Oh Home
Oh Home i miss you
and the racism on the streets
and the pakeha legs and
Samoan boobs
and little children and lamb samosa
and Fiji Indian girls with painted hair
And Jennifer and her eternal smile
and Greg’s enthusiam in cricket
Anthony’s overt racism and Jamnelle’s
not so subtle only insecure and inferior
Its a blue shop. A small place’
that fills Greg with pride
Greg’s a good soul
Anthony an asshole
Jenny is soo beautiful
posted by Singing Cactus at 3:21 PM 0 comments
The Old Bible: Found
The Old Bible
is a new bible
leather and zip
and shine and Christ
and sin and Noah
and Job and Mark
and Moses
Daniel goes to a church
in Kelston that has friendly
Singaporean faces and nice coffee
and great cookies and nice
chicken at Massey
Jim is the Massey lunchbox
Where fried chicken and
Chinese tea come to life
and Mary and May talk
about soldiers in Asia
and laws in Singapore
The sunlight bounces
like a tiger on the garden
fountain and Jimmy designs
on the web
The bible is an extension
of Daniel’s prayers
when I fly in and out
and free lunches that
he gave at teachers
college ande times
when he was there
for me.
That’s Daniel
The bible is a gift
a guardian,
I kept it safe and
not carried it to India.
Its precious and speaks of the love
we share as friends and God and
love and friendship. I can’t give it
away my friend.
tear calls your name
Queen Streets crowded
burning souls
yearning humanity
No one home
Buses go Henderson
Pakuranga, Manurewa
Sesa in the South
Justin is near
Other Justin in CBD
Daniel is East
Pat is West
Mashood central
Chris Australia
Emma somewhere
if here
I’m here there
everywhere
all at once
NZ Roads
Sometimes
The low long turning upsy down roads
of longburn burn
Maori and Pakeha
Single mothers abondoned
by whisky
Neon lights Lynn Mall
Hugs by strangers
Betrayed by budds
Bond by flights
gone by light
Gladiators
Lamb Meat Obsession
That should conveniently kill me
I am falling in love with you
But I’m abusing love. Obviously the
word is lust. Paramount. Omnipresent.
More powerful. Less fickle. Strong
Like the devil. Quick like a cobra.
I hate you because I want you
So much that it paralyses me
Albert Park Burns Dylan’s Chicken
First of all you wear that mad maniac blue graphic mini
That swings geometric lines – you move. Crazy, crazee,
crazie, too hot to touch to explosive To handle.
Your body is a red iron rod hot from The bakery.
Soft as shed wool. Lovely like Dylan’s Chicken coloured
sun on a blazing afternoon from hell. Your smile feels
the sky city’s lonely blue sky your Eyes can starve an
ocean out of green or gray as blue when mood strikes you
And when you fancy to warm the daylights out of our species
Heaven help: hell howlers: birds sweat: climb a school boy tree
Burn innocent passer-bys. See your coffee spring Rangatito
goes off. Change NZs map. I’m self deprecating male soul.
Lost in your crazy forbidden world. You – ‘nice’ – I ‘appropriate’
Manurewa was sweet on me
Manurewa. Green. Yellow. Maori, Chinese, Indian.
Mad beauty. Churches and suited Island Padres.
Hibiscus is the land of the long white cloud. Tattoos
Are friendly brown and menacing chocolate. Come in
All flavours and sizes. Sesa’s wide eye and a sweet welcome
Lost between her half Samoan lips. Half Maori eyes. She’s
Young and I am a part of the whanau, I can never betray.
Its not heat or passion. Its eternal love that Adam saved and
Betrayed paradise but Mormons my people I cannot face
The mother. My best friend. Her father. My mate. Discipline.
Self control. Discretion. I find a new church and will
find a family. Will love her and hide
that dark desire of purity.
Lusty Goat
There’s a hint of lust
in the air, in the rains
in the sun, in park and sea
and volcanic hills and
hibiscus. It’s everywhere
Lots of passion. Some care
bliss I proxy false hope
that true love will
take me there.
We look. We know. Say no words
How long? Will sorry story stay
and not say. Yes. No. Thanks.
Unspoken trust. a little honesty
to make my love true.
Samoan Brother. I’ll Kill for You.
My brown brother. You smile even try to laugh
sometimes succeed. you make people feel joy and
mean well. But the bastards who hate your sexuality
Fafafine – your choice to be. Must be knived by me.
The way they batterand char you. Insecurity is them not you.
