Extra Vehicular -29/03/2011

.

late hour bike ride
through a quietly satisfied mind

quiet as I get
mindful as I am
satisfied as the shrug
that got me going
and that is gentle's going rate
'round here

gently
keep coming back to myself
ride
to keep coming back to this
really
that's why they call us
cyclists

these circles I ride
run rings around
everything I got
there is more of me
here
than any turn
in my room or a mirror
or a mouth
could describe

this D-lock heart
eyes flashing my torchlight
my legwork like the cable stretch
like fenders rattling out my breath
it's high-time watermark of sweat
across my eyeline

two wheels length
into an asphalt carpet ride
atop waves of green light
daydream by night
pedals are turning into earphones
you use to listen in on
those moments

each
too much too fast to share
too near to get a good angle on
too perfect to be held for long


in these awkward handle-barred hands.








_______________________









-Peace














.

Morning Period -21/03/2011

.

wreckage in pyjamas

throned on stubble
and early afternoon funk
clocked unmoving
crumbed dusty skin flakes
lint spills
over a coffee cup ring pattern
echoing a half eaten bowl
music looped over finality

repeated play
of the first unshared morning
into the next
and the next

a closed door
man behind the curtain
unshowered cereal scooping soggy spoonfuls
of wall shadow
into an empty mouth
lump sum swallowing things to say
sunken stares at blinking cursors
facing glare

their photos looking back
ones they both took
but that only he


will bother keeping










_____________________













-Peace








.

This Place (Cape Reinga) -20/03/2011

.



The End.



Not a final destination
or the last day on your journey
but one of its definitive edges.

Northern most point
of New Zealand
as far as you go
before ocean
collides with sea
Maori believe this is the point
from where souls depart
to their ancestral homeland

Ahead
it’s blue until the Earth turns away
behind you
cliffs are running back in all directions
leaving you
high-quiet
still-standing
calm and alone

Peace is here
in it’s extreme
empty until deadly
like a desert
that makes you want for nothing
except stopping
or mountains that moved
you
moved you so far back into yourself
you had nothing left
for a return
for the outsiders world

Never been here before
but this place knows you too well
not a place you can stay
no welcomes
or unwelcome
coast that simply doesn’t care
about any wound up
mortal coiling
of your learning curves

This place takes from you
wandering lusts
all your inadequate things to say
filling up with silence
like you really want to listen
like the respect you’d show at a funeral

This isn’t about dying
but this monumental place
growing so big inside you
that the departure
strips you down like death
it depths in your distances
you don’t dare ignore

Whatever happens after
will inevitably
have to be fresh

wherever you go
from here on
has to be



A new beginning.









_____________________











-Peace










.

BREASTS (Live video with Freaky Meat at The Tool Room, Auckland) -24/02/2011

.


The infamous mammoglandular frantic rant of a poem performed as the last piece of my second set at the Tool Room, with Freaky Meat. I'm pretty happy with my performance here and the building response from the crowd as it goes on. Following on from the last video clip, there's a lot of unusual camera work here, some of it quite effective.






After my antics, Shane takes centre-stage with the lads as they go on to perform One Eyed Jackson~ a truly not true story, followed a tale of pub-revolt in Westport, a truly true story. Surely.




check them out more-so at: www.freakymeat.co.nz



If you're having trouble viewing the above clip, click on this direct link to YouTube below:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vo6VLPSPXro





________________________







-Peace










.

Kia Ora Koutou Aotearoa (Thank you New Zealand) -16/03/2011

.



Ok, I know this is stupidly long. The problem composing letters like this is you will inevitably forget somebody, maybe a few bodies. I’ve tried not to, but assuming I screw up and do forget (you), let me start by backing up a little and say one or two general things about New Zealand and the people there:

The friendliness, hospitality and generosity of New Zealanders is such that for the 59 days of this trip, I only spent 4 nights in paid-for accommodation, many times staying with people who had never even met me before.

One time, I got lost in Wellington and when I asked a man for directions, instead of simply explaining my error, he offered to drive me where I needed to get to. That’s the type of generosity that just leaves you feeling both humbled and kind of ashamed too, in a strange way.





