LadyBug Poems

: Pacifika Ode: splitter splatter ran the raindrop on a Tsunami morning without warning

2009-11-12T12:44:00.001-08:00

It was like bursting into a new universe, one composed entirely
of oceans and islands Trinidada sailed into open waters Zelanda.

The missionary era begins in Tahiti. Christianity comes ashore.
Subjects (of this book) are entirely made. Bodhinyarama, the

women did not even copy mother Eve in a fig leaf and the lost
continent following the transit of Venus. The marriage of Loti

where golden apples grow under the wide and starry sky. The
August father gave to me a watercolour. Jack London! Jack

London! Jack London! The cruise of the shark, the main street
of Suva. Marriage when our laughter ends there's little comfort

in the wise. On some days sea is calm, fleecy clouds Pago Pago
in a wilderness of waters, gleaming white a little church.

found and lost in that small green notebook:

2009-11-12T12:43:00.001-08:00

I begin to see beauty in learning for the sake of 100 essential
modern poems by women. Lady Arrow got out of the taxi How
terrible are the slanders. An incident here and there. We real

cool. We left school in that country where animals have face of
people. If you could afford to share my crystal hatred in my
austere black uniform, little has been made of the repulsive

theory. Leave the dishes this book will save your life. Jump
start. Walking home over the low chair. The place of lost Roads.
Reading my manuscript on marriage on your deck in my new

green gown. Over the lawn in the garden up on the slope where
bushes are and the cabbage trees. You climb into your fast car.
Worn knuckle that done spilled pot. Every morning I drove to

work. Pinting is the life he has chosen. You hold my skull in your
big jump start. the Twin six pack. In the seventh form the teachers
treat you like human beings. Now that Wendy has gone, Rima sits

with Mark and Natasha. They met at Virginia Lake, glanced down
over the two kids. The Police are looking for Fascist Bastards. Razors
strange and wonderful. I have no theories to offer. Focus. I walk uphill

waiata

2009-11-12T12:42:00.001-08:00

Mother Earth!
your pristine, crystal, clear water
that like the Ganga
came from the heavens,
rescued by Shiva
the destroyer

and washed the sins
of 60,000 princes
as they lay
in their ashes
for thousands of years

and how did they get this water
from the heavens!
Ganga would tear the heart of Earth
if it fell from the heavens

But Shiva is kind
and Ganga fell through his locks
soft through the Himalayas

O Earth! Your waters like Ganga
today gives us the power
to live,
to be warm,
to cook,
to enjoy the colours of our lives,
vivid like the white waves
of Ganga as
It travels thousands of miles
to cleanse the sins
And nurse the soil

O Earth you gave us water
and power and plants to eat
and houses to live in

I salute you on behalf of my Iwi
which is the entire human life
spread everywhere that you are present

O Earth we would have been flying in a vacuum
of eternity and in black hole of space
without time, if you had not sheltered us
or clothed us or fed us.

The little orange fish

2009-11-12T11:47:00.001-08:00

Church Street is high flooded with flushes
Duncan terrace refuses a park
you are tired and hopeless

I am crouched like a cliché
under the dark dungeon of a duvet
playing with words. Auckland’s far

behind and you cry because no one
allowed you a place to park and
your mother won’t talk to you

I am wondering if the Mayans
had got apocalypse right
you snore

I keep the light within t
he duvet like a little orange
teen fish that loves
playboy

On the floor women come and go talking Algebra

2009-11-12T11:46:00.001-08:00

There! on first level of Central, waiting for my 400 words.
on the day I started
8 kilometers a day. American?
but no happy meal yet just Marakech's
Moroccan Beef Samosa before a screeching
seagull near a penguin crossing making Pōneke
walkable again. I have come a long way M
Poetry is my life, the fawn, the wild swan and 22
episodes of Tintin that started at Rs. 22
Now dollars. increased thirty times in last
15 years Do Irishman foresee their own
deaths. Did david really know? My book is Futility
and years peel off like onions Dominic was alive
Dad helped make Santa Claus out of carefully broken
egg shells craft and art rain in berry juice as cardboard
not matchbox house with a chimnEy that Dad made.
Modern Poets were Xeroxed pages I held on for years....
So hard to throw poetry books away Mcmillan's
school books with cream covers Posh Mithibai College and Neha
was a dream come true, false, back to future....past....present

