Eyes and Ears

Christchurch 15/03/19

This is not who we are,
this is not who we are;
before it all falls apart,
hear us: kia kaha.

While the thoughts of the distant
surely do little now,
know that this little
waits to do more, anyhow.

The edge of the world
is reddened tonight,
but here the sun rises early
bringing more than her light.

With her come tomorrows,
with her comes the way
to dispel darkest shadows
from darkest days.

This is not who we are,
this is not who we are.
We will not fall apart;
hear us: kia kaha.

From Paper Thin Lyrics

Not so deep as he had hoped,
but deeper than he thought,
and further than the lusting gaze
of foreign lovers sought.
Every poet has his deaths
(herein the po’try lies),
and at the end of a glazed mind
can meaning yet arise.

This

The nature of this is a complex thing.
Life hurts; physically mostly,
but sometimes more.
Limbs fall by the wayside,
a jaw slackens,
and organs work only haphazardly.

But all this is countered
in some form or another:
there is laughter in life,
a new and evolving world
picks up where I fall apart,
and the pen is increasingly digital.

Yet I fear certain things;
a certain, specific incompatibility
with the world.
An embrace is always an ability away,
and a slow dance, a close dance
was never designed for me.

Still, today the pain
is only physical.
Today, I may live
and love
and embrace and dance
through others’ arms.

Last Call

I drank my fair share,
put away more than I can remember.
And the truth is, I miss it.
I do not regret the pact I have made
to live a sober life,
but I question it sometimes…
There were nights of smoking pipes
in the drizzling rain
while surrounded by happy friends.
Then again, there’s a certain film
I can no longer watch…
The alcohol gave for certain liberation,
took away anxieties that have
plagued my mind for years.
Then again, there’s a certain person
who wishes never to see me again…
Alcohol came with ups and downs,
but so did life.
I have many drunken regrets,
but I have many sober regrets.
And on a night like this,
downing a bottle and singing
the wrong words to Les Champs-Elysees…
It sounds quite nice, is all.

Two Worlds

Fresh cut grass, old and rusty braziers,
a couple of empty beer bottles lying about the house;
there is laughter in these walls,
usually my favourite kind,
but it is a world of certain solitudes for those who differ.

Whitewashed walls, inspired paintings,
a labyrinth of classrooms where I long and struggle to be;
there is hope in these walls,
there is peace,
but it is a world of certain solitudes for those who differ.

Some Days

I wish I could tell you
how the sun reaches,
how the shadows crawl
on a Sunday afternoon.

I wish I could speak
of the pure white pavement
or the countless cars
behind the chapel.

If I could only tell you
of the beautiful people,
the beautiful souls…
But not today.

From time to time,
a broken mind cracks sensibility,
and sound becomes
nothing more than noise.

‘Dark grey clouds’

Dark grey clouds
without silver line
wander across
a southern sky.
They bring the rain
in spotted ways,
they bring a darkness
to today.
And yet, for a moment
amidst the clouds,
the sky breaks through
that hopeless shroud;
just a glimpse
of hopeful blue,
enough to bring
a hopeful hue.