So: Thank you Miriam Barr and Renee Liang for trying to introduce me to other poets around Auckland and the rest of New Zealand. It was you two who really got the ball rolling for me, and I could really see the effort you put into putting me in touch with the right folks, which made everything else possible.








Annora Gallop, thank you for inviting me along to the Opononi reading, and your gracious hospitality such a welcoming and friendly bunch in such an idyllic setting, and incidentally, in going North there you gave me the excuse I needed to go all the way to the top, which I may not have done otherwise.

Christian Jensen, thanks for the Auckland poetry live gig and the pre-show slot at the Fringe Festival, for inviting me into your home and giving me my first chance to actually meet all these facebook-friended New Zealand poets I’d been chatting to for months.





Thanks also to Michael Botur for your great photos from that gig, and your kind words, it was a pleasure to share the same stage as your anthropological self.





Thanks to Mike Rudd for likewise inviting me into your home, and rescuing me from my Metropolitan squalor, for spending time listening to my belly ache and swapping all those war stories with me, but most importantly for bringing me back down to Earth when I lost sight of the common ground we share.

Thanks to Ciaran Fox for putting me up on stage at Catalyst in Christchurch. As I’m writing this it’s early March and still difficult to mention this poetry reading without talking around the subsequent earthquake. Tragedy brings on the tendency in us to romanticise and overlook petty complaints or problems, so it might sound suspiciously insincere to say (now) this was my overall favourite gig, from the enthusiasm in how Catalyst promoted it online, to the turnout on the night, to the quality and variety of the open stage, to the immense and palpable –welcome- I got from Doc, Ciaran, Tril Lion and everyone there.




The vibe of that place just felt lovely, it truly was a privilege to be there. Maybe it’s wrong to say this but –it was definitely on my mind when making the decision to donate to help the people of this city.




A McHuge size thank you to Jane Dixon of the Mussel Inn, for taking the chance of putting a sweaty, dishevelled and unknown interloper up on your nationally-renown stage for a night.



As a result of this gig, something deep has permanently shifted inside me that night as far as confidence and ambition for my work, and the feeling that I can and should take it beyond conventional poetry circles.


Though not to slight those poetry circles, and certainly not ones such as Poetic justice in Wanaka, where Liz Breslin and Laura Williamson put me on for their Rage Against The Valentine, anti-valentine reading.



Of all the readings, this was one where I was given an assignment for, and therefore got very excited about doing. The night was a laugh from start to finish, and probably goes down as my favourite open mike section, to the point I decided to poach a few people’s poems for my next covers gig.





Laurice Glibert, thank you for featuring me at 2011 first NZ Poetry Society meeting, I freely admit I was really floored by the name and expected some arch-conservative literary horror show. Boy was I wrong! Laurice’ own poem about ogling a young waiter steamed the room in a way I won’t soon forget, and the Q&A session afterwards with the other poets was a really nice touch, such a fun night.








Greg Brimblecombe of the Thames Poets Circle was an absolute champ in looking after me, and I had the easiest time in organising a gig with you, yes it was a quiet, but because of that intimate, evening, where barriers between audience and performer truly vanished, which was really cool. Thanks for letting me stay at your place too Greg, and peruse your DVD and amazing book collections. Silly of me not to make more time so I could explore the Coromandel area, but oh well, that’s what next time is for.





Shane Hollands and the other Freaky Meat lads. What a great night we had there in Titarangi, I think our styles married together really well and I have to say of the music-poetry crossover/collaborations I’ve seen (including mine) Freaky Meats has to have been the best, and I’m so glad we’ve got the footage now to prove it. Shane, I feel you and I are really kindred spirits in a lot of ways and thanks so much for not just squeezing me in, but really making me feel welcome and part of the evening.





Now of this stupidly long list there are two individuals I wanted to give special praise to (apropos, one’s a North Islander, the other South) Gus Simonovic and Mary McGill respectively.

These were people who went out of their way (like, Melbourne to NZ via Alaska out of their way) to help make things happen, who not only delivered on what I asked, but did extra, who showed interest in the work and an ability to get it out there in front of enthusiastic crowds, and were just so damn nice about it too, never making me feel like I was imposing. Gus and Mary, simply speaking, you guys rock, and I can’t say enough about how I respect what you each are doing with your art, and admire your energy.





