Walking along the edge of the rain , my nose is dry and my ankles are wet. The dog charges forward , her jaw is set to a grin, her eyes scream Geronimo ! At my back The Southern Alps and Antarctica send their icy kisses north. Redolent splotches drip from spiraling grey gods ,…

I suppose when talking about the end god has to come into it, or the gods , as I like to put it as I don’t want to give the monotheists a monopoly on the language. I come from a household where my father was atheist and my mother was , is, non-practicing . My…

When I was a teen I had a couple of English teachers who encouraged creative writing. These were woman who had grown up with The  Beatles and flower power , the sexual revolution and hippies and peace love and all that shit. On one hand they were I’m sure much more open minded and enlightened…

The stream that runs through Karori Cemetery smells of mothballs. The eau de vie of the end , perfume of a 1000 musty last moments, a spectral residue of a circle completed. The trees curl and strut amongst the cracked old graves. Spongy grass forms a mattress over my ancestors . My feet spring with…

Crackle and hiss , boil and spit , mutton, ok lamb , hits a hot black pan. Seasoned hunterway bark , flavoured apparition next to the lea and perrins. Fried egg , and dripping , tales of great uncle bob, a breakfast of champs. Drain that wasted bog , spuds hit the deck , mashed…

I travelled through time the other daynot even NASA would know my secret  one minute I was starting school thenmy first woman, graduating university,gathering the splinters of my heart andthen my back ached and my dad diedand well , maybe my secret techniquecan go backwards? Maybe not. Forwardscertainly works a startling bloody treat.  

Last night I caught the sun by its toe It tried to escape , traveling at the speed of light Hell bent on scuttling behind the island But I was fast , and in the perfect spot I grabbed it with a digital lens Then I showed it to all my friends From now know…

Is there really good grief  ?Is there unconditional love?There is always fine printThe user agreement trumps allThe cost of love is loss.

When I was wee my father’s favourite warning was “What if the Vicar calls ? WHAT… IF …THE …VICAR… CALLS!? “ My nakedness, my vulgarity, My messy bloody bedroom floor All were to be shielded from the holy man of god.  Well that Vicar never did call, Our family had no taste for Jesus Or…

Night’s pause slowly eases as the dim blue ripens to fire Groggy eyes break free of their fleshy peach coloured tents, They venture forth to judge the horrors of another day BANG BANG BANG Yesterday’s heroes fall to their mass grave, Steam rises like smoke from the pyre, a victim of history Their part has…