black berrycats

2009-11-12T11:45:00.001-08:00

a kitten unsaved by dad
another in reshma's busy backstreet
achyut was certified by drunk man needing to talk
atul's polio was thrown and stamps lot
that which never started can never end, krishna
we need more chillie in your satvik food...gayatri's juhu Isckon
smuggling salt on sundays
yashica camera and the crayons that coloured the back of phantom comics
took picture of white kitten that jumped me screaming on a long balcony

green leaves, brown leaves, yellow leaves and then there it was....the island bay song
the art cathedral with 18 spirits witing as an old one made disapproving face
i trapped on wooden bench lost for two hours in the romance of art, met dan
old paper found. was an abstract of a cleaning roster on X-mas
john's cats are away and paul's cat shed hair on may and longburn street
3 smiles later mary's vacuum cleaner sat next to amnesia

In Eksar village on the pond that floats lotus....huge oily leaves
that holds no water and mrathi women do cultural drama and dnce
we pause the walk and sit on the street...mickey and me

as on the cobbled stones watching old roman movies next to 3rd Bhoiwada

I never met her & it wasn't a watery grave. I never knew her
in mirages sands and camel dungeons...the orange folder spoke to the small museum
in Picton. Everything else stood still...just the ghosts in Kaikora ranges

may you float outside blue homes
in suns and elephants
and love at hand with a marble smile

Mohan's first poem was what my poetry should have been
In Juhu lanes are banana sellers
before you reach the guys who make samosa pass the grime
and Mutton shop and then there is the Thursday tomb that keeps us safe

chasing storms

2009-11-12T11:44:00.001-08:00

you see thyt....thyt blyke cloud in the distance....looks like its coming from another said of okleehammer
stomchysing is a dangirus howbby look look too much rines and splashes beting outta the small whyte car ahead

doubt we see more than 5 today...look at george quyte the stom chaser he's! turns out this weather system
is flying with the cows and singing with barn doors

so I get up

2009-11-12T11:43:00.001-08:00

splash my summer screen...
...find my reflecting glares
find library books
not even a leaf moves
not a rustle
I walk to the letter box the brunette is gone
find my mexican fruitpicking hat
wear it around the house
throw old clothes on the floor
and wait

decide its time to sleep
too early to return the wellington books
and do the evans bay rounds
just repossess my water
think of the twins

just once...whats wrong with me

2009-11-12T11:42:00.001-08:00

its summer and sea is turquoise and million rays of sun bounce like fireflies
i think of you
i met you just once
two passing trains and individual destinations and god knows if you still remember me
but often when the dawn goes cold and the heater's summoned
i think of how it felt
a million years ago
when i once met you
whats wrong with me

Donkey from Hamilto

2009-11-12T11:41:00.002-08:00

eddy went for a ride on a donkey
a face red like a bald dramatic monkey
with his black room ass
that kisses top brass
and bump falling out of its chunky

just when you give up on wellington

2009-11-12T11:41:00.000-08:00

just when you let go of a dark city with old houses and shaking roof and land
and would rather head back to the big smoke
slaughtered by south or west

the city gives you a day that shakes the daylight of Paris or Riviera even Rome
hare krsna serves amazing puris
The sea is blue and some girl will tell you the exact shade but that red helicopter splashed over a blue background with
a little brown duck thinking
Lukulele knows no nuke in the city

makes me think
what the fuck
how can you ever leave this

5th Nov

2009-11-12T11:40:00.001-08:00

and sky is on fire
It's not Natalie's party
nor Diwali that last coincided
in point Chev with Emma in the dark

cars beelining from other end of Miramar in one colour
Splash on Vic, whimpers on Lyall
Light colour plurges of red and tubelight white

and Beer Yellow dolphins of million stares

you tell me: card sorting and no team
for firecrackers we ginger drink
with soya milk
grandma made ginger milk that warmed my soul

Now she's dead

Francis, life kills you....death just takes you away.
Liana, dark woods on one side
wellington sprouts into million lights
hills beaches whale and penguin bay

No more tears

too many wires

2009-11-12T11:39:00.001-08:00

Tangled,
the blue one gives me broadband
and the small white is to call mom
the big black keeps laptop alive
and small black keeps telecom in place

is it just me
or are there two many wires
binding us
in the guise
of setting free

scorpio red rock is a work of cross art

2009-11-12T11:37:00.005-08:00

e
moonlit nights, the armed sickles
milky light; cranberry sauce trickles
Lady art's madness doth fickle
creatures wild haunt southerlies blows
on able street, across Cuban flows
like Ganges the trickling paint's brittle

house on the hill

2009-11-12T11:37:00.001-08:00

the little red plane boomerang
out of a Tintin
somersaulting a pandemonium-ed sky
don't look now
from your house
on the hill

bush backdoors million types of plants
rivaling my rose bush window
honey, Evans Bay's over the hill
stretching with the dolphins to Lower Hutt
and sun chair on a sunny deck is
summer day-joy forever

from your house
on the hill

What the...