Gus said to me several times that if there were a few people like me in NZ, the whole poetry scene would be revolutionised. Gus, you got it all backwards mate, we need more people like you over there, certainly not me.





At times on stage New Zealand brought out the best in me, and off stage it brought out the worst in me. I had a lot of hopes and expectations of myself on this trip, got high on my own histrionics at times and inadvertently caused offence where none was intended For better and worse, my art comes from places of deep but shifting unrest, dissatisfaction and hunger within myself. For as long as I’ve written and performed, I’ve retained an irreverent attitude to poets, poetry and poetry gigs, and a sensibility for not taking oneself too seriously –and taking less seriously than that, anyone else who does. This is neither apology nor excuse, as I’ve already provided those.

Beyond the koha for Christchurch or however my rants on stage effected people, it’s my wish to leave behind something more. I’m not the first or hopefully the last Australian poet to visit New Zealand (on business), the way was paved for me by many others. However, there certainly was no prescribed way of doing this, no tour circuit as such, and I had to put in a lot of hard work, networking to find poetry, performance gigs and open stages spaces across the country, and now that I have that information I’d really to use it to help others.

So if anyone, either side of the Tasman, would like information or advice about where and how to get around the different parts of New Zealand I’d be happy to share it.





For the few cold shoulders I caught, on the chin, there were plenty others who are open and appreciative of visitors, and in audiences across both islands of the country, overwhelmingly I felt welcome and accepted. Several times I was asked if I’d ever consider moving to New Zealand. My answers each time got less and less clear and required more thought. There was one distinct occasion where I was thrown off completely –temporarily forgetting that I live somewhere else, not this country with a population smaller than that of Melbourne.

I’ve gotten better at travelling light, it’s necessary with all that movement you do touring, packing and unpacking and sooner or later you’ll end up leaving something behind. I wanted to take home the burnt coal air smell of the west coast town I was born in, the taste of L&P, Bluebird Chips, or Speights (though I have found a bottle-o that has Macs beer here!)

What I left behind deliberately was 40 odd copies of my CD, hundreds of lot of smiling faces, and dozens of invitations to come visit me in Melbourne, what I’ve brought back with me is lots of good will from the places I’ve visited and shared my creativity with others.

My experience of New Zealand was broad, rich, exciting, challenging and ultimately fulfilling. There are many more poems I have to finish/edit about my experiences there and still other yet that only exist as seeds in my mind. I look forward to growing them out and sharing them with you, as New Zealand has shared itself with me, and helped me grow.

Thank you poets, artists and friends in New Zealand. See you again some day!


Peace.



-Randall $tephens
March 16th 2011







.

Hold, still -14/03/2011

.





I will hold you outside your comfort zone

against all that squirming struggle
your fearful convulsing
protest cum panic
bad because the brightness of the light
big here above the undergrowth
scared for length of the shadows
weirded-out by the loud noises
the wind howling
at our lack of balance

drag you there
against volition
because listen
I need you
need you to see with me
over this edge
where there’s a ledge
where life is living itself
outside it's own skin
more abundant

I will hold you outside your comfort zone
being your un-safety harness
and your trust
will have to come rough
I have to keep forcing you
to stand on
and look down over
edging across exposed jagged face
of the wall
dangling triumphantly high
way up high in these stakes
from which we might fall

outside the marginal safety
colours here smack of discomfort zone
blood noses
gotten to get deep red into the roses
and mornings in hues of blue
spent with heads that ache
of heart slices
pink scars across starting lines
chalked out false in sweat-rash acts
black outs acted out
wrong turn words of hurt

I will hold you outside your comfort zone
where we can’t retrace ways
going back to our worst days
selfish or self-less messes
we got through
came good
and I left messages
correct in white out fluid
running right down your mirror
so I could reflect on the risk
when saying
out beyond bodily strain

I love you

leave those words stained
across my many names
altering the rules of our silly games
playing at hearts untamed
knowing now
there's no going back to the same-same

I've had to push you
now I have to hold you
outside of your comfort zone

but here I'll hold you
and will hold you
hold you safe



and I won’t let you go.














