The Gavel swings Guilty.
not often heard these days, the gavel clash
a desktop so regal, all cower before it,
defense put up a creditable case, worthy
good retort from a confident prosecution,
defendant stands hands-in-pockets, morose
sign of guilt (or not knowing whey he’s here)
two sets in the audience, the defendants kin
dead cyclists family, all wanting a good result
side bound to be disappointed when a jury,
solid citizens ring the words half will hear
other half will wail and cry, but which side
the Jury Foreman nervously, a-twitter
words forming towards a Judge sincere, austere
your honour, on each of the charges”, the wail
members, the bowed head now chest bound,
of the death penalty, 1st degree murder,
away to a prison cell to await his fate,
the fat with lawyers on an appeal,
days’ darkened with passing thunderstorms
rain the tears of a Just God, a willing Man
crime, now referred with regret, with sadness
trying to come to terms with his youth, idiocy
act of retribution, a mere driving misdemeanour
of action now regrettable, now guilty,
morose and awaiting the retrial, the appeal,
to chew what if’s and maybe’s, guilty.
The Ladies a’ feeling
etched her errant smile
rambunctious ripping yarn
quiescence of Quiet Queerism
a story of ladies humping for children
all I hear you ask,
a few ladies of the night
I knew, Sally (name changed to protect)
a body to die for
a brain to lay for
a day in her life
her cousin Seth from Homewoods,
to her with his enigmatic smile
her that there is more to sex
a pile of Love and Affection
he was rough
she liked it that way now
that narrows the field,
maybe on the Potomac
her own desires
rough hands from rope
used to a good tweaking
all too readily available.
she’d go home and cry
is the life of her ilk
hardened by years of travails
of punching her shadow
up down the toilet again,
always at the ready,
Sheriffs report, if, just if.
He was an innocent kid.
mother mollycoddled him daily
just passed the time of day
in a fantasy world
one day his parents said,
to be a man”
out in the world,
something of yourself
work was hard
him away from his games
now afford to play
clothes became rags,
games gave way to drugs
innocent young man hooked
was too hard, crime was easy
time to run hard, being chased
he was still an innocent young man
parents built him that way
him useless to all
him a nuisance
was always his fault)
tried to take him back
to get him keen on the games again
to make him feel wanted
him feel worthy
time was gone,
on the thrill of the chase,
rush of illicit drugs, pulsing
taste of danger
one day, he ran for the wrong reason
aimed at his back, the slug faster
middle of his back a small hole
front of his T Shirt a large blot
life ebbed before he collapsed
parents said he was innocent
of any crime
is this harsh world.
Silver Brushes Shining.
in bed, warm, snug
propped by all the pillows
up and watch your ritual
seven Silver brushes
your golden locks
extend from the very top
rump widened in years.
start with those two short haired ones
stiff ones, the weed out grey locks
the three long ones, soft to massage
starting to effect, the gold rich
sixth and seventh dampened
it all in place.
you regardless, but your hair helps
your smile in the mirror
the returning shine from your hair
and stylizes the humour you have
yourself, your hair, your smile.
been my morning ritual
forty two years
long may it reign.
is a change in the range
swirl in a girls twirl,
sausage in massage BBQ’s.
in the vast past, eons gone
days went fast, nothing wrong
was dark, as redwood bark.
games are lame, still the same
ladies of the street, tap out the beat
a man’s turn to say no, wherever they go.
and multiply, as it signifies
like vicissitude, can be rude
children of the light, shine aloud at night.
Mayflower descendants, drive a bargain
local Indians to buy land to settle once again
new land full of promise and build a train track
people further on, and leave dust gone,
trek of bullock trains, and the fight with pains
days long the nights cold, youngsters become old.
Prehistory or what it was like last century.
you know, that in 1903 there was a law
growing Chaff and distributing it amongst
owners and bullock teams alike.
1907, Shackleton departed on his journey
Ice of Antarctica, I have the books,
came to New Zealand for good.