2009-11-12T11:36:00.001-08:00

A sunrise a sunset and an abyss
a flower and a deep dark hole in space
Falling
depths
black rivers

So many moons in another galaxies
another lifetime
another reality

Searching through the ruble of shattered gems stones nd paper foils
In the end cold stones
thorned men.................

on the eve of moving from blueskyfox to blackberrycats:

2009-11-12T11:31:00.001-08:00

Loss makes life worth living, chasing
erasing stars and leaving desert nights in the solitude of light.
Digging deep, eternally at random spots, in the dark: both windy
and clear. Captured in an underground cave, lost in a spider’s
sense of hell that can forever deny ghosts and dreams
A eulogy to a city that is an adjective for a small town
A lost word that gravediggers bury yet graves do not hide
like alkaline attacks on a lone soldier litmus paper
My breath is a kiss, my words cliché and my life is a romance
Xena warrior, soft, divine and lovely to the core
as Lochness and its deep dark secrets; bugled by a pied piper
for watercress that grows at the edge of the bush at the end of the hill
unlike seagull songs that get closer to the sun before they die
the mother objects the heart’s desires and Seatoun is a sea of abstract noun and unease
into the bones: hollow dry and simply a part of history channel
killing blackberry cats, kissing blackberry cats and the black witches secret potion

The land and songs are one

2009-11-05T15:48:00.001-08:00

no fish in our waters
its cold
its hot
the bush died for a posh house in Ponsonby
not my marae

my country is going
into a big smoke
no land.
no long white cloud.
black.is my iwi
and big smoke is a city

1929

2009-11-01T22:58:00.001-08:00

11 million radios sold and the women cut their hair short
bible reading's golden chain of love
fell
and jews and blacks paid
the washing machine and the refrigerator
were mass produced
and the little white stick was being used
all night parties became a norm
and the cross burned
Jazz came to NY
and talkies came

New-Yorkers have a ticket reception to the aviator
and women pilots came
with Lindberg

Lady Bug

2009-10-27T17:40:00.001-07:00

I like it when
you go for walks
on the secret beach
and get plenty of breaks and water
gives us fresh air and sunshine

Mata Hari's poetry

2009-10-27T17:39:00.001-07:00

is
a dark dragonfly's
blushing nap
in the sun
while kids
play cricket
on Erskine shores.
Blue sky and
blue sea are
optional

Notes to self

2009-10-27T17:37:00.001-07:00

watching airy goobers and asking uncle to load the gun....
the G was definitely Old Baskerville and kutchan was Fulchand
and first picture was Ruxana and Shobha aunty in the rain
the window design's perforation and A ambosed of Sony
made at us look at the Upites veggie markets
and fight imaginary gulitans...utkarsh was cruel
the small mouse got caught in the fan and another was poisoned
that made me realise what a wusss I was
the books were lined up under the creaking ledge
on a mezzanine that was 6 by 10 foot
and still India lost in Sharjah
Yes Wellington got me closer to Bombay

Tomatoes

2009-10-27T16:31:00.001-07:00

I was stealing

a few red roses

from my bush

with a small pen-knife

as I thought

how the sunshine was 90 degrees to the window

I thought how eggs fry better when the pan is hot

and tomatoes look better than roses if inorganic

and how in 1992 when I bought roses for Neha

in the rose market

next to the fish market

the thorns had been gently

chopped off

In school

2009-10-27T00:54:00.001-07:00

we loved the lady bug
on books on science and Noddy
and reading in the last
period kept us alive
and bouncing and the endless
hours in the library after school.

dont forget

2009-10-27T00:49:00.000-07:00

the yellow daffodils hidden discretely outside the windows
or the egg santa claus nor the chimney on a cardboard house
since matchboxes were scarce or little furry animal's
cute dragonfly that could not be helicoptered with a string
nor Kamil pushing me over a quarry or million sunflowers' blues
and soul nor a Raghunathan litmus paper and how Clera made us write poems
in a blink dominic died and ammonia was not pressed into our noses by Singh

plain text and hold that thought (4 am secret river notes)

