Memiors, My Poetry, People, Personal, Poetry, writing

Two-Headed Coin

You said you’d love me, till I lay cold in a box of walnut with silver handles; now I turn the electric blanket to two, and keep my socks on at night. You promised to wear your ring with pride, but melted it down for thirty dollars, You wanted to fall asleep inside me; rock… Continue reading Two-Headed Coin

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Animals, My Photos, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Pets, Poetry, writing

The Hunt

Rounded yellow eyes track movement up a wall, life’s short

Animals, Birds, My Photos, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, New Zealand, Poetry, writing

Tui

standing out amongst the dawn chorus a lone Tui takes the solo  

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Notes

A new CD, the notes bounce across the carpet.

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Envelope

An envelope larger than the rest, familiar scrawl I’m not forgotten

Celebrities, My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Rupert

  yellowed pages from 1910 his words dislodge perception

My Poetry, Poetry, writing

Requiem for the alien

Her brown eyes stare at the Y fork in the road. As he turns the car left, she’s back in the taupe coloured room, looking down past her legs spread wide, a pair of grey eyes staring – the colour of steel – above a white slash of cloth that covered the lower half of… Continue reading Requiem for the alien

My Poetry, My Small Stones Poetry, Poetry, writing

Mask

# concealed in the reflection, my shattered face a broken self #

Fiction, Funny Stuff, writing

Abelard’s Pissior

Abelard struggled through the tavern. Each step was difficult as he felt his bowels rumble in warning. He sucked his butt cheeks firmly together and prayed he would make it through the mass of tightly packed bodies. The heat from the crowd gave the tavern a sickly moist aroma. Discretely passing small flourishes of wind… Continue reading Abelard’s Pissior

Africa, Memiors, Personal, Travel, writing

The Graveyard

It’s early. Twenty folk of various ages and nationalities, one broken orange Bedford truck and trailer, a cattle track, and a graveyard in Tanzania are my companions. It’s hot in or out of the sun. How hot is difficult to say since our thermometer blew up, but sweat runs from under my breasts leaving lengthy… Continue reading The Graveyard