Pile of islands

Tanned bodies contrast with very pale rosy white ones
Walking by boy and girl, child and parent, sand and seawater
Fit middle-aged residents slip through the sand and disappear into the waves
Large awkward tourists mope at the shore, where white wash waxes their lumpy limbs
Football youths bronzed and beer gutted head-butt their ball and brag into the day
as if they were pushing it into being real

Hoards of chilli-bin lugging hawkers make their way arduously
 through the deep squishy sand
Umbrellas have landed like parachutes
Giving short shards of shade for the midday timid
Beach vibration tropical and vivid.

Airplanes drag advertising across the open sky
Thin sly locals rent you beach chairs sunglasses and beards get to work
Launches, yaughts and cargo ships slide off the horizon
like it was the edge of the world
A couple of miles from this pile of islands god tried to glue to paradise

My plane

She flies and like the clouds she should
She's packing now and she will be unpacking soon
We will land soon and take off grand
She's an inspiration in the sand
She's a piece of summer in my hand

Under the umbrella with her all day
Peanut vendors are praying I'll pay
Full of the sunlight they will go home hollow pocketed
She's the plane she's the right design she's my rocket
The beach is ours forever blue never grey

Farmer of war(The grey existance)

The borders are sweet and fertile
The plough hits the earth and enters it like a knife
What he plants will explode when the rebels step to the harvest
The poison he drops from his plane he calls pesticide

He keeps working
Smoke pouring through his crops
Shell shocked Refugees wander through
The fixed frown of the farmer as bent as the hoe blade

He tends his patch while chaos devours the land
Borders burn again and again
He simply plods away at his tilling
As if the shrapnel won't hit him

Conflict finds fuel and ammunition
The farmer of war finds his pipe and lights it
No birds sing or peck the ground for worms
He is not burnt not touched by any bullet

Late afternoon's sun casts the farmer of war's long shadow
And in it's bounds a megalomaniac germinates

The breaking of the Phantom

The spirit's true turmoil strikes the heart and mind
And after the hundred dreadful thoughts
each one a cord for the phantom to climb
I have readied the flame for the dry strands

This magician of the afterlife will meet his doom
Desires extinguished conscience groomed
Doubt devastated through the spacious aware
Now the facades will burn like the ghouls in my room

I promise the lurking specter will cringe
In the quiet darkness where it sings
I will be there with the dagger in my eyes
No longer the observed, I have become the spy

With those regrets disappearing
These lies are weak, I have ripped apart the fear
Well wishing in my hand and I wield it like a whip
I will find your neck phantom...

And choke the heck out of you.
I'll feed you to the birds
The ones that bask in the daylight
Ghostly feed for the beak of my words

The approaching phantom

Footsteps toward the bed
footsteps that the dark night imposed in your head
The second curse
A spectre in your room replenished

Facing it again and again
But the fear drops as sweat
and the cool invisible ones can smell it
they touch your pillow and the cold air lands

Here It is in the dark
The phantom lays the curse
I tear it up yet it reforms
Footsteps across the floor

Something plays and preys after midnight's bell
Something with a hundred mouths
Dull profanity and a union with darkness
I cast it out despite it's fraternity with the night

How did it so cunningly link itself to doubt fed fear
Spread itself through the calm air?
How did it choke my peace?
The approaching phantom will never cease

The flourishing of the deliverers

These handles on days that go by
Rounded and shaped for fingers
Fingers of light
fingers that gave life

Waves of aging crash down
but your prayer has been heard
yes divinity hides behind those eyes
You can't see it, the world a tenacious disguise

The flourishing of the deliverers
Let their time on earth be blessed
And their acceptance of the mystery
their perseverance toward vitality

For living as they do blesses all that lives
and far from scripture
or the preachers mouth
Is the bed of the lord where dreams come true

Gist juice

The taste of understanding tangy on the tongue
The tastebuds know
Flavour is radiating
as sweet as ideas surging and disappearing

A cup of that illuminating knowledge quenching gist juice
Facts flowing rapidly pouring into the swirl of accumulated academia
The IQ levitating and sometimes dropping to graze the base of the brain
Give me the answer the reason the modern interpretation

Let it warm between blossoming ears
Perculate in there
Boil down to something solid and lightbulb shaped
Gist juice

Gunpowder

Dried riverbeds drag through the old mining town
The rock of the ground a hazy yellow from days of sun drenching
A few shrubs withstand the imposing dry
The silent land´s only echo is the heat.