2009-10-20T09:47:00.001-07:00

your love's honest (or was it real) like the bombay rains
is a better cliche than my underwear is dry as a bone

school days
honest as bombay rains as mudguard saves not the gray pants
and I have not the Phantom Mr Walker raincoat today
....on winter mornings though I bounce my deliveries
with a red-orange booch ball compounded by a orange fluffy jacket
The Arian under the gumtree does not heed my umpteen cycle rounds
Santanu described Natalie to the T (wrong letter) Sanchita was my
Santanu substitute who spoke about a stolen kiss in Krishna's round
building staircase

but school was when we bounced on the "spring balance" with jacket,
style and works along with tiffinwala's rice potatoes roti and dal
mom fed me for dad

now
at 4am I am thinking there has to be an undergound river in hataitai
after tea-tree oil relaxed me
there is a flow that rises like sherlock's mist....but 4 a.m.s are funny times
God help you wake in 3rd bhoiwada and its too dark to go to the toilet

your love's honest (or was it real) like the bombay rains
I lost that thought in warehouse, sleep, corn chips and sex in the city

keraru: stokes valley haiku couplet

2009-10-18T18:55:00.001-07:00

buddhist woodpigeon
in monastary bell
silence. monks and stream

meditate yet lamp falls...
eyes still closed ... bulb bounces
black statuate gautama

dramatic monologue: cabbie shows off agra to australian

2009-10-18T18:52:00.001-07:00

look that there sirjee, is the taj mahal...it was made long long long time ago...long before my taxi was made or any american taxi...you do have a cabbie in merica don't you sirjee....
one moghul....you understanding moghul sirjee
one muslim raja....was a ruler sirjee
sirjee he ruled entire hindustan....you follow hindustan sirjee
it is another name for india....like you call america for british sirjee...same way
look that monkey is drinking coca cola....do you have coca cola in america? we should exporting some to you
thats the cow, the mother sirjee...uh oh no entry...dont worry! this taxi is a plane sirjee
oh we missed the cow...you ok in the back sirjee
look sirjee taj coming closer to kiss us....

you never see so many lots and lots people happy sirjee....look no homes but dancing...no worry

sirjee happy are the poor sirjee
sirjee christ was come to india after dying...no not dying after crossing on the pole sirjee
i go to church to learning english so talking to white peoples
we have many gods like ram krsna and other cricket god sachin and bollywood god amitabh bachchan

oh look that there....ha! ha! now you seeing taj pure white like you sirjee
like your wife....you have wife...whiter marble womens
my wife is brown but loving and making fooods extra chillies
loving lot off
lot love in us indians life long

look there...shahjahans wife died old...not young love not infatus....she died in middle age yet
he made taj in her remembering even though she was old
when death sirjee death

sometime we should shout wife...but look at the fountains...sirjee they charge 300 rupees for maintenance

that will be 240 sirjee...come again...sirjee thank you

The Leaves

2009-10-18T18:50:00.000-07:00

Rustling on all night and Lyall Bay was suddenly lost
Yes Wellington is Riviera on sunny days but on cold wet days
it makes Eskimos out of all of us

the Auckland sun comes out to mock us
as I look for $10.98 prawns and
hope Pak-N-Sav's heaters work well

Cold night, sunny morning.
No need to detonate
shepherd's warnings

Pantoum hits Wellington from Malaysia

2009-10-18T18:49:00.000-07:00

splitter splatter rains on willis street on a grey day (where did spring go; lord of darkness)
sitting in a small bookshop uniting with leggott and bok (reading aloud yet silently smiles)
on black days borrow a pen from the café girl dressed in black (write a poem on brown bags)
borders is glare, though stare at art collection and at $1.90 toasts (unity is the place to go)

sitting in a small bookshop uniting with leggott and bok (reading aloud yet silently smiles)
lady with exotic specs comes to my side, smiles roses. “read aloud: earthquake tomorrow”
borders is glare, though stare at art collection and at $1.90 toasts (unity is the place to go)
“would you trust me with a pen if I promise to return with the poem on the paperbag?”

lady with exotic specs comes to my side, smiles roses. “read aloud: earthquake tomorrow”
“surely I would see a rainbow that starts at Eastbourne, Evans, Hataitai, Lyall, Miramar”
“would you trust me with a pen if I promise to return with the poem on the paperbag?”
“I think I can” sweet-ed the young girl at borders café “I won’t let your trust down”

