the rain comes

and then it goes.

the air is sharp and still.
the water, calm until doppleganger
clouds break character, giggling, as trees
lean over the river and shake their bits dry.
meandering ducks split the horizon and I
realise that heaven is just mud and fish
but do not mind as daylight cracks overhead
and a passing bird I do not recognise
pierces the sky with a war cry. soon,
poached-egg sun spills its warm,
gooey center into our open mouths
and stains upturned cheeks.

just like yesterday, we do not care about
zigzagging between dead trees and shallow
water reeds as we hold our paddles up
like hungry children with giant spoons
ready to devour the entire world and
all of its wild in our very next breath
before we do it all over, again and again.

gaia in all her grace, gathers us around
her table. she feeds us with tailwind and
birdsong, nostalgic singalongs and echoing
rock walls. we savour every last scrap before
leaving with more sophisticated palates
for gratitude. nourished, the zing of woodfire
conversations and charred-stars remain,
inexplicable, on the tips of our tongues.

people come
and then they go.

the air is sharp and still.
the water, calm.


dead bees.

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@mxqqy

Sunshine swallowed
by cloud.

Precious words, pilling
behind pursed lips.

Feel the warm autumn wind
on your cheek until he turns
and brushes your knee.

Then you blossom and
fall, simultaneously.

Learn to gift your auburn
to the sky, only for it to be
washed away by the very
last bouts of summer rain.

At least today is no longer
stained by the shades of
a repetitive same.

Seeds of hope, they grow
in the cracks left by past hurt,
and you find yourself surrounded
by the familiar buzz of may-bees,
could-bees and potentialities.

But then you blink and remember
how to breathe and suddenly
you can see the way his kindness
comes in spades but cuts deep
into the soft soils of vulnerability.

He uproots importance
like untamed (we)eds, and these
unplanted questions swallow
like a liquidated naivety and
sinking self-esteem.

Tonight,
forget-me-knots in stomach tangles
into throat and a thristled heart
quietly bleeds.

Existence (a poem for a tattoo)

Hi friends,

I got my first tattoo in January 2018 and it was designed by the amazing & talented Zeze who is based in Auckland, New Zealand.

It is based off a Chinese fable called 猴子捞月 (the monkeys saving the moon) – if anyone is interested in what the story is about, I’m happy to provide a translated version.

I’ve been trying to write a poem inspired by the fable, but it just wasn’t working, I think it was a tad too restrictive. Instead,  I wrote a little something very loosely inspired by Zeze’s artwork alone.

I think that’s one of the best things about art, how it can be re-discovered, re-imagined and re-mixed to produce unexpected results and then interpreted every which way too.

Either way, a life update & a poem, I hope you like it.

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Image courtesy of: Zeze

Continue reading “Existence (a poem for a tattoo)”

the willows, they

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Image courtesy of: vurdeM

creep up pale cheek,
whisper about me
behind the teeth.
tendrils burying into scalp,
snapping the neck back
into vulnerability.

some say these soft,
phantom weeds, born
of the mind can be easily
exterminated through a wish
to be free, clearly they have
forgotten, we are no more than
lost children of Eden,
searching for meaning.

Inexplicable sadness
carried by the wind,
germinates into a dull ache,
sprouting dissociation as fresh roots
wrap around the ribcage, bitter,
beating heart numb to the bites of
venomous, verminous thoughts,
they have a stronger desire for life
than I can muster, no more than
a careless cadaver,
caught in the headlights.
A poor little flower-bed,
drowned in homemade herbicide.

Love(d)

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Photography: mxqqy (self)

I:

dandelion seeds,
crack in the sidewalk they meet,
serendipity.

II:

beach towels on car seats,
washing sand off salt-licked feet,
oh, his sun-kissed cheeks.

III:

the wind takes the leaf,
away from her favourite tree,
his roots run too deep.

IV:

earthworms are asleep,
warm hearts shiver separately,
sad eyes and cold screens.

waste-landed heart

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Moving Image Courtesy of: wiffles

once upon a time
she hardly remembers,
the girl with tumble weed hair
and rose petal lips
was not afraid of heartbreak.

she kept her head held high
so she could learn
from birds in the sky
how to gently unfurl
the delicate wings encasing
a heart three-sizes too big
for her hope-filled chest
watch her as she breathes in
the meadow-scented winds.

Continue reading “waste-landed heart”