A forest fire (9/11/17)

For a lyric mashup assignment

And so I'll go home
Into the arms of the boy that I love
The only love I haven't screwed up
He’s so hard to please
But he's a forest fire

A forest fire

To burn it like cedar
I request another dream
I need a forest fire

A forest fire

Wide oceans roar
A frightened fool stokes heatless fire

A forest fire

Third and Lake it burnt away, the hallway
Was where we learned to celebrate

Home is just a room full of my safest sounds
'Cause you know that I can't trust myself with my three A.M. shadow
I'd rather fuel a fantasy than deal with this alone

This forest fire

It's a bonfire, turn the lights out
I'm burnin' everything you muthafuckas talk about

And so there's a change
In my emotions
And all of these memories come rushing
Like feral waves to my mind

I let the seasons change my mind
I ride the subway, read the signs
Ask myself where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Where is my mind?
Way out in the water
See it swimmin'

I see swimming pools and living rooms and aeroplanes
I see a little house on a hill and children's names
I see quiet nights poured over ice and Tanqueray
But everything is shattering and it's my mistake
Because I burnt it like cedar
I request another dream
I need a forest fire

To burn it like cedar
I request another dream
I need a forest fire

To burn it like cedar
I request another dream
I need a forest fire

A forest fire



Before I build a wall around me
A forest fire


Bullets (18/10/16)

an attempt at alliteration about artillery

Take to the trenches

Where we wonder; why the war?

Before the bastards blasted us with bullets


the fire of florence (5/6/2016)

not an actual event, i just saw some smoke from my window one day and was inspired

The tallest cake-tray,

on Florence's coffee table

Bearing the postcard dome,

Of it's namesake,


It was yesterday,

Sharper than a spear,

Today it is

A greyed-out( )line


The picturesque vista,

Blurred by the smoke,

Dulled by the fire

Obscured by the flames


The tower crumbles to the floor,

The marble and bricks crash down,

Powder flies up. 

As does smoke


Piazza Di Duomo is engulfed

In flames that

Eat away at the trattorias,

Smother the carpet store next door

And tirelessly lick at Eduardo's gelateria 

Piazza Di duomo is engulfed. 


The lady watching the orange glow,

from Forte de Belvedere,

can now practically feel the heat,

As Ponte Vecchio crumbles,

Like the stale cones sold just off it

Soon everyone has fled Florence,



Except one profession,


Not the fire-fighters,

Nor rescue workers, 

Nor policemen,

For it was,

the piazzaiolos who went down to ashes, 

with their city,

For they could not infer,

That the smoke they smelt was not, 

In fact,

From their pizza ovens. 


expanse (23/2/2017)

As the expanse 

Of ocean and land 

Widens between us

And whirring engines 

Carry you further 

Away from me

As a stretch of sky 

That goes on 


Places more space between us 

Forcing us apart

Just know, just know

That nothing will ever 

Force you out of my heart 

Even if I no longer love you


Ballad of a little rubber dinghy (27/2/17)

din·ghy | noun | a small boat for recreation or racing

Because no man is an island

I am a ship

not a ship

a dinghy 

I am a little rubber dinghy

unguarded unchartered 

in calm blue seas

with company

the dinghy is free

along come the waves 

the rough dark swells

crazy as it seems 

I think I can handle them

along come the guardians

the useless guardians

the warships

one, then two,

then three, then more

in an effort to aid

their own callous promptitude

their ropes tie around

our con/protagonist

and so dear friends

the little rubber dinghy

has unwillingly been hired

as a tugboat

the little tugboat pulls 

one direction and then the next

surrounded by warships

those useless guardians

these warships are heavy

but the dinghy can manage

he is strong indestructible


the useless guardians the warships

encourage him 

but his tugboat ties

are all around him

the tugboat pulls to help the warship with the patterned flag and patriotic horn

she’s heavy 

too heavy

the tugboat is sinking

the tugboat pulls to help the big grey warship; sturdy but unthreatening

and the other warships cry

as the tugboat tries to pull

“he’s not on our side”

the tugboat pulls to help the dark metallic warship; shining, splendid

he pulls east and north he does his best,

but the warships are in the way

he cannot go west

the tugboat pulls to help the small white warship with the melodious foghorn

ignoring place of origin engraved in the side

the warship retracts her ropes

and turns her back on I

the tugboat radios the open ocean and to the warships surrounding him 

the useless guardians he tugged

but the tugboat’s radio system

is frayed, fried and fucked

and so our long and boring tale

has one last place to go

for our tugboat con/protagonist

it seems he’ll sink from stern to bow

the tugboat

the dinghy, the little rubber dinghy

hates himself

or maybe 

just everything else


Untitled (29/8/2016)

Traveling from Canada to NYC

 I followed the sun the other day.                                                                                                                                                            She woke me up with a gentle nudge and gestured I follow her.

 And so I did.

 As she traipsed across the Canadian sky, I followed her through the forest.                                                                                                As the day settled down for the night, I followed her when she plunged into the lake. 

And I wanted to stay forever, not for an aquatic adoration for the water enveloping me but a reluctance to meet the inevitable cold embrace of air against my wet body. 