“surely I would see a rainbow that starts at Eastbourne, Evans, Hataitai, Lyall, Miramar”
“Let’s make love in Kilbirnie as the earthquake goes wild; lamp falls down, bed shakes”
“I think I can” sweet-ed the young girl at borders café “I won’t let your trust down”
“Carry me cross waters, do boatman do! I have a penny in my purse; my eyes are blue”

“Let’s make love in Kilbirnie as the earthquake goes wild; lamp falls down, bed shakes”
“Are you mad, who will cook if we indulge in such inconsistencies, such Falafel outrage”
“Carry me cross the waters, do boatman do! I have a penny in my purse; my eyes are blue”
“This Wellington…earthquakes drizzles rainbows shine! three days like after Christ died”

“Are you mad, who will cook if we indulge in such inconsistencies, such Falafel outrage”
“we will get takeaways, that’s what the day is for! Fried Prawn rice; extra chilli sauce”
“This Wellington…earthquakes drizzles rainbows shine! three days like after Christ died”
He rose again like the sun today as it burns the distant Strathmore: what else is life for!

“we will get takeaways, that’s what the day is for! Fried Prawn rice; extra chilli sauce”
splitter splatter rains on willis street on a grey day (where did spring go; lord of darkness)
He rose again like the sun today as it burns the distant Strathmore: what else is life for!
on black days borrow a pen from the café girl dressed in black (write a poem on brown bags)

One less stormy night

2009-10-18T18:48:00.000-07:00

Beauty wild wanton dark sinister night that blows the leaves into space like telephone poles on Yule St
The lighthouse candles burn and blow
the call came from a tribal warfare and we are decent a democrcay
we threw our pies in the air
another train saved from another blast....
a game within a game danny said
and south africa has not been spared nor coach nor captain
sinister calls in middle of the night
and no one wants to bowl tight
a scar on face of fairplay makes bush look like christmas tree

ravi varma's beautiful rainy morningShare

2009-10-18T18:46:00.000-07:00

dark and indescript and miramar has disappeared
below a wall of water that only phantom crosses
salt flying from the skies
making lights blink on and off
is it fuse or antarctica
as i find peace in a cool avocado
no bulb volcanoes as fuse's use

its raining in bombay and the trees sing louder than the crickets last night

avocado ode

2009-10-18T18:45:00.000-07:00

first saw you when emma on slopes of cornwell hill said how you were better than sex
thought you a girlie food like hummus spinach fat free soya milk chocolate caramel popcorn
now i am in love...we may be crooked like billy bowden's decisions
may be not the best bedmates but you make me tender
my heart's an elephant tusk
life flowing ganges from himalayas
a kiss makes me mush

snookie wookie deserves a walk

2009-10-18T18:44:00.002-07:00

snookie wookie tumble dries
and the nudist on the not so south
will jump in delight at doggie woggies
it's a sunny day
and wellington pretends to be heaven
after the 3 inch Tsunami
and 200 died
Now they tell me!

Tsunami in a soup bowl: a half sonnet

2009-10-18T18:44:00.001-07:00

your gentle voice wakes me on a cricket morning
samoa gets a wash and three sank

it rains and this aint a vietnam field
radios are out of sync...the net works

i sleep through storm and shade
but pau chops his sausage loud

you take 25 children to higher grounds

meaning of life

2009-10-14T22:33:00.001-07:00

she collects sea-shells in seatoun
dead driftwood calls out to the white ferry
she will paint them in miramar at the kindee
where the fafafine will flirt with her
the anchor is heavy and brown and the bookshop
blonde with huge mammary glands puts the poster
$10 is too much for dogs
tomato chili label on her ass said $2.19
the sun hides behind the fleece
green waters come closer
it rains. I sweat. your lips
are soft oysters bathed in sweet chilli lemon sauce
hawkeye cannot sleep at night walking towards something

Dan's illumintion: Oil on Board

2009-10-14T16:33:00.002-07:00

STORM
hits the seas
and gods roll
their eyes
as devil
sweats in the mist
ofJezebel
on a brown
day from hell

Tāmaki of a hundred lovers

2009-10-14T16:33:00.001-07:00

She's stylish
sexy
vibrant
beautiful
arty
sea-bliss, love
and poetry...

it needs
to be emptied
in Sydney
and populated
with Wellingtonians...