__________________________








-Peace






.

Holes -13/03/2011

.


I came through you
whole

ten fingers but under-towed
came back to sure
shaking out my back arch
chewing on my own jaw
sweating out my tear track
into the groove of a scar

came through
with that crooked line
tried burning you out my blood
for the leech you've been
angry mouthing out your holes into me
where I'd never had them
before sucking out excuses
and spitting out my inside

like mad

I had

to pull at these wounds
while you still covered my skin
had to salt the bloated feeds
off me
bleed myself free
from you

in a grimace
like a four year old's scraped bloody knees
on concrete
lips trembling back tears to give
they're mine and you can't have 'em
posturing like I'm straight-tall
enough
to get over you

rage

must remain

behind
move on now

just sad

find

myself

emptier
than all my best threats spent
and only dark spaces left
as I look up to the night sky

your holes
I fell into
but I have come through

you
and got back here



whole.





_____________________________








-Peace








.

Live at The Tool Room, Auckland (Video) -24/02/2011

.







Above is a video of my first set supporting Shane Hollands' band Freaky Meat at a gig in Auckland on Thursday 24th February, at a groovy little bar called the Tool Room.


I'm still getting the hang of video-embedding, so if you're having trouble seeing the video full frame, here's a link to the original on YouTube:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VuwGQZ3ju9Q


Performing:
1) Man Alive
2) Buddy Wakefield's "Convenience Stores"
3) Except For Architecture in Helsinki

The camera here is really dynamic, I just love it, though it was really distracting at the time (watch me actually shoo him away at one point and tell him off), the results are unlike anything I've seen before.


Thanks again Shane!





There's a big long-winded thank you letter in the works for the NZ tour which I will blog here shortly, I wanna get that just right first. Meanwhile, I'm off with a friend to go hide in the Blue Mountains for a week.

Anyway, hope you enjoy watching the video as much as I enjoyed performing alongside the band. Cheers




___________________________






-Peace




.

Randall $tephens puts mouth where his money is -24/02/2011

.

Mr Dollars is going to donate any payments or sales he has received while in New Zealand, dollar-for-dollar (i.e for every 1.00 NZ$ I will donate 1.00 AU$) to help the people of Christchurch recover/rebuild from this awful disaster. It's currently around the $500 mark.

I will also be donating my cut and CD sales from the 2 Sydney gigs I'm doing early next week (Text Styles #5 -Monday 28/2 and Word in Hand Tuesday 1/3). As both these gigs have door charge -please tell your Sydney friends to come along.

I'm also thinking about organising reading a selection of my NZ-written poetry as a benefit gig when I get back to Melbourne, if you'd like to be involved (know a venue that could help us?), please get in touch with me ASAP.







My love, condolences and best wishes for the people of Canterbury.









-Peace





.

A Lazy re-post from my facebook NZ group -16/02/2011

.
(well look, at least I'm not mis-labelling anything, ay)

(from the Bayhouse gig, Taraunga Bay, Westport gig -04/02/2011)

DISPATCHES FROM THE FRONT LINES:

...in our last installment I was cliffhanging myself off the deep end in the waters of lake Wanaka.

As always, it went well, and as always it was a small-ish crowd, which was threatening to be a really smallish crowd, before I went and started spruking (all the more confusing for the local tourists because they don't use the word 'spruking' here) Yes I said local-tourists, I know what I mean, even if you don't, and hey stop interrupting me! Because yeah it would have been an entirely female audience otherwise and considering I was about to launch several volleys of severed head black-plague ridden and on fire attacks over the castle walls in this pitch battle of the sexes called 'romance' I needed some equalisers.

As it is, we got a few more coming up stairs and up-stares and I delivered a fairly well modulated selection of valentine and anti-valentine pieces, and kinda toned down the misogynistic rant-stuff, for the most part I played nice with the opposite. No, the tone of the night was irreverant enough, my Obsession song I think just strayed a little too far into... wherever that thing goes, while 'Breasts' was the single strongest performer by far, and one I never get tired of doing.

(ah the sentences you can end up typing sometimes...)

So where am I now?