Black Knickers
You are a monkey jumping that albert tree
hiding the most perfect purity in black
boils mercury. heats the city. makes me
thirst for nectar and purr fumed honey
Tusiata blooms in purple
Purple, pink, yellow, red
Aries with massive bingo
Eyes read everything
we are her characters
Manipulated to play. She
smiles hidden knowledge
acknowledges, plays character games
Loves us, adores her favourite class
Mother of our poetry
Mean Black dress
I just want to hold you
and rest on your boobs
I dont want to disrobe you
There’s plenty time. I want
to hold you and crush you
softly sleep on your boobs
so I feel safe, So I can hide
I want to kiss your naked navel
Start a slow lasting forest fire
which takes all night to consume
Black Capricorn
Lets Kiss. And touch, And meet and
taste and lick all over and
juice ourselves and cuddle and talk
and fight and call and strip. Explore
forever. before
we get down to the mundane
possibility of satisfaction
and tiresomely boring technicality
The Art of Killing a Mosquito
A mosquito is like a nosey Indian
likeme or worse. like the ones
I love to hate when I see my
qualities. Squat! The wings
are shattered. And blood flies
my own. And a superior satisfaction
A meditative spiritual peaceful
experience prevails.
Genre
Poetry
is a sweet
release like
a explosion
from within
me.
Satiates. Tires.
Wants more.
Ebbs. Tides.
But does not
stop tonight.
Never felt I
so much free
A passport to be
what I need.
Me.
You. Someone
else. Its all
fate’s decree.
As poetry
sets me
gently
free.
WEllington curry
An antacid will put me to sleep
quell the rising fire of spice and
tender chicken crisp burger and
distract me from you.
A guy’s gotta sleep.
Breaking free from a 300-poem habit
Is it the tree Possum, my first
nocturnal sleep parasite in NZ
Or Coffee that Sheryll poisoned
with pure chocolate and sugar
The girl on the Ancient tree
of poetry never-ending, flowing
like mermaid on Mission Sands
Or glory of kissing a new genre
The Savage and the Princess: 1991 Neha Poem
High above ivory mountains surrounded by pine trees.
Up on blue crystal towers swept by wild breeze.
Wanton geese soared on cliffs that kissed calm grey
eternal seas at summer palace of King Philip’s.
Young princess Irene, fresh as a whisper in the winds.
Soft as a dew on the greens came. Her songs haunted
the winds. She was artistic, slim, trifle bold. Pout lips.
Steady eye: Iron willed. Enchanting body. Beautiful Soul.
She’d lip-read with eyes that in the dark gleamed
Her heart no noble won. She confessed she could
never feel. “Heartless she is “. The truth obscured
by appearances, haunted by Ghosts. Clouded by lies.
Irene abolished hunting in the land “Never kill a beast
for pleasure or feast”. One day she riding went into
forbidden woods, forbidden land. Eastern Dark was
beyond the Irene empires, No soul ever dared wander.
Eastern Dark was ruled by Sparks. And, Sparks killed
on slander. They called him a savage. A hybrid
of a noble woman, a cruel man. Sparks lived on plunder.
Callus and sinner in more ways than one. Savage lived
in the blinds. Hated the Sun. Ruled over the Gypsy tribe,
which settled 1200 AD. He lived the dark. Hunting
gave him satisfaction – cynical. An evil heart. Sharp
at vocabulary. Learned. Blood of the noble woman. Evil
The heart of a cruel man. Women and never wine
were his weaknesses prime. Killing in his land
was not considered a crime. He killed to avenge
the death of a gypsy waif under the Red Sand
Mountain. Sparks rode hell had no fury’s name.
Out aside with sword and shame. Pulled out
his silver lancet sharp. Hunting gave his glory fame
And down the woods the Lion came. Sharp the
eyes mammoth the frame. And quick before sound
through harp. Savage down from his horses came
Eyes across eyes did meet a single burning flame
One strike left the lion lame. One must the other eat.
The pride and arrogance insane. A smile: Savage eye
Arm bleeding like it rains. Lancet one and a half metres
long. Swished like a song Deep, deeper the bloody cuts.
The golden mane came close. The scarlet blood flows
Swish, went the Savage eyes. The lancet moved faster.
Hard and high. Sabre cut the lion’s throat. A gloat.
Night after night, day after day. It was the same,
the savage and his bloody games. Hoofs thundered.
Earth shuddered. When Savage came and savage came.
Lost her way that night. Irene. The horse stumbled
as she fell in the waterfalls. Luna night awashed
the silver light ‘Fountains of youth’, Tribal belief.
Her skin glistened caught savage eye. He smiled.
A wild flower touched his savage heart. Picked her,
kissed her. She was cold, warm. Intrigued by his charm.
”Friends” her eyes shone. She wasn’t an ingrate,
Friendship was not his wish. Helped her out of the eastern reach
As they rode back on his black steed, sped through
the jungle’s silver light. Came close. One hand stroked.