Auckland is Auckland

Marisa's Tui sings a happy note after bad German chorus at 7

2009-10-14T16:29:00.000-07:00

Music!
pure unfiltered
song of
a songbird on
a summer morning
in a jardin filled
with white flowers

alice's garden: smells just as sweet

2009-10-14T16:27:00.000-07:00

the summer grass has grown so high
i love
the smell of onion
weeds little white
flowers if daffodils
could only speak
she gently
kisses the red
flower her dark
hair glistens
call it by any name

the water buffalo

2009-09-22T04:55:00.001-07:00

t's pouring from the grey monsoon dark skies and the field between the black-soot buildings are sombre the fields are filled with water knee deep and in some places the kids are swimming in the pure crystal green your head is like burnt ice cream cones gone crazy in the stacking as you sit there like a lion surveying his wet kingdom we have duck-back raincoats and we carry khakhi knapsacks that the Indian army has but we are scared you stand there in hundreds under the aesbestos shed and your milk is filled with froth we jump from the broken barbed wires to buy our milk daily ...dad wants his tea with a wag of your tail your shoo the flies away and as the rain respite we gaze at you in your monsoon pond it's our cricket field in summer and small lavender flowers grow everywhere You are our tiger, our lion and our monkey and once when it rained you fell from the small bridge into the small black stream you are the million drops of rain and the wet Hardy Boys we borrowed from school library and TinTin we smuggled Before we fell in love with Dimples and Natalies and Nehas, we loved you...you are my boyhood my childhood my arithmatic homework where (x+y)2 = x2 + 2xy +y2, I think...at thirteen maths was a bloody blur you are a tiny dot seen from space and mother to all milk drinking, god fearing Indians...you are not a cow but you work the fields and make even Bangkok and Vietnam beautiful in the rice paddies you are more interesting than the tadpoles and small fish we carry and the dragonfly that we called the helicopter you are you. poor and asia nd lovable and hot potatoes and rotis all rolled into one in one big memory

no pacific blues today

2009-09-20T17:51:00.001-07:00

luca took me around the block....smelling tiny
pink yellow purple white flowers
and the green bag like the pak n sav
and a condom refused to open
but this time we were complete to the task
and the been was twenty meters away
a lazy walk as white christ next to white house
with blue windows next to the grassy hill
that we yawned not towards

summer's come

2009-09-20T17:50:00.003-07:00

the water is cold as hell though as luca splashes it on the moon
seatoun is a sleepy yawny brilliant town that reminds me of the shark movie
he pulls me and i hope the belt holds out
a cute girl. you guessed it right is pretending to sit and read in the sun
luca wags his tail having done his deed
on concrete that i half picked half kicked half cleaned

summer is come one leaf at a time....its been a year and still i dream of her
subconscious garbage collection ain't working and the clock will go fast
only daylight can save us now

bombay then

2009-09-20T17:50:00.001-07:00

this is where million birds let's call them pigeons flew on rooftops
and competed with red blue orange kites as we ate muesli bars called
chikki...made with sesame seeds and tangled the pink glass-braided
strings that chopped the other kid's kite string setting it free with
bleeding birds

the rains came and they never stopped and we felt that it was romntic
paddling through knee deep waters and eating hot onion bhajjis rolled
in wholemeal rotis

the pitches were being made in a grssland between building that had
million snakes and when the greed actually turned it into a half made
sky scraper filled with ghosts and construction stalled

it did have slums but they were concrete and not overdone in Hollywood

and the festivities were gay with colour flying in the air and dance
and firecrackers and sweets and a kiss Mohan stole from a Cancerian
girl that I charmed on a New Year's eve on the rooftop as lights went
out at 12:00

To Churchgate where they played English movies from 36th Chambers of
Shaolin to Daylight in eros. Though the Bond movies mostly on a VCR
replayed and replayed

to the skyscrapers that faced the Arabiaan Sea and nothing like
Devil's gate but the walk rhrough the cages of Grant Road and its
prostitutes to Tardeo and the hot Pau Bhaji and through the Isle of
Haji Ali and its strawberry milk shake

Through the mansions of Malabar Hills and Napean Sea that has the
costliest real estate despite the conversion

to my first kiss on the stairs of a round building as it was raining
in June and I tasted Nivea on her lips

To the funerals where we tried not to laugh as it was a thing not to
do....tabooed hilarity syndrome