Well, despite best laid plans it's no place that's called Dunedin, I'm afraid. I'm am this morning hiding in my uncle's study in Christchurch. Truth is, I just kind of hit a wall last night. No, not like in the way I fused my left metacarpal bone in the lobby of a Bourke Street nightclub three-and-a-bit years back, I hit a proverbial, metaphysical wall, struck that unfortunate up rush of reality, where blowing your savings on a trip to perform poetry in an odd country on the odd night to the odd group of sometimes-smiling faces for free starts to feel oddly all too much like chalking sidewalks in a language no one speaks in the pitch dark of a cold night... and doing so badly.

So meh, I decided it's a day or two out, catching up on writing and admin, and save my wallet some heavy lifting. I'm sticking around here like so many dried shit flakes on the treaded soul of Christchurch now until the 18th. Dunedin was just gonna be a basically a day getting there, a day back and a short set of open mike stuff for a bunch of mildly complimentary students and backpackers whom I'd then scribble down the contact details of on back or receipts then later forget to add on facebook or couchsurfing while promising they can all come stay at my house especially the cute ones 'cause I live right near the city centre and blah-blah-blah.

Nope, given another day or two (and incidentally a place to stay) I would have loved to get down to Dunedin, but I'm afraid that will have to wait for the next trip. Annoying mainly for the fact that Emilie Zoe Baker told me to go down there, and if EZB gives you advice, you take it, if you know what's good for you.

Meanwhile, the weather sunny, I'm saving money, rhyming badly and typing mad... uh, furiously.

Where to next you ask me? Again you interrupt me while neglecting to look at my tour dates entry, which is buried back in weeks of entries and now hopelessly out of date and lacking any details anyway, (shame on you nonetheless), well if you'd just let me finish... jeez... I can, yes I will, tell you I'm off to Auckland on Friday. To do a gig?

No.

Wait a second though Randall (again, these interruptions are getting intolerable), but didn't you say you were doing a support gig that night, Friday 18th? Oh yes, but that was before the person who offered it to me over a bowl of non-alcoholic punch a few weeks back, whom I was yeah, ironically, at the time bitching to about kiwis and poets generally being quaintly unreliable, who has now himself decided to go incommunicado on me, after I booked the flight up. So yay, another night off in Auckland. Oh but this time, I'm ready for it... I can see Auckland coming like that bull on the streets of Varanasi that starting charging at me (albeit after I spent to long posing for a photo pretending to face off with it). Dodge. I'm gonna dodge my down time in Auckland and come out of looking every bit as silly as I did on the streets of India. With so much bull.

I'll check in with you before then, but my next actual gig is Saturday 19th for the good folks of IN VOICE AND MUSIC,
check out the link below:

http://www.scoop.co.nz/stories/CU1102/S00084/in-voice-and-music-at-wallace-art-centre.htm

________________________





-Peace


.

Golden Bay Boy -7/2/2011

.

Hello, is thing on?

Ok. Where are we?

If my calculations are correct by the time you read this I will have typed it sometime in the past, in a year before broadband was invented.

I've travelled back in time to tell you and warn myself where it all went wrong,

though I'm not actually sure,

because in the process of trying to warn I've killed myself before I could invent time travel.

Or my grandfather did.

Or before I could invent my grandfather.

But either way, I got here here late and so is he.

Damn it.

Anyway from temoral paradox to temperate paradise... I'm in Golden Bay, up to my neck in it, joined to it at the hip and stuck to it like adhesive Randall (that's brand-randall) or those weird hook things on cat's tongues.

Sleeping in a rental car by the beach and trying to convince Anne to give me a gig at the Mussell Inn, only problem is her name's not Anne but Jane ans while she was too polite to remind me of that, she wasn't too polite to point out that I am not actually a trio of good looking scandanavian girls who play killer strings.

I forgot that.

But my memory problems aside, she is gonna try and squeeze me in, I just have to stick around her a while. Tough break.

Never just turned up somewhere and asked for a gig before.

But there's nothing to it really, I just had to spend an hour having coffee with her to talk enough distance between myself and every other poet she'd ever met by ragging on most every poet I've ever met (nono y'see, I wasn't responsible for the entertainment massgraves left in poetry's wake, I was one of the good Nazis who never saw anything or asked questions, your honour)

Meanwhile, internet steals my time and money.