Great War killed many soldiers, no one won,
motor car and airplanes advanced, as technology
when people are at strife with each other.
a 1923 Webster’s Encyclopaedic Dictionary
thin pages with a huge amount of information,
it my bible, the words fair leaping off the sheets.
brought on the Great Depression, times when
simply did not exist, workers scraped fields
beat the Blues, hobo’s aplenty scraping for food.
rise of the Third Reich and the unpleasantness
Second World War, the advance of technology,
A Bombs of Japanese targets heralds danger.
Cold War, when Black East and White West
each other for ascendancy of power
more died of starvation, the need to be free.
a sign space is the next frontier, high
buzzing aplenty, dancing new promises
advent of media as a tool to win hearts and minds.
Vietnam war, where insolvent foes hold back
advance and leave a country with the second
military force on retreat, beaten back, lost.
destruction of the USSR, other communist states,
sudden advance of freedoms, societies marching
regimes promising an equal world, celebrity.
1990’s, the world moving fast, Islam, Christianity
of nations at war with each other, emphasised
Century, a time when my family and I live apart.
Why, You Little Rascal
you little rascal
stole my walking cane
how’s Gramps gonna walk
you and smack your hide?
you little rascal
my TV Remote
Gramps gonna watch TV
can sit you down and watch Discovery together?
you little rascal
the dreaded whiskey bottle
Gramps gonna get tickled pink
doesn’t have to care for the sadder world?
you little rascal
your girlfriend in eyeshot
Gramps gonna find a girl
him warm and safe in the afternoons?
you little rascal
Gramps in a rest home
Gramps gonna forget
age affects everyone, even himself.
you little rascal
TV is fine, the whiskey great
Molly from room twelve
a bit of slap and tickle in the afternoon.
you little rascal,
be in the will
sure what as yet
keep the cane and whiskey, and condom.
others meet aims
something on terms
objects out of nothing
their mind towards other needs
themselves to the best intent.
You eat Licquorice.
eat licquorice with vivid lips
wrap your tongue sensually
another black stick of lust
around cooling shoulders
your heaving breasts, you eat
cream and catch it, mouth corners
with love juice as it spills
a chin that holds the blanket in place
dedication to your task sublime
you burp, uncharacteristic
sound shaking me from my reverie
and giggle like little children.
The Poetry Reading
up when his name was called
or Graham or some unpoetic name,
a bald head, shirt hanging out,
of disinterested businessman.
himself through his poetry,
lovingly recited with a fair mixture of laughs,
fire from his recital lips burn images in minds
the flavour of his recital, then he finished.
up when my name was called, Thanneee
MC mispronounces, I take my awaited cue
a quick dose of the Jelly Belly, a quick burp
and take the stage and the mike in charge,
effortlessly, and receive warm applause,
some clap louder, the deaf lady asks me
my copy of Ngauranga Gorge to read, smiles
leafs through the poem and understands.
today was National Montana Poetry Day,
when poets or poetry readers equally
their works, their loves, their words,
all smile with joy at the spoken art shining.
A Saturday Dip in Serendipity.
I lick liquid love
eat easterly breezes
play wink, wink, nudge, nudge
with grandchildren asking for more;
I swallow my pride as you dictate
the lines for my next work
the dog chases bliss
in empty rooms.
The Jolly Rodger
sails from my figurehead
the light of evening past flickers
like too many wet puppy noses dripping;
the slice of morning dew cake, melting
subtly moves left on the table,
follows kiddies hands
to a maw mashed.
Pastor Roger Wick
burns the midnight oil, dull
the room from years of dust, gloom
the house that that sits empty for days now;
I eat passion Lollies, your mood dictates it,
the slice of Green Sponge wet
from too much moisture,
the lady dancing.
A coach nears a bend
the driver in charge of his destiny
the destiny of the folks onboard, danger
the sound of a blown tire, loss of control, death;
the coroner has his hands full, moving the dead,
sending sadness back to a dark morgue
the lights shining bright, captures
the stink of death, done.
This necklace grows
then shrinks as ideas float off
the concepts there for the taking, somehow
ladies in waiting awaiting a new prince of poetry;
You could use a helping hand explains the radio,
commands people to think about choice
men with holes in pocket, torn
play hey diddle, diddle.
Blueberry pie my friend
for the end of the Necklace poem
the search for form and fashion, to capture,
play Find me a riddle out of nothing, Mum passes;
yes she died, nearly twenty years ago now, missed
Tattooed on her Gravestone the love we had
I go there yearly to clean it, a task
or a chore like poetry.
Egg on her face. (A Dali)
Lisa with fried egg eyes
off with broccoli nose.
with car tyre arms
tubes for biceps.
Da Vinci’s helicopter
ideas pre mechanization
lofty ideas battering.
a picture takes effect.
Why I like the sea.
in oceans grey or blue
colour indicative of the weather
colours worked fine for me
or calm, superb malevolence.
calm night, near the tropics
can see stars for breakfast
constellations clear and precise
shooting stars aplenty, buzzing.
huge yellow moon rising
it’s way above the horizon
Sea of Tranquility bringing peace
thought of a poem starting.
gentle lap, lap of the waves on bow
under feet dangling to cool
splash of lap back as it rises
snore of old man night growls.
behind me, the grey of frigate
with the ebony of night,
sound of snoring souls below decks
in another night at sea.
Taken to task for pretending to be a teenager
on cold days
socks and running shoes.
some skateboard kid
as a BMX’er
they see the grey hair
out and proclaiming
I don’t mind,
enjoy the notoriety
the red goatee
for the cover
The Dead Ones
– They all died doing their Art,
likes of Jon Bonham, drummer
mate Keith Moon, also drummer,
Hutchence of INXS
to forget Jimi Hendrix.
flock to a shrine in Paris
got to Bon Scott of AC/DC
likes of Elvis too, RIP
forgetting Kurt Cobain
many more not so famous.
there are more, Janis Joplin
Phil Lynott, bassist for Thin Lizzy,
Bolan of T Rex fame,
some others, fringe players,
that died way too young, Marilyn Monroe,
Belushi from comedy circles.
Feel Free to add to the list, as a token of remembrance.
Toby and Moira (A Homerian Epic)
times in his life, he’d found cheap love
times a night in the hay, a tale of nothing,
one day working at the university shop
this lady, about twenty three perhaps
walked up to his counter, asked for milk.
rooted to the spot, unable to move
stood and stared and blubbered a hello
blushed aware the effect she had on him
too stuttered, ferreted in her purse for change
for goods she hadn’t yet purchased.
and fussed about, asked her
she would like, more than anything on Earth
said yes please, I’ll take those (saw his badge)
Toby, um er a pie and thickshake, lime
by her calling his name, he filled the order,
returned and she smiled, Hi I’m Moira, (blushing)
her the goods, asked her out for a date
he’d pick her up from the Five and Dime, Highway
on the outskirts of her village, he knew that then
away, bounce in her step, skip in her stride.
the case with love you look back and marvel,
and Moira have their fiftieth anniversary soon
children, three sons and two daughters, great
loving parents, the need to repay their diligence
love to honour a café and stumbling beginnings.
marked their day an uncommon kiss, no passion
the need to fit hand and glove as they always do,
their kids see their love as they always had,
other family members share their love and joy,
the day be a moment that once started askance.
both died a few days apart, in their late eighties,
side by side at the local cemetery, raining
from heaven for two wonderful people, leaving
the respect of many wonderful kindred, in love
each other, with life, with others in life, for life.
A room adieu
room is an unholy vacuum
dust and detritus
pithy creatures stuffed
an animal ambience
teeth on one Boar scarred
the etching of hanging bulls horns.
a gentleman’s room, empty
the lesser things in life
blue long coat in the corner
from years on neglect.
a pad fall from an errant cat
around in antiquity, ageless
writing materials on an Oaken Tableau
unused for decades, the silverfish abound,
days ago you had visitors
the historical society, toffs
the room in a museum
days of the retiring gent gone.
loo k at the room again now, love
likes you had for just the room
the man, the hunter, the loner
the room speaks his bright side.
