Archive for the ‘poetry’ Category

faraway places

06Feb11

Oh the burden of non-stop online content creation. The internet never sleeps, but I must. (And when the weekend comes, I sleep a lot.) I have become something of a once-a-week blogger. I’m forming a theory. (But I’m always forming theories, and they never seem to do much, or go anywhere.) More on that shortly, […]


As I write this, our household contends with finishing off a bird murder. Sort of like animal kingdom Cluedo, only the assailant wasn’t doing much about concealing his crime, proud as he was of it.  My bung-eyed crying jag started long before Bax tried to deposit a half-dead bird amongst the presents under the Christmas tree […]


At a loose end before bed tonight (tired all day and now not at all… just looking out at three-and-a-bit quarters of the moon and feeling sad for my grandfather in hospital, and for the miners’ families) I went through the notebooks (not the diaries) from my years on earth as a 13 and 14 […]


This took my fancy. Paul Henry as the subject of Banksy-styled street art, Lambton Quay. Notoriety is a curious thing. Being of a meek and shuffly disposition myself, ever-fearful of causing offence or bringing any kind of hurt whatsoever to bear on a fragile world, I sort of marvel at human trainwreck situations (figuratively, I mean). They are so utterly foreign […]


I haven’t been here much. The other day I went through old bits of paper and found a whole heap of stuff that doesn’t exist anywhere electronically. That’s for a very good reason, mostly. I had been looking for this one for a while though. So I typed it out. It brought back 12 years […]


  I live at the edge of the universe, like everybody else. That line has been stuck in my head for days. I think I know what it’s doing there. I think I do. I just wish I knew how the poem goes on, off the top of my head, but I don’t. And I […]


I’m starting to miss my notebooks and scrapbooks. Even though through the years I have toyed with the idea of torching them in a very melodramatic fashion, maybe dancing barefoot in their ashes at sundown.  Or maybe shredding them with my bare hands and flinging them off very high buildings so that the confetti of […]