goodbye smells musty, like old clothes
untouched in the back of the wardrobe;
dusty, like words on a scrap of newspaper
that flutter from an opened book.
goodbye smells like an old man who smokes
and ate garlic last night, and the night before;
warm, like tarmac in the middle of town
in summer, after a shower has passed.
goodbye smells like coffee newly brewing
somewhere nearby, for someone else;
like the kerosene taste in my throat
in the airport departure lounge.
it smells like your sweater, grabbed in error;
instantly you are around me. my eyes break.
- Just Mercedes
Can’t work out how to change Draft to Submit, or if I have done the right thing… technologically marginally literate. Any feedback???
Hi thanks for leaving a note – the new version installed last week has changed things a little – sorry for delay in reply. It changed a few things – not to worry – WordPress updates quite often. Another change appears to be live updating of edits. So, if your poem is published with incorrect line breaks, may be best to please comment. The editor is a little more tricky to use for formatting, I just about have the idea. Quite a few poems have been submitted – most are double spaced which may not be intended.It seems best to cut and past text into the CODE tab of the editor (then your paragraphing and line breaks should work. Do not use the site as a word processor! Keep your own copy (with a copyright notice) and cut and paste it into the site. If you lose your poem we can not help you find it. If you paste into the Visual tab, you may find your line breaks are space and a half. The site prefers single line break stanza separated by a double break, this is more easily accomplished in the CODE tab.
Thimbles of ancient obscurity
losing faith over its rim
as you walk around the crater
go down in a collapsing
dance sequence underfoot
these crystalline eyes emit square tears
like sugar cubes spat out by a dispenser
the shock value of secretaries
wasted on the military
imprisoned by wealth and influence
he had to wear a hat in the sunlight
it burnt yellow rings into his skin
He spent the afternoon arguing
about the state of the prisoners
they walked with a broken gait
dragging their feet through the yard
knees bent and sad
lifted by boney fingers
the ritual of the lost
the jarring words of a matriarch
working you back to the straight and narrow
working you with an eye to the nothing
with an eye to the end
- 5 November 2008
Planets aligned, stars shine
When I see your face
It brightens mine
The lights burn
Out in the distance
I never knew a love like this is
All my worries seemingly disappear
When ever I can feel you near
Just a clichéd rhyme
For you my darling
I’d commit treason
As the waves crash into the sand
I think of you and smile
Down by the sea
Something I haven’t done for a while
Waters shimmer, lights flicker
Suns rise and set
I can’t see you right now
But that feeling I won’t forget
You make me happy
You set me free
No matter how hard things get
No matter how tough
Knowing you still love me
Is more then enough
I sit in the car
Writing this poