The Missing

Everyone's looking but you're nowhere to be found,
Only you know where you are,
Questions float around our minds,
Did you run away to start a new life?
Did someone take you?
Are you alive or dead?
Your family is worried, they love you,
They want you to come home,
They want you to be safe,
But there is no comfort for them, no resolution,
No clues, no leads,
You're just gone, the police conceed,
Millions of kilometres of bush land,
Millions of litres of ocean,
You could be anywhere.
There is no rest for us, 
No rest until you're home.


Author's note: For everyone who has ever known someone who has gone missing, whether they vanished for a day, a month, a year or forever. Sometimes there are clues, sometimes a person disappears without a trace, either way, it's hard to lose someone you love, particularly if you're not able to get closure about where someone is or what happened to them. I hope this gives you something.

A haiku: Pohutakawa

Royalty,
Walking red carpets,
Summer Wellington streets.


Author's note: A haiku is a Japanese style of poem. They usually have three lines with 10-17 syllables. It's supposed to be a show not tell style of writing, after all, there's not much you CAN tell in 17 syllables. I think every Wellingtonian will know this image, without much telling.

A self portrait

Her bright blue eyes stare into mine,
They pierce my soul with their intensity,
They are a window into her mind,
An often brilliant place, where dreams do come true,
But not always, sometimes darkness fills her mind,
A darkness that extinguishes all beauty, all light,
A blanket of blackness and negativity take over,
Blackness that cannot be easily pushed aside or lightened.
Her eyes are the most beautiful, sunny day,
There's not a cloud in the sky,
Her eyes portray a life she wished she had,
A life and a happiness that is not a lie.

This is why you're fat

Things I regret:

The chocolate after every meal,
The wine I thought would help me heal.
The ice creams on every hot day,
And sometimes even the cold couldn’t keep me away.
The chippies I ate while lying on the couch,
And the lollies I kept in my bag in a pouch.
The times I didn’t get up and dance,
The pizza I ate without a second glance.
The cake I ate on the day of my birth,
And at other times, increased my girth.
The times I turned down a walk,
In the mirror I can’t help but gawk.

Now I know why my pants don’t fit,
No more luxuries I’ll permit.

The Election Blues

It’s been a week since they voted you back into power,
I’m so angry and sad, in the corner I cower,
The majority of our country can’t see the real you,
So now you can do all the evil you want to do,
Your supporters are horrible they boo and jeer,
For your opponents, it’s rude and really not fair,
This whole situation sends me into fits of rage,
But there’s nothing I can do, our country feels like a cage,
Next time will be different; we can’t give up hope,
It’s only three more years that we must cope.

The Child Speaks

Author's note: Child abuse in New Zealand is rampant. It's horrific and it's sad. For some reason, parents in this country are so angry and no one's really sure why or how to stop it. This poem is based on this story but it's not the first and it's not the last.


It was hot, the sun was shining, the day I took my final breath.

Kids were running around the neighbourhood, screaming with joy,
But I wasn’t screaming with joy.

I was a good, happy child, I could do no harm,
But they could never see that.

They threatened me and I got scared,
I had an accident.

They were furious,
They hit me again and again and again.

I screamed as loud as I could,
Hoping someone would come, someone would save me,
But they didn’t.

I wished I could go back to the people who loved me,
I didn’t understand what I did to make these people so mad.

Now it’s too late,
The sun was shining the day my parents killed me.

The Dream

We lie naked in each other’s arms,
Lazy Sunday’s in bed together are quality time,
We read Postsecret,
Then I make breakfast.
I want to share my secrets with you,
Every single one, things I’ve never told anyone.
I can depend on you,
Trust you more than I’ve ever trusted someone.
At night, we cuddle on the couch and watch films,
Til you fall asleep in my arms, or I in yours.
Together we walk hand in hand along the beach,
Or down the road,
Or while we drive from one end of the country to the other.
My hand and my life feel empty when you’re not around,
My heart physically hurts for you,
The love is so deep, so strong,
When I find you, I’ll never let you go,
It’s forever and for always.

Lessons from the dancefloor

Author's note: This poem is kind of graphic or intimate or personal or something so you have been warned. I guess you're used to reading that kind of thing from me by now though.
It is a rough draft of the poem but also the final version. I wrote it while I was out and didn't change it so it's raw so may not be perfect but I like the way it works.
I'm sorry I haven't written an actual blog in months, I haven't felt the need but I have been writing SO much poetry, it's been awesome. Maybe I've just changed my writing style, blogging isn't doing it for me but I can't stop writing poems. Thinking about releasing a book sometime soon.
Here goes:

Twirling and swirling around the dance-floor and my mind,
She moves like a woman half her size,
Dancing with every girl but me.
She's big but beautiful,
I watch her ass shake through her skirt,
It leaves me breathless.
Drink in one hand, camera in the other,
Cigarette hanging out her mouth, she's all class.
Massive breasts roll like waves on water,
Tattooed legs dance in rhythm with the music,
She turns me on more with every move.
Oh, fat bottomed girls,
You truly do make my rockin' world go 'round.

The Smiling Assassin

Key, Key, stop fucking with me,
Everything you do, I disagree.

Why must you be so cruel?
You don’t need more money to heat your pool.

Take from the poor and give to the rich,
You don’t care if we have to live in a ditch.

The smile doesn’t quite reach the eyes,
The promises continue to turn into lies.

Lie upon lie, day after day,
You don’t think marriage is okay for gays.

But people are stupid; they’re being fooled,
They’ll re-elect you ‘cause they think you’re cool.

Mr Key, I hope you’re ashamed,
Your government’s caused nothing but pain.

Keep smiling and waving, smiling and waving,
That’s the Key to the hell you’re paving.

I walked under a bus, got hit by a train, keep falling in love which is kind of the same

Love is a bus, if you miss it, there will be another arriving in ten minutes.
If your bus is late, it is likely two busses will come at once.
When the bus is in motion, thoughts go round and round like wheels.
The first person you sit next to on the bus may not always be the one you will sit next to for the whole ride.
It is an expensive mistake if you forget to tag off.
Getting on the wrong bus will make you feel lost but you can always get off and change busses.
Sometimes your bus will break down but break downs can always be fixed with a little effort.
Sometimes lots of people have ridden the bus before you but don’t let that stop you from enjoying the ride.
Busses are heavy machinery, getting hit by them really hurts, so caution must be exercised at all times.

George

In many directions the cat stretches
Before lying down on the mat
His fur glistens in the sunlight
Life is easy, making him fat

Then his nose twitches,
What does he smell?
A rat scuttles around the house
But soon it will be quelled.

He gets up slowly,
Crouches and takes aim,
Then when the moment is right
He runs with intent to maim.

But quickly he realises,
In him his owners have over-indulged
The rat runs too fast
For the cat and his belly-bulge.

He feels humiliated and mad
As he stalks back to the house
How could he be outrun and outwitted
By a creature as dumb as a mouse?

His owners sit on the couch
With a blanket over their knees
Up he jumps and wriggles around
‘Til into their blanket he can squeeze.

He feels warm and comforted
As his owners stroke his fur
Who needs stupid rats?
Purr purr purr purr.

Confusion, always confusion

Thoughts of you swirl in my head,
bringing questions I was certain I had put to bed.
Just when I thought I knew,
the answers were mine but there was you.
You came into my life so fast it made my head spin,
then disappeared just as quick, it should be a sin.
You left in your path a web of confusion in my brain,
I don't know if I can do this to myself again.
Wrong time, wrong place,
once again it'll end in disgrace.
I like you but you're someone I've only just met,
the only way this can end is with regret.
You felt so good in my arms,
warm and comforting, I could come to no harm.
But then again, so did he,
now, once more the decision is up to me.

Taking Back My Power

Grinding into me, grabbing my hips,
Your touch makes me shiver.

You make me sick to my stomach,
Did I ask you to do this to me?

“NO! STOP!” I scream,
A look of realisation dawns on your face.

People start to stare,
Guilt creeps into your eyes.

You walk away.

But then you’re back,
Was I not clear enough?

You’re close enough now that I can smell your breath: stale beer and cigarettes,
Is that why you don’t understand the meaning of no?

I punch you in the nose and shove you away,
“GO AWAY!” I scream

Even over the live band, people hear my cries for help,
A look of horror appears on your face, now you understand.

Three men approach you but you’ve already started to stalk away,
They grab you and drag you out into the night.

I’ve taken my power back,
You didn’t win; I will never let you win.

Creeps like you don’t scare me,
I did nothing wrong.

My world changes and my trust for men returns,
Caution remains but now I know how to fight back.




Authors note: Back in September I had a bad experience at a bar and a few nights ago I was talking to someone about it and they said when they had a bad experience similar to this, they did a painting but then in order to take their power back, that was taken away from them at this experience, they did another painting that was the opposite to the first.
It's a way to make yourself feel better because although I can't change what happened that night in reality, in fiction I can so this is the poem that changes what happened. This is what should have happened that night and what will happen if anything like this ever happens again.
He scared me, he changed the way I act, for the last three months instead of dancing, I've just stood against the wall but now I realise, fuck it, why let that creep win? He probably doesn't even remember what happened anymore so why should I still let that experience affect me?
Well no more, this, in my mind is what happened that night, I'm taking back my power.