Even the rust is dying of thirst
On the welcome to gunpowder sign

Faith´s tide(yes they sent a demon)

Beachfront rooves baked in the sun
Sons surfed to their noon fun
Misty middays, and i dragged the living
from where the children played

Paperwork hindered and frustrated
I was almost assasinated
Like a convoy of love to the sea I was
Under the sinister pines a sign i´d pay a cost

Down toward the islands divide everything improved
Life treated me to clear skies shimmering midday lagoons
A trailer filled with loved ones I towed with a tractor
Market gardens with servants of god to greet us

Then the dimness stole all life from the day
Darkness found me in a medievil tavern
On the sand floor with a wooden cup of wine in my hand
A demon in a tantrum lunged at me with rage as sour as the wine was

Faith was there in my gut dripping down from my rapidly pumping heart
I was with my creator as the demon full of blame and hate emitted his poison
His eyes boiling his sharp ears and mouth accusing
I cut him in half and stared at his remains

This broken demon body upon the sand
the trophy of my faith
The inversion of the curse
The turning point of the ordeal and resounding demise of the yellow demon

May the world be rid of hidden spells
Of wishing pain and invoking hell
Indeed I do pray that my Faith continues to rise
Before evil´s next diabolical surprise

Lateness and dawn cloud

 Leaving a city
Travelling slowly away from that familiar scenery
Entering a new one

Leaving behind that rolled up cloud that would grip trees at dawn
That smoky layer
Sun's burning it up

The end of this year
end of the train line
Late to work attached to strings of complacency

I love slumber
though it's being robbed
The pillow and the sheet call me lullaby sweetly

All things I left behind creep up
previous engagements rattle around in my head
My plans are being broken like dawn cloud

I've managed to hold onto a few
No late train can hold this back

Afford your mansion

Tiger head fountains in your high homes.
hard dead grey walls
Big hands reaching into the pot
Pushing back the poor

Candid two faced administrator
Drama headquarters of hell
Our hearts are mansions of pride
A mansion of anger a symbol of your simple greed

Long are the lost roads in these overcrowded cities
Where we Exchange promises and guarantees
Numbers on paper under mansions that loom like sentries
Spending our Money and keeping poor people poor

The van to a brilliant new world is heavy
 under the weight of our obsession with possessions
the driver says our Money is no good
And we have to catch the late bus like the criminals

Life is no mansion, it´s not a fancy stoned ring
Tiger head fountains won´t stop bullets
So stop selling guns to poverty
Try to drain the hidden contempt of your servants

Investigate exploitation´s cost high and handsome
Before you invest in your next big mansion.

Wanganui shade

Old Phoenix palm umbrela
with fruit trees and tall flowering shrubs
to form a canopy over the Yard
Where shade would lay all year round

If time had two eyes and a face
It would look to the sky and feel the temperature of the seasons
The shade is the only cool place through rainless january days
The earth naked to the laughing leaves

Late friend the blueberries have ripened
And from here to otaki their fruit forms
Would you dare go by foot under pines in the night
Like the wild dog hiding from the moonlight

No your courage is for show friend
Time is ticking as the Phoenix palm rots from the inside out
The grassless soil below transparente as your fear
January evenings your mouth boasts out and puts in beer

The window sills will  be as sad as stationary you come april
No more heat to take hold of you, move your lazy carcass
You can hear your dead father screaming leave this place
For nothing grows there´s no laughter for jokes and you´re always broke

Don´t let your Peace be cut by the hands of time
The surface roots cracking earth are alarm bells that started ringing years ago.

Lines of the sunset

Strange waves of clouds have washed the storm in
The Blurring drenching front
Falling to land with the gails and forks
With knocks and cracks

Dispersing and disappearing
Drifting into fragments cut by the waning sun
Into lines of the sunset
A blazing outlandish Orange pink

Peace at the end of daylight

Thin(tragic loss)

When the heart becomes a balloon
big and empty for mourning blows
The father's grief looms
A space inside him grows

The simple joys are flattened
The future is a nurse
ears hear pitter patter
Though not a footstep is what's worse

Not a burp or grin or burst of laughter
But a thousand tears for a mourning father
Times grow thin and tragic loss growls
Emaciated will each day tastes foul

The arms that once held such a beautiful son
reach out to emptiness despair fills lungs
The punishing strokes of disbelief
Of reliving the shock during black weeks of grief.

Where there's no picture(selfish crown)

Someone's waiting oh it can't be me
Someone with a crown and an empty picture
Waiting for confirmation that the person is royalty
Life's short, forget majestic and get the nectar

Am I the lost love sick stick figure pointing
With bags under my eyes?
I admit I used to lose sleep and breathe sighs
Until I realized too life's short to pine

An elephant' s memory and a lions heart
the empty picture is a lie
Known is the reason why I departed
Framed obsession isn't art... Or a way to get by