To the poems I read in school and college and university and thought I
could do better

devil's gate

2009-09-20T17:49:00.003-07:00

It looks like ladakh and the four wheel track gone mad
grey empty and millions of mined rocks and batches and volcanic reds
two hundred million years old
and yet the boats race us as we run
on rounded stones easy on the bones
the wind pushes you and then pulls
you are leaf

the seal yawns, barks and fives two warnings
the sun is never a certainty
and cook strait is a mad cow charging at red rocks

the small brook waits for summer
it is sun and all is heaven

erskine erskine

2009-09-20T17:49:00.001-07:00

the empty walls and unmowed glasses and brownpaper windows
and creaking floors....storms from isle bay sing from cook strait
erskine erskine the fire burns in an old chapel
with green basement before we do the devil's gate
dan's makara and gravel hill will wait
sleeping seals and sunny shadows
through valley and the nun's quarters
and yellow coffee table that had our names
erskine erskine
there is no other and art will never be the same
i can spill red acrylic in mickey mouse shapes
or paint wuthering heights and you are there

smiles

2009-09-20T17:48:00.001-07:00

kilbirnies lamps flickr like candles
quietly the storm rages on
as i see old folded pictures
of a sister who will always be there yet...
and the green beer bottle kicks in
as winter kisses me again

i hold you tighter and see auckland's streets
and memories of those that are dead
i need no more sleep
the storm silently roars
the universe i never questioned
and thus answers i have none
just reassurances and buddhist brothers

the little art shop at wakefield

2009-09-20T17:47:00.003-07:00

Today it sleeps
empty
barren
even deserted slightly
and if art pieces could speak
they would tell on the sails and long man on bicycle

and the smiling brother who gave me an orange mantra
a laugh hung on the wall to counter the raining eyes
it was Irene and
that was last year

and now rust gathers the trust we set up brother Tadasi

nothing to see

2009-09-20T17:47:00.001-07:00

through my window the world is unknown and consists of a rose plant, a
few birds and pak n sav's yellow face
or the daffodil room as you prance in a silky nightie like a flamed teenager
on a bright wednesday and sun is an uninvited guest to the tired eyes
or garlic thar smiles on a shady table without ginger wine

aalmost prose poem

2009-09-20T17:46:00.001-07:00

From the cliffs in the blue distance, she seemed real under the
pacific glow of the Southern Cross, a few miles outside Christchurch
in the blue French waters at seven past midnight. She just stood there
as i rolled down the hill at speed of a child in glee and the ginger
wine was not making a muddle of things nor the chocolate cake that Joe
wrapped up in the tissue paper. I ran, I fell, I stumbled. She had
died six months ago and here she was. The exact same place where I
found her folding bicycle folded out of shape and the yellow had
scraped off in rust....in dust. "Erin", I called her name with the
same love that was a dream in Art School under that daffodil mountain
in Island bay....She looked at me nod I was 20 feet away..."Erin" I
called with the love I wrote poetry to her....named Irene!
I was almost there as a thorn hit me and I fell in the rubble. She
kept walking and I was a dream to her as I plucked a broken toothpick
from my sandals. Erin Irene I cried in the night.

She was
gone

The water
and
the million
ripples
left behind

The toothpick saved my life

safe wellington streets - those ten days

2009-09-20T17:45:00.001-07:00

from heavy hamilton's franklin before cambridge to the talking lesbian busdriver
no not northland's sad shadows to the amoeba shaped catty bitch after
a hand from samoan teacher
tonight after an art decor bath tub with million epson molecules and a
wooden floor next to red fireplace
yes me and my million images and aussies massacred in my blistering
room but where was I

2008 Before 13 june stormy entry into Island bay parrot malaysian
restaurant I am in May
palmy calling city backpackers across mahatma gandhis railway station
be the change you see
courtney place a night away as simmering wellington burns like marine
parade and city winds I am
not impressed I climb Victoria watch a movie flirt with a nurse and a
taurus swiss lady I loved her
and her scorpio moon all the way to paddington coat factory and
cambridge and waikato
13 may was a beauty in wellington and the english gal left her pink
socks now torn one year and half
I felt city was small and museum evelyn waugh who made me paint and
island bay arty and poor
but cook strait on that stormy front was revelation as was picton to and fro
ponting looks like shaved hitler as germany falls sorry 2009 again