Varelai.

The Man On The Train Opposite To Mine

“You and I locked eyes between nightly trains.

You were on the 5:30 going east,
While I was on the 5:12 going south.

We were both tired after a long day.

The ring on your finger tells a story,
But I did not want to read such a thing.

I imagine your smell: cologne and soap.

When I look into your eyes my heart melts,
Like a drop of chocolate on the tongue.
While in my eyes you soared without a care,
Like an endless sky on a sunny day.

As my train pulls away from the station,
You watch me go and as fast as it began,
Our love fades away into memory.”


Authors note: This is a poem I wrote the other day while I was on the train waiting for it to leave from the station to take me home from work and noticed an attractive stranger across from me on a separate train going elsewhere.

I wrote the poem originally on the train but later changed it into the format of a Shakespearian sonnet. This format means each line has 10 syllables and there are 14 lines in all. Unfortunately I was unable to follow the rhyming part of the sonnet which goes AB-AB-CD-CD-EF-EF-GG, meaning the last word in line A rhymes with the last word in A and so on. It would have complicated the poem too much at this point but the challenge of getting the poem to 10 syllables in each line was challenge enough.

And I may have used a little poetic license as we didn’t ACTUALLY lock eyes, I stared at him but he never turned towards me, he continued to stare straight ahead so I only saw his face from the side. And I don’t actually know where he was going and at what time. But as a poet, you are allowed to make things up when you find your muse, who is otherwise a perfect target for a poem.

And now, here is my favourite Shakespeare sonnet, it’s formally known as Sonnet 130 (as Shakespeare didn’t usually name his sonnets) but also known as “My Mistress’ Eyes…”


“My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress when she walks treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.”

As you can see, he follows his sonnet format with the AB-AB-CD-CD-EF-EF-GG rhyming and the fact there’s 14 lines in all and 10 syllables in each.
Although on the matter of syllables, it can be debated that some lines actually have 9 or 11 syllables but it depends how you say some words such as “damasked”.
I really like this sonnet just because he describes this woman who is anything but perfect, in fact, she’s just plain normal, but he loves her anyway.
Most people in poems try to make a person something they’re not, even I do it, for example my line about how he smells. How do I know he smells like that? He might smell like sweat and body odour but in my mind, he smells as good as he looks.
I like that Shakespeare doesn’t make his woman anything she’s not, he admits that her breath stinks and her voice doesn’t sound like gorgeous music but he loves her for all her imperfections and knows her well enough to admit she has these flaws.

Authors note is longer than the poem itself, typical!

Varelai.

The John to my Taupin

Age just a number,
Maturity should matter.

Wise beyond my years,
But not where it counts.

You were a gentleman and made me feel special,
But eight years came between us.

Your music and humour brightened my life,
Without you the dark ages have come again.

Magical fast fingers,
I wanted to be the one you used them on.

Age restrictions legally, socially, romantically,
Always a barrier but I thought we'd be different.

Things have changed for the worst,
We can't even be friends.

The love of your life is yet to be found,
But when she is, she'll be the luckiest of women.

You'll treat her like a princess,
You'll be the king of husbands.


Varelai.

You'll always be my favourite one

For you... If you read this you'll know who you are but you won't read it and you'll never know. A fact for which I'm deeply glad.

If sarcasm was the lowest form of wit, he'd score below zero.
If religion saved lives, he'd be dead.
If his words to me were the sun, he'd be a Wellington summer.
If knowledge was a fountain, he'd be overflowing.
If music was a colour, he'd be a rainbow.
If clothes made the man, he'd be more man than most.
If humour was a flock of sheep, he'd be New Zealand.
If intelligence had a number, he'd be pushing a trillion.
If nerves were earthquakes, he'd send me to Wellington.
If looks could kill, he'd be a serial murderer.
If movies were stars, he'd be the night sky.
If a friend was a blade of grass, he'd have a field.
If smiles were lightbulbs, he'd glow the brightest.
If eyes were windows, he'd be a view to a watery paradise.
If bodies were art, he'd be the most beautiful and saught-after.
If facial expressions told a story, he'd be a novel.
If hair was the world, he'd change like the weather.
If secrets were oceans, he'd be deep in my depths.

If I were better, maybe he'd like me.

Varelai.