Fingers through her hair. Kissed her Cleopatra lips
with a savage force. And then gentle as a rose. Fondling,
Caressing, Touching, Holding. He looked heavenwards.
“Lord I deserve her” Lord said “No my son I love you
and can’t curse. But you sinned in thy life. You deserve
not true love. You deserve worse” “Father in heaven holy
be thy name. May you – we always hail! Lord for her
I shall die. I shall fight tooth and nail”
“So be it my son. Consider this a battle you never won”
Arrogance laughed and fears cried. All but lost
was savage mind. He gave up killing that very night.
Promised till the day she was within his hearts reach
A contract he wouldn’t breach. A promise he would keep
He did not sleep that night. Next morning early, he
came out of the leafy blinds to see light. As the sun
from nowhere bright. Golden defined green that was black.
His mother’d worship the sun. He bowed . Without even
a single rumble. The crust of the savage heart crumbled
They met time and again. Sharing happiness anger grief
and pain. Golden sunsets. Silver morns. Hot afternoons.
Chilly rains. Jungle banquets he went without meat
“Do you love me” he looked in her eyes
“No” that’s all she said. Sad not betrayed
Her answer may be a fall. But she spake the
truth after all. He looked up at his father in
heaven “God you have done this to me. No tears.
I feel betrayed You just couldn’t let me be. But
it is thy will, not mine. A mere pawn I am
Will do it to mortals you love. Fire and blood rains.
The earth torn from centre. Your loved souls run
helter-skelter with fire I will set. I am Satan’s son.
I disown you. The virtuous shall weep. As I do.
May your dawns be black. Dusk be bloody.
Widows shall cry and orphans shall weep.
A promise A promise A promise I shall keep”
“Threaten not me my son. The day of judgement
await. Then resign to your fate. You a mere mortal
spoilt by whims and fancies, silly victories: rotten
and arrogant. What I will, will be done”
The fear shut Sparks up. Silence and silence alone.
Uninterrupted Undisputed. He descended.
The sun set, the red disappearing to give way the night blues
“Am leaving tomorrow for the sands, of the Hebrews, desert, Arabs, Nile,
My princess all things end. Better in smiles than deceit”
As her feelings like a volcano burst. She cried
Her face red and lips warm. “I think I do love you”
Kissed. Their feet cold in river waters. The tiger and
the deer. He thanked his father in heaven “I care not if
I lose her now, if this be the greatest mistake a committed
fall. Better to love and lose then to never at all”
The king was dismayed. “His soul is Lucifer’s.
Go the orient and learn the art of creating silk.
“I am going Far East, but to your heart. I shall be near “
Promise me Sparks see me once before I die”
“So be it my fair princess. I promise”
She left in her father’s ship “Irena”. Leaving him
behind in the dark. She sailed to China. The jungle
felt like a desert to the savage heart. And Gypsy
dances brought no pleasure to Sparks. He waited
for six rains. One day he took his steed and just left.
A journey of 67 days and 66 nights
Froth with danger, struggle and eternal strife.
Horse back and saddle free
Through thundering typhoons in rafted seas.
Bleeding feet and bleeding knees
Out of France through Spain, Cordoba.
The large dark churches with crosses
over them. The White Seagulls,
the dark fishermen. The Spanish guitar
Evergreens and rocky terrain
into the wild African land.
Morroco, Khairwaan
Cannibals and Witch heads.
Thick Jungles, Zulu and Masai. Tribes men
Crocodiles and Pythons. Lost.
Unexplored land. Marshes, black-mudded and red
Quick sands. African herds of big-eared
elephants. Flies and sickness
Rains and disease. Pygmies the tiny
black men. Poisoned arrows but
Helpful hands. Unknown tongues
and Faithful friends, Sahara, Egypt and Arabia
Nile and Cairo.
Camels and Caravans.
The land of Pharaohs.
Through desert storms
and furnace hot sands.
Hunger, thirst killing him.
But he could not die.
Jerusalem, the land of Christ.
Palestine and Damascus.
Baghdad and Persia
Herat and Ghazni.
The Khyber Pass, Afghanistan.
The mystery that was India
Punjab and Sindh, Indus.
Bleeding shoes wounded knees.
Sweating salts and aching feet
Pathways wild, Asia.
Lion traps and snake pits.
Tiger country and leopard land
The savage had to hunt.
He had to live not be killed.
To see her on sheer will
Himalayas, crossover and Finally Tibet.
Buddhist Monasteries Meditation,
self-control and resistance.
Peaceful clan. Snowy terrain, biting winds
Jagged mountains with dizzy heights.
Slipping feet and icy nights
Held on to dear life. And his tired
eyes searched for his Irene
Dusted. He reached the Chinese land.
