Bio: I was an avid reader from a very young age and constantly immersed myself in
literature. While I loved reading novels and short stories, I soon realised
that writing poetry was my true passion. Somehow the words just seemed to
appear on the page like they were already there in invisible ink. The words
seemed to have a mind of their own and would spill out in all directions
almost out of control. However, on closer inspection this myriad of words
somehow made sense. They were alive and fighting to be seen, for they were
tired of hiding.
The inspiration for many of my works can be attributed to my profession. I
am a secondary school English teacher now based at Edgewater College. My
the richness of South Auckland culture which I experienced from living and
teaching in both Manurewa and Papakura. My earlier poems are based on
specific films which triggered deep and sometimes painful emotions within
me.
"Poetry is my counselling for the soul. It is my lifeline; it is the
rhythmic beating of my heart"
A NEW BEGINNING
Like an unfurling frond
it began
this misadventure into never never land.
Gold glitter scattering the dust of my ashes
moon dust
on a scratched surface.
Could have been a recipe for disaster
a pollution of the earth
gold rimmed, grimy mud.
Yes a recipe for disaster
a mixture of pollutants
gold encrusted, petrol based.
But.
Diamonds shone from the layer of gold
Jewels were uncovered from encrusted earth
And.
a gold glitter scattered the dust of my ashes.
REALISATION
Beneath the glittering façade
Something strange stretches
Hungry.
It dances lightly beneath the surface
It's there
Waiting.
Slowly it expands
Stretching its wings preening
Its desire palpable
It consumes itself while it waits
Light feathers dance across its cheeks
Spreading traces of glittering gold
Its innocence depraved
Seemingly striking
It waits
For its next exorcism.
SOUTH AUCKLAND STYLES
I fit into this culture
South Auckland styles
South Auckland smiles
On me.
It shines in a different light from East, West, Central city
It has a different flavour
It tastes nice
Flavoursome
It doesn't taste bitter or sour
It doesn't taste of lemon
That acrid flavour
It tastes of bananas.
It smells different too
It doesn't smell of fumes or diesel
It smells like petals with a hint of herb.
The people and kids seem different too
Almost from another world
Less uptight, more accepting
Their smiles aren't laced with lemon
Their smiles are laced with life
Fear, poverty, violence
Laughter, whanau, celebration
The Tangata Whenua, Rangitira
Aotearoa
Original inhabitants of the land
Once theirs
Given back piece by piece
As if to appease.
I feel their anger
Every day
I live in it
Like them
I am to blame.
I fit into this culture
It feels nice
Carved out for me
By the tongue of my ancestors
The wairua rests
In my heart
THE PIANO
Amongst the glistening tide,
Spreads angels' wings',
Where angel's fear to tread,
Yet thrill to spy,
Always the wandering eye,
Of one already dead.
Drunken state of lonliness
Control of fear, the lion's lair,
PREYING ( praying),
Sweet smells of musical air,
Refreshingly bitter,
The tone of lulling
seeps
creeps
deepens your despair,
The sorrow to disappear,
Self annihilation precipitates the fall,
To self realisation.
The Piano is.
PICNIC AT HANGING ROCK
I disappear
Behind the rock
It knows my fate
A ticking clock.
STOP!!!
Transgressions
Deferred rewards
The afterlife of flashing swords
Bruised and battered
It spits me out
Time forgot
A roundabout
Of spinning thoughts and broken time
12.00
A paradigm
It leaves me wounded with mocking scorn
Alleviate
My soul so torn.
Digesting those, they broke the mould
One daffodil, the other gold
A Botticelli angel cursed
To know the sleek, long, travelling hearse.
To the grave the laughter cries
Once alive, now buried
DIES.
THE CREEPING WOMAN
( inspired by Charlotte Perkins Gilmans short story called "The yellow Wallpaper" )
I creep in open spaces
with hollowed out crevices.
My shoulders mould to walls.
I lie and wait
For night.
Approaching captivity
all consuming passivity.
Fear encroaches
John approaches.
The rope lies still
Swinging
Side to side it sways.
The law of motion obeys
The swinging rope it stays
With passion it sways
Stay
in one place
Fray
Afraid not
A frayed knot
It mocks
" not ill, take a pill"
Lack of will obeys
John,
Vehicle of mockery
Laughs "as sick as she pleases"
Pleases to be sick
"Dick"
Why?
Wallpaper torn away,
The layers of scorn
RIPPED
Fragmented the self
Embodied in the room
Its gloom.
John,
The key is at the door.
I want to astonish him
admonish him
abandon him
Abandoned me!
The key is at the door
It's not
Under the plaintain leaf.
Retrieval
Upheaval
Survival
Suicidal
Homicidal
The rope's still swinging
The doors locked
"the key is under the plaintain leaf John"
The door opens
The body broken
The knot frayed
The body splayed
The creeping woman laughs
Creeping over its path
Death
The smell has gone
John.
DESPERATE REMEDIES
Red, whip into submission,
The narnia queen of ice,
Thrice the card is dealt,
Its score repression.
Ravishing, longing, ensconce myself,
Your embrace intrigues, consumes,
In your desire,
To possess.
Sexual energy consummate to grief,
Scenes, erotic masculinity,
Debased, abused.
Red scandal
Rape of sisterhood,
Longing to touch the wound which fed it,
Bloodthirsty for its suck.
You handle and ravage the gaping wound,
As I resist your attack,
I turn and fly to the shores of safety,
I look back.
Standing there,
You shine in a different light,
One which does not intrigue
And I retreat on a sailing ship,
To
A
World
Of
Make
Believe.