A Day After the Rain went.
prodigious, spends hours
garden her pride and joy, shines
visitors walk through it.
bad for a handicapped lady
arm mauled off by a dog years ago
memory lost in the No Pets regime
garden the only thing that barks.
hair glistens this afternoon,
on the step
my Man Mechanic
secretly watching her studiousness.
sun glorifies rainbows in the air
speckled flowers glimmer
lady the pot of gold
riches for all to touch.
wet of recent rain amplifies.
distended Nose Bone
azure arising sunset
an Aussie Brown billowing
whippish tail flicking
when snake free
cry of time.
men of the bog sailed
shores afar, a dream
cut glass of crystal
deep green of forest
tense jade pressured
The Tarantula Hypotheses
wonder, the Sea or the See? Either is as good as the other, but the perspective
so different. Many wax lyrical in thought, the Sea or the See, a vast expanse
of sight, or an expansive view of thought. Daisy the Cow often gave me insight
into real life, the ability to think like a blank chewing quadruped, to clear the mind and chew ones cud whilst thinking of
vast green oceans of grass, or even vaster mind waves of Blue Sky. Yes, Sea or See.
Newspaper ran an article about two druggies murdering a child molester. They
apparently knew his case and felt honour bound to end the guy’s life. The
danger of taking the law in your own hands well highlighted by this story, the couple appearing in court for murder. Yes the guy was a predatory child molester and didn’t deserve to be in society,
even if he hadn’t reoffended in 23 years. Maybe they passed the chocolates
around and decided he just didn’t deserve to be here (drugs does that in folks – paranoia).
The Promised Land
owns any of it,
land is administered
men women and children
Promised Land, beg
weapons meant to maim.
millennia the battle rages
owned this land (or that land)
had riparian rights.
the colour of skin
right of seizure.
trickles through both lands
recycled from above
path determined by effort.
from either side
to drink the peace
water offers, touché!
The Glacial Degradation Theory
sit at your work desk
day rolls on
light of electric glow
lady in Pink
a computer keyboard
for soft touch typing.
drive home air con on
heat of the traffic
steering wheel sweaty
wringing wet hands
another eon, ancient
last podocarp forest
under the weight
levels rise and fall, the tides
wash eroding beaches
moved to sate owners
air con and sweat
fact and myth
event from eons old.
The Last thing you need
canteen in a five hundred mile desert
children to out grow you before your time
seconds to make a decision when all day works
million dollars when you’re used to poverty
Crocodiles on your front lawn, visitors
and watched the Discovery Channel,
marvelled at the way nature works,
man doesn’t intervene, or does,
touching thing animals flee,
and jumping, happy
alive and free,
pictures of Elephants downed, detusked cruelly,
and painful deaths, such that most shiver
they see the state of the Elephant nation,
those Rhinos sadly dead on their sides
horns ripped off for faraway sales
stores in China
pity the ability to stop
state to be
The Last thing you need
to be lied about, when rape means mind death.
on the streets doing it for Love, not Money?
of Sand poured on your lawn, just because.
Lecture you missed on Sociopaths, A grade pass.
times a year you’re struck by lightning, white fella.
Father Ted’s Place
passing wind laugh,
to the fact that someone
in front of them.
Ted wrote home
now since 1987
of drear Calgary,
juice coloured purple
on open sandwich
the flock, aplenty.
kneels to pray, blushed
the father has her attention
her purse passes a tenner,
shuts it again, smiling
in the far aisle shivers
out loud – Eureka
to Mary and smiles
his upper false teeth
fighting his lips
counsel often does that,
ear attuned to loveliness
– a letter signifying end of poem.
Mary Had a Happy Clam
days hence yesterday,
always Salmon on favourite menus
delicacy of a fish swarming in headwaters,
day they die new life forms,
5.4 on the Richter scale
my seismic website, no report yet.
I have to change my underpants,
do that, make me change
something any way, choice
it’s underpants, the old ones are clean
after a good Quake I have to change
I know, repetition, so what, I’m writing it)
a few words to start another poem
now I am no longer where I want this thing to be,
I should try again, another tangent.
had a wet nightgown
wore it to bed one night
woke in a dire muddle
you thought I’d say puddle!! Shame on you.