Before long, the sun wakes me up once more, but this time we part our separate ways and soon I'm looking out a car window yet I barely register the rows and rows and fields and fields of corn.                                                                                                                           The sun shines harshly on them, but my mind is not focused on her light. It's focused on someone else.                                      

Although books, music, tv show episodes, new sprawling landscapes, and sleep attempt to occupy me, they fail to prevent my mind from returning to the same smiling image of her face, even when Taylor Swift's voice welcome's us to New York over and over again as we drive over bridges into the piercing skyscrapers of the Manhattan skyline. 



icy frost slowly gently calmly settles down on my heart

like the abandoned 2003 Volvo Sedan

parked in the cutout of a vast forest

next to the railway tracks

somewhere between T-Centralen and Kiruna.


thoughts in my brain flash brightly, harshly and fast

like the light of the incoming train

in the distance

but up close, and in your face.


having stopped in a field of trees emerging from the white ground

the train starts moving;

but i am frozen.


through a forest of green a field of white a town of grey a lake of blue and an everything of nothingness

where all that surrounds the train is a purple

so close to black that it would make no sense to call it otherwise;

i am frozen.


in my second tier bed

whilst everything that I want to be a part of happens;

i am frozen.


with my frosty heart

and my harsh flashing thoughts;

i am frozen.


wanting a voice to talk to me,

an eye to see me,

a hand to touch me

and a warm body by my side to defrost me;

i am frozen



Home is where I've found what I sought

Home is what makes me rethink what I thought


Home is where out loud I can scream

Home is where out loud I can dream


Home is the forest, home is the trees,

Home is the birds, home is the bees

Home has no strings attached, payments, fees. 

Home is wherever I goddamn please. 


Home is my abode. 

My abode is the road. 

Home is the memories I carry. On the road. 


Home is safety. 

Home is danger. 

Home is familiarity. 

Home is a stranger. 

Home is calmness. 

Home is excitement. 

Home is cold ashes. 

Home is hot ignitement. 

Home is staying. 

Home is going. 

Home is a mystery. 

Home is knowing. 



It's a place. 

It's a person. 

It's a feeling. 


ode to a window

O window,

How grateful I am for thy clarity,

When I travel,

I look out unto the world,

through thee.


Through thee,

I can see,

all I ever wanted to see,

from the comfort of a house, car, bus, train, plane.

It is not what I see about thee that I like,

It is what I don’t see about thee.

I can lay my head against thy smooth surface and watch,

as the landscape around me changes

and listen to my favourite music.


O window,

How grateful I am for thy clarity,

When I travel,

I look unto the world,

through thee.


I am a traveller

I am a New Zealander,

A kiwi, Aotearoan at heart

From the land of the long white cloud,

But that’s just the start.


I have been a bird,

Flying over oceans blue and vast,

I have stared in wonder at the stars,

In the night sky blue and vast.


I have been to many countries,

Yet many more I have not yet sought,

Many battles I have won,

Yet many more I have not fought.

I have a desire to hāereere,

An undying wanderlust,

For me and other travellers,

Migration is a must.

I am from New Zealand

a place of hekenga near and far,

so it comes naturally for us kiwis 

to follow the path of the stars.

the clouds will pass

The clouds cover the sky,
they are ominous shadows of dread,
miserable, grey and overcast.
Soon the clouds will pass. 

Birds a'chirping merrily,
trees swaying in the wind,
waves crashing on the beach;
There are no sounds to be heard. 
Soon the clouds will pass. 

A mountaintop majestically in place,
a stag cautiously walking through
the forest.
There are no sights to be seen. 
Soon the clouds will pass. 

The rich, sweet honey, dripping from a nectar,
a fragrant frangipani falling,
off the tree.
There are no smells to be smelt. 
Soon the clouds will pass. 

A hoard of fresh, ripe blackberries,
a juicy, tender mutton, roasted
on the open fire.
There are no tastes to be tasted. 
Soon the clouds will pass.

Along comes the breeze,
the cool, cool breeze. 
Calmly sway the trees,
At last, the clouds are passing. 

As the wind blows
the sky is a'glow
with more diamonds than grains of sand
on all the world's beaches.
Finally, the clouds have passed.

Now the stars are visible,
Flickering, shimmering, dancing and pulsing.
These fluttering fireflies flicker freely. 
The clouds have passed.

In this clear, uncluttered night,
as the stars shine brighter than ever,
the crisp, spring air is the picture of serenity.
Oh, how the clouds have passed.

There are sounds to be heard,
sights to be seen,
smells to be smelt,
tastes to be tasted,
Gloriously, the clouds have passed.

Ballad of a Turtle

The silent green turtle glides

along the ocean,

like a bird flying under the surface of the ocean.


The green sea turtle darts to the left

to catch a small wrasse

feeding on a colourful clump of coral.


The silent green turtle is flying

through the ocean

he doesn’t know where he is headed.


He is simply flying through

the vast blue ocean,

just going with the flow.


Not really knowing where

he will end up,

rather like me, now.

kahutia te rangi

An ancient island kingdom.

Magnificent mountains,

Sweet, swirling, shimmering, sparkling sea and sky,

Rippling rainbow rainforests,

that teemed with life, with vivacity.

The forest filled

with tuatara. moa.

weka. kiwi.

The sea filled

with hapukamanga.




mango ururoa – shark.

tarawhai – stingray.

loud with the clatter, chatter, murmur and laughter of the forest,

lush and loud.

empty and quiet.










A dark shape, rising. rising again.

A whale, a gigantic noble beast.

Bursting through the sea.

Leaping high.

Ecstasy sung a song with eternity in it.

A song;

You have called and I have come,

bearing the gift of the Gods.


Haiku of a kakariki

Yesterday I saw

A parakeet green and red

Perched on a Kōwhai.




break-taking and wondrous

twinkling, glittering, shining

I lay down and stare in wonder