have
a perfect memory
just one perfect memory

she's holding so tight
to the darkness coming
she'll do all she can
to stop the tide rising
drink til she's drowning
what else to do
holding on so tight to you
not a moment to lose

always running scared of something
somebody's always pretending
being something that they're not

sometimes i have to make the effort
sometimes i have to try real hard
sometimes i have to make the effort
most of the time i question, is it worth it

sometimes i have to concentrate on what's ahead
i have to focus on what's important
and i have to choose between this and that other important thing
i want to go to sleep, lie down beside you
you are my important thing of the moment

cos i might never get this moment back
i might never get the hour back
and i would rather spend it in your love
than on something not worth it

sometime after dark last night
i fell in love with You
what am i supposed to do with that?

somewhere in the quietness of my mind
You crept inside, made Your own space
how am i to live with You inside my head?

I've got questions, so many damn questions
I can't answer for myself
I've got long lonely nights to think about them
I spend the night thinking about You
so we are Intimate, we are close
even though sometimes it's just Proximity

jsut by accident
or by some sweep of providence
i hit delete when i should have said
ignore
and now
it's left me here with nothing
but memories of what you said

and i suppose that it's the best way
to recover from the love that broke
my heart
that i had no cause to love you
and i had no right to ask

i'm calling you to say
i won't be calling anymore.

no life
that makes sense
at least i can't seem to find it
i drive
for hours on roads
that bend and twist but i can't lose
the reflection
in the rear view mirror
as i drive away from you

another sad week in wellington
and i try to find my life

and i swim and i swim
in this sea of sadness
i dream and dream
of brighter days
i like to think about your lips
on the side of a coffee cup
beside the beach

so i drove to the closest little
village i could find
didn't make me feel complete
there is no headspace where i'm hiding
no good hiding here

no action or thought in my life
seems to be real or
concluded
until i've told you,
asked you,
confessed to you,
discussed it with you
.... so i am feeling undone.

you are so sweet to me
like moonlight in doorways
you make things appear
different to what they are
and things through your eyes are much
softer.

i'm making it the hard way
fighting all the goodness
never laying down all that i should
i am fighting your sweetness
trying to take the sugar off my
tongue.

pleasing myself and pleasing you
there's a civil war between the
hemispheres of my head, my heart
likes to break over and over
my sugarcane heart breaks over you.

they say
you can't write poetry on a computer
but in ten or twenty years
i'm not sure that i'll know any other way

certainly i prefer the feel of paper and the
silkiness of my pen spilling it's
emotional ink all under my fingers
instead of Bill's cold plastic giving me RSI

i never heard of anyone getting RSI from
sending too many Hallmark cards
technology is battling me for your heart
because you spend your life breathing here

living over there, 4000 miles away
ten days ago i sent you love poems and dreams
all on my computer. maybe if i had sent you
paper.. you would love me
and live here with me.

blue skies are blinking at me
i should be happier today
but i'm realising
we're going to have to relearn conversation
distance is so hard
sometimes you seem so close
other days i don't think
you need me anymore.

and i reason it out
that it's not in your nature
to say those things aloud
and there's a certain amount of caution in it
but i wish that you would
so i didn't feeling
like i was being devious by having thoughts of you.

i'm whispering to the world
tiptoeing out in cyberspace
i'm listening

you don't talk back often
i jsut flood you with my ideas
and you reflect back at me
all that everyone is thinking
still my head is full full
my heart soft soft

i am trying to build a bridge
but it blows in the wind
and i have to move my foundations...

maybe i should just start from the top
walk across
and not worrying about from the ground up.

finding peace in all the running out
of things to say
that involve words
there's so much that i'm used
to telling you with eyes
and touch