His skin colour a darker tan
Rusted. He’d promised her.
Far from the Ivory mountains and the pine trees
Far from the horizons his eyes
once reached. Far in the Far East
The Mongol mountains. The rice fields,
the con hats. Wells where he quenched
His thirst. And as night engulfed he found
himself in the bright Chinese market
Dusting away the brown dust. Greeted
by fireworks and lights red. He splendoured
Yuan dynasty at it’s best. King Chui
Hung’s 36th birthday
As beautiful exotic China lit up.
He searched. Eyes stopped. Saw Irene
In one of the palace balconies.
A smile reached his tired eyes. Queen.
He stood numb. Their eyes met.
The queen could lip read
“I will climb the gates tonight”
He whispered through wind that separated them
The traveller had reached his destination
“Oh Allah be praised, Jesus flourish
And Buddha I surrender, All mighty
ye granted me. My only wish”. They finally met
They met, made love. Wild and soothing Chinese night
“Nights and days. I’ve dreamt of thee. Return to me. With yellow men
a week. They played hide and seek.
He carried her on the steed and rode
away to the semi-golden horizon.
The Chinese hunted till Mid Arabia
And left the heated land. Just two miles
further from the laid tent
They were last seen
arm in arm by Abu Sheikh Khan.
The camel boy who rented them
the tents for two sovereigns. Who
grew old to tell the tale
To his sixteen grand children.
The tale of the savage and his passion
The tale of the princess and her true love.
Of all King Philip’s horses
And all Chui Hung’s men.
Who left defeated. None know
where they went. But the gypsy folklore
goes as such. The princess
married the savage
One rainy African afternoon.
Deep within the wild land.
Amongst pygmy friends
The hybrid of a noble woman.
And a cruel man.
Away from eastern dark
And ivory mountains.
Where they loved and lost.
Years later to be found in the east
To be lost forever.
Time found them.
Marriage bound them.
The Girl at The Window
The hostel’s brown and lift’s old
Reception is sleepy and kitchen squeaky
Toilets have do’s and dont’s. Phones missing
Found, missing. Carpet old tan Arabic Tunisia
Dark window faces Symonds street
Tube lights in AUT hostel gray’s green
Bang opposite is Crest on Mount
Waiting is a woman. Smoking at 2
I move. She stay and move to catch my eye.
A baitI hook and look and shut lights.
She goes in. Heart beats. Fast. Furious.
Excitement. Patience. 10 minutes. Nothing.
I see her. Back in black. Skin. A small
brassiere and panty that must smell exotic.
She looks in my dark direction. I breathe
Malaysian, Indonesian, Chinese, Singaporean.
I know not. She goes to pink mirror bathroom.
Light and nudity; jigsaw pieces. She walks bold
living room at 3. Takes me just 10 minutes
Hostel’s black. Lift’s dead. I live.
Floats she amongst flying doves
There’s a blue window
on the right that reflects
wonderous sights, smiles, frowns
many moods
catch I thy reflection
You hold my eye
Million shy lights
in pink and white
in blue and green
crazeee faded, jeans
birds fly home
caught in dilemma
your hair creates
million hearts beat
words are a buzz
Nothings normal anymore
Oh Red is such a pretty colour
Red on every shore
waves that float
around our worlds
passion defies
our spirit flies
A love song
gone missing
a feeling overpowering
freedom
Red every mind
love colourful
not blind. Wonderful
Geeta
Riding free wild blue skies
Just memory shy, twinkle eyes
Window face, Gentle winds, Hot
Cricket, Distant horizons where
Hearts don’t lie
Librarian Girl
Princess surrounded by Tintin, Ludlum, King.
Helping, smiling, sweet, Red Riding Hood.
Smile destroyed me. Don’t want to touch, kiss, lust
Just love. Cuddle forever hold. Found no strength
Then found strength to talk. “Can you get the
Internet going?” Something stirred. Divine blur.
Coldish warm August Auckland, morning. numbers
exchanged. Point Chev visited. Kisses ignite. Feelings
go to Warkworth, One Tree Hill, Waterview. Pak n Save
Sea Gulls, sparrows and Farmers. Green forests,
Volcanic mountains. Distant West City Ring movie.
Love. Warm with doubts of mother’s sexuality
Dreaded pill was amiss and confused tears end
Both strong to move on. Both lied. Calls turned
into fights into foes. Refused to see me.
Talk. Hear. Think. Met her just in dreams.
Green grass, wind-carved mountains
Love was gone and remained just blame.
Valentine
Valentine.Tomorrow
Waterview’s Bright
Red and Rosy, all heart.
Parted three years
you cried I knew,
hope you’d return
You didn’t.
Making Auckland, NZ
and Universe slightly empty.
