blackmail press 28
Tai Hadley                
New Zealand

Kitchen - Charles Olsen
Time of the watch men

Time is felt in a rippled surface


the well climbs to the light
an illusion of depth in a man's


Dripping waters feel the tide of

lost watchers in long grass 

hidden in the youth of the dunes

Seizing dreams swept away

the watch men cast thin arms

to the scream of dusk


Salt's child darts naked


in the sterile abyss

dance shears  the wind to the

curve of  waves  

find the  child

in the beginning
bathing dreams in the surge

of the sun

The tide wraps  spirits in twine

searching the crevices

before the turn

where moon light falls
the dark song rises in mists

weaving a basket in the night


Time spoken softly

in secret places

A Louse in Baxter's Beard

Michael has serious issues
His 'h' is silent . . .

A first time caller
Confesses to the highest

I'm no racialist mate,
my best friends are
idiots too.

Neologistic ingenuity
Pioneered through
Static stations
A nation of sheep

Our rock
an island in the sun
on the shady side of town
No H bombs on this Atoll.

The lines are open:

I'm a six generation caller.
i blame immigration, mate.
Letting in foreign tongues.
Have us speak'n Chinese
Or some bloody
Germanic dialect.

Mmm instead of good Old English
Father Michael speaks in tongues

i blame NCEA, yeah Nah
Mark my words.

And the fourth seal was opened.

The disk jockey rides on.
A skinny revelation.

1.Ap(h)abetical terorism.

2. The spread of word flu.

No H1 N5 here

A flock of intellectual
Pheasants strut safely
Having removed the H
In their own name. 
True knowledge economy.

Beware false profits

I turn him off.

Haere Ra,

silent H,

G. and E. are harder to swallow.

I grew up in the South Auckland and spent my life escaping the poverty trap. I am a psych nurse and have worked in mental health for eighteen years, recently I have had to stop work due to chronic injuries from the job and found myself at forty with time on my hands, thus the poems, another form of escape.