but i took a bus before corina called auckland and i was in tender
loving care dropped at bus stop
and met lemona as i was taken to a wintery cambridge for three weeks
or was it two
and then wellington now and forever...third coming....and bath tub
love and midnight pak n save walks
as aussie falls and murali chucks

haji ali - rhyming after 1992

2009-09-20T17:44:00.001-07:00

there's this kingdom, a tomb within the sea
green walks, jaded trees, gentle arabian sea breeze
a white castle, emma, in heart of the bombay city
affluent roundabouts, flying geese, loving lovely divinity
hindus muslims christains pour million flowers a day
tye a toy cradle, a coloured thread, close your eyes pray
emma, i met danielle here....look at the crows in the distant
had onion bhajias rolled in unsweetened buns and coffee Instant
I prayed for mom here, neha and wrote that book in a week
the red sun goes down castle shines hope bright never bleak
this is where Ibrahim Naze died in my toybook detective story
this where amitabh bachchan survived a near death glory
haji ali is a sufi saint that millions crowd to and yet fades not he
you walk or run from mahalakshmi station through race course and greens
a million rose-sellers crowd you and there's the juice centre that
serves awesomest food
women with burkhas and women with jeans and dots and people that need and should
a path that goes through th sea over black rocks and crows sing and
sea gulls scream
yet a magic, an evergreen era, a presence, a spirit, a dream
they are here those who died that never died at all
haji ali holds your wounds, irons your life and catches your fall
and though the blare of million cars and sounds of life crashes at life's till
here in the middle of arabian sea...brown and green and blue all stands still

deliberate are typos

2009-09-20T17:43:00.003-07:00

so mom met her nineteen ghosts
it aint antidepressants
burning butterflyes nor any hosts
fiery watyrfalse singing true
they are mythological
gods that were long forgotten
coming for a feast krsna
mom's story has no holes. none
sharks are gnawing at her mind
leaving her intellect that
rises like the mists she's sharp
premonition even sharper

Metaphor - She rose like the storm - Simile

2009-09-20T17:43:00.001-07:00

She was the storm that fell like the waterfalls
She was the breathing ice that laughed like an old church bell
A singing dew drop that kissed like a daffodil
A dancing bee that ate like a caterpillar
A stinking rose that sank like a heartbeat
A strange loving perfume that hated like a sibling at war

She's not like the winds
She ain't no sunshine nor joy nor eternal bliss
And no stars in her eyes just pupils

She walks a peacock step at a time that dances no more
An old piano that is out of tune, dusty, rusty
She's an antidepressant
She's a fish oil tablet
She's a blank gravestone
An artist's memory
And she is

This that other and yet another
And one day she will be the dust in the wind
Food for the worms
Pages of an old diary
Memory of another era

She sleeps like a child
And will die like a human
She looks like an angel
And smiles like a mother

here and now with a all over the bad keyboard

2009-09-20T17:42:00.003-07:00

suneal varma is a dark night that awaits no dawn
he is a pak 'n' sav coupon without a car to take four cents off
he is a laptop with no A….and two Zs
he is a cloud that forgot to cover himself from the sun
he is cindy lauper's bad music
and he is not a capitalized proper noun
and he is

suneal varma is a dark Wellington day and a bright Auckland knight
he is a city boy that lost the kites when he jumped from one roof to another
he is a love song that has no chorus
and he is

suneal varma is Strathmore hills that rise up to the sea
he blocks the icy winds that bring Irene's memories
he is the wave that lashes the Lyall bay rocks and wnts to blind the
Island Bay lighthouse
he is acrylic paint that cries red a and then orange and yellow but seldom green
and he isn't

Let the storm tear a soul

2009-09-20T17:42:00.001-07:00

ripping through the south of south where ice is soil
and ice is blood
crashing with the waves in the dark of the night
like your blue gray electric eyes
that pole seems ready to crash
crying into the dark storm
wellington roars at lyall
mimicking antarctic falsettos
houghton heaves higher tunes
my eyes feel frozen
and hands slightly cold
here i am
on island bays most fierce storm
and
i am fucking loving it

The dark world

2009-09-18T22:59:00.001-07:00

as the city lights drop the day light and brown shadows are a sadistic delight
and the black creeps up on you....it's monday in chicago and the world
is breathing in labyrinth of the mist
tick tock sings the click clock
and a bandaged man and a chinese dragon attack the protaganist as
spellcheck bleeds
the stench of 40,000 coffee cups feel the air and golden girls are
shadows ghosts and dreams
while I am a reality standing here and now