Sadness,
A gift somebody once gave me,
Like a heavy winter coat,
Far too big for a child,
But I grew into it.

It still hangs in my attic,
Sometimes I forget,
Sometimes I remember,
But whenever I try it on,
It still fits.

he declared himself insane
before the world

and the world did worse
than not to
believe or ridicule him

The world
ignored him

He was an old writer
with a body
rotting from the inside
A cancer in his lungs, right
around the heart

Effort made him faint
Oftentimes the effort of sitting
on the toilet and pushing

But when he wasn't on the
toilet he
was at his desk

writing

And smoking. There was
a candle on the corner of his desk
always burning

The rule was that for every
seven minutes spent
not writing he'd hold his hand
above the flame for
seven seconds

His hands looked like decomposing
carcasses of mole-rats

but they could
still hold
the pen

He would go on writing
for the rest of
his life

all seven
hours of it

I.
You walk through these streets
like you think you know what you want.
But tell me honestly,
inside the pockets of your coat
your fingers never uncross,
do they?

II.
I drown you in photographic film
and sometimes I wonder how time
stands still in a painting.
In the middle of the bazaar, you stood
like a painting
while people moved around you
like an overexposed reel of film
and time still stands still to this day

III.
You're coughing it all out; winter
on your lips and spring in your lungs.
Drink me.
I am a tincture of a daydream.
The sun is always brighter, my dear.

IV.
Our hands interlace in the darkness
and melt away with the consequences of time.
You are a bottle of something precious.
Put me to sleep, sing
me to sleep.

V.
Undo the buttons of your dress
and wear away with the night.
Shed this old layer of skin
and something about rebirth
we can tell beautiful lies
but how long before the bread soaks up the milk
and the blood on the carpet
seeps into
the wood.

VI.
The ice on the lake
can't hold up this dream anymore.
You're a hallucination
and all I needed.

I'll quietly walk away
such that none would notice
the actors are too loud
and proud-- they displease


by their own voices
these people are self- betrayed
scarcely do they know
they are artificially made

how they overtly indulge
in  priming their self-image
the audience stands up
to embrace their message

if I haven't walked away
my heart could have bled
yet I well imagine
such malaise would widely spread

Copper leaves, the colour of old coins
scatter in mown emerald grass

Ashy sky streaked with vermillion
gives warning of a coming storm

Strewn hazelnut shells betray the
vagabond squirrel's hunger on the footpath

A sparrow camouflages itself
becoming a part of lilac bush bark

What seems at first glance a twig is
a slug resurrected by early morning rain

A perfectly prismatic necklace of crystals
spangles the empty washing line

Daisy sequins grace the Garden's
gilded gown of dewy grass

Sleepy cat awakes, to become death incarnate
stalking birds on soft and stealthy paws

Whispy white clouds drift cotton-like
on the grey altar-cloth of the horizon

And a solitary mouse erupts from earth burrow
to scurry across my feet

this poets soul
is sowing seeds
for loved ones lost
for unseen deeds
in the quiet times
dappled with sighs
dusted in pale light
are pre dawn skies
Mr Tui sings
he spreads wide
his wings
in upward flight
to the Puriri tree
I think of you
I dream you are free
toes mulled
in a turning tide
undertow pulled
the tears we cried
for you
I glimpse your eyes
crystalline blue
so briefly seen
caught in sea foam
sands washed
renewed pristine
I let go like the sun
& long for home


J.C.

Casting my craft out
upon creation's shallows;
pray to pull in art.