If I don't make it back, you call in the airstrike.

My name is Randall $tephens and I got here as soon as I could.

Out.



________________________________________


Ok, in other news, yeah yeah I have gigs coming up, Wanaka 14th, Lyttleton 15th, and maybe Dunedin 16/17th. Before my extended-revenge bout with Auckland begins. Will advise when I'm not paying by the nostril for net time.

___________________________

What? Oh you still want a poem eh? Ok, you want a poem~

No

There. There's a poem. My favourite poem.

-Peace







.

The Droids You're Looking For (aka Backpacker) -01/02/2011

.


You can get a lift there
but the ride back’s not too certain

you can sleep on it
but it’s not your couch

you can let yourself out
but it’s not your house to return to

you’re free all day
but on someone else’ schedule

minutes flat
make yourself not at home

get ready to go
find the next floor or corner
to fit yourself into

space you try not to waste
you’re contained for a day
maybe two

you’re as welcome as a short pause
a breather sighed in relief
without a spare key

forget your home
forget your hang ups
you get to hang out
and hang your hat
there

put your feet up
but tread light
footsteps soft
in explorer socks
as doors lock
behind you

scratch out a thank you note
like that’s all she wrote
wasting time
wondering where’s the best place to leave it

…before you leave this place

marching to the beat
of another drum
and a song you sing to yourself

you’re your own shade of grey
horse of different colour
green horning
blue balling
early morning
white lying your silvers linings

this is an ego trip
without destination

just a sense of direction
you're trying to get somewhere
trying to get at something

trying to hold up
the bargain on your end
and if your friends
have friends
you’ll have someone else
to talk to
someone
who knows someone
who knows what you need
and you know
you’re one of them
the luckiest people

lucky enough
to know
you don't
take life for granted
here on this planet

your mind is week to week

these aren't the droids you're looking for

...but that's not the language they speak
and maybe no one will know
what you're talking about
but that’s not your place to say
just yours to stay, today

not your round
and that’s not your problem
not your wife to please
or kids to feed
or boss to appease
not your job to pressure
your only line to toe

is knowing when to go

this is your life in its entirety
just two bags
kept right under your eyes
not much

but you own it, entirely



and wouldn’t trade it for anything.






____________________________________________




Well, given the journalistic nature of the blog while I'm travelling, I'm putting this up now in case the earlier poem sounded too whiny. Believe me when I say I am having an intensely enjoyable experience over here. But we'll get to talking 'bout that later...

Hey but while I'm at it, couple of things you (yes you) and I need to talk about:

~relax you're not in trouble.

Something you should know though. The amount of people checking this blog out has increased over the last couple of months, and I believe my writing is benefitting from this. I think when you know people are going to read your work, you naturally lift your game. I don't want to waste your time, I want to share what I have and give you something of myself thats both deeply personal yet accessible and entertaining. Anyone who says that art(-istic endeavours) can't be both can just go carry bags for me.

So I'm trying, and you're helping.

Despite the time and energy involved in keeping up this blog, I am committed to shun the publishing world and will always produce work that will be freely available over the net, never asking anything in return (not even comments or feedback, as maddening as it is not to get more of them!)... except one request for you.

Share this.

If you like what you read here, tell people about it, send one to a friend, read it someone, post it up somewhere, anything. Simply put, when it comes to producing this: the more interest I get in what I do, the more interested I get in doing it.

All pretense of modesty aside, there aren't many poets out there of my profile who match my output. When I could just as soon get some of this published, there are honestly times when blogging feels like a wasteful exercise, like I'm just chalking sidewalks in the dark, in a language nobody reads anymore.

The reason I do it is, here I know it's possible to get through to real people, not just academic snobs or other poets, that's the difference. All you need to get all my work is a URL. That's a wonderful thing. So please, whatever it is you get from this ~pass it on to someone else too.


Good things grow. People like us, we grow.






-Peace








.

Taurangan Armpit -31/01/2011

.


foreigner

hostile
late arrived
hostel
dingy as anything in Brooklyn
shot through with a Paris vacuousness
filled to its limited pretensions with Ibiza runoff
Russian sounds aggression loud
in competition with Argentinian in-crowds
closely-quartered like Hong Kong’s unfriendliness

you’ve been foreign there too
in lower case

when your mumbled name
came out sounding a little too much like
excuse me
or can I borrow this for a second
or is that seat taken
or…

ah never mind

you found a corner
to conspicuously hide in
and strategically withdraw from

on the outside

where drunken locals unbottle the ugliness of a Newcastle skyline
and pour grey weather the envy of only London
over nightlife Canberra yawned at
and sightseeing opportunities the rival only of Adelaide.

on nights
when places just remind you of other places
memories head rubbing closer together
than how tightly together they pack in these beds
tune out
humming to your sheets cover songs
age showing in the amount of weight you carried in
the place
will sweat hotel California’s into your sleep
before it’s interrupted with Guns N Roses blaring
from the rooms you’ve already retreated from
soccer ball kicking
topless tan weak chin
sexual-metro
caterpillar moustache
joint smelling bunk-shakes

It’s late
for it to be this early

unpacking heat
mattress stained with get me outta here
flecked with wrong turn
and bad day
and a patch of poor decision
you cover over with pack strips
and sulky stares
up at the ceiling

it doesn't blink
splitting the indifference
your eyelids aren't heavy
but your chest is

tonight
you found another country’s armpit



ain’t you just tickled by it







_____________________________________







-Peace








.

A Mount Maunganui Summer -27/01/2011

.


This beach is our living room

canvas for our passions
we paint the days
in water colour
and tanned ceramic
skin tones

we are summer
strumming away at guitars
names bench carved with pictures
in waves we attack
white horizon to catch
hold it
crash it

then get back on board
and paddle back for more.

we stride crests of constant collapse
liquid landscape skids
we worship the sun
the water
the air
the moonless nights
shooting stars
off roof racked van driveways
skateboarding down streets
mi-goreng meals
hat straw hair
beached-blonde
odd jobless
firing water bomb slingshots
in a beach bum snapshot

we watch a building tide
from a nearby mountain top
see chevrons in the water
feel the current flow
through ocean
to island to coast
to wave to surf to sand
to board to feet
to the air we breathe
out

the heirs of endless energy
hopeless
fearless
ageless
needless
heedless
and when we leave this

we
will still be summer
not set with the sun
the short season itself
gone with us


and will remain with us






______________________________________














-Peace









.

Four Walls Away -23/01/2011

.


As I write this
a couple
just walls away
are
uh

otherwise occupied

oh no
it’s not like they’re not being sneaky
but one can only be so sneaky
…yet alone two

see
the most sensitive part of a man’s body
while masturbating
is
his


ears


now relax
rest assured
I am typing this with both hands

but poems like this
are why I won’t ever
get to do workshops with kids
I’m not knocking that
any more than I’m knocking what’s happening
in the other room
guess I’m just jealous

…of people doing workshops with kids

kids are great
don’tchya reckon?

yeah
kids

who knows
I might even be leaping to false conclusions
you know
like
they could just be moving furniture around
back and forth
all around the room
trying to get it in just the right spot
again and again
and…you know,
she could just be groaning
‘cause she’s feeling sick
quite sick
in fact

yeah

and hey

as I’m sitting here
let’s not pretend I don’t enjoy writing
for you
my readers
you know I love you
I get a lot of satisfaction from writing, actually
heaps of satisfaction
heaps and heaps

I’m quite satisfied to be typing away
for your benefit
all my many readers
we all benefit
everyone here is benefitting
while I’m t-t
t
Y
P
I
N
gggggggggggggGGGGGGGGG hjklqwertyuiopzxcvbnm,.


just satisfied with the sound
of my own fingers
clacking this keyboard
in this room
very satisfied

here


typing
yep
the thing to do
so that's why I'm doing it
right now
in this room
this room I’m in
by myself

doing it

writing
right now

got four walls
this room does
yep, all four

no problems there

I mean you know...

not like some kind of stupid three-walls-room now
or something

is it?





nuh


has all the walls I need, this room does


four


ha




How awesome is that!




______________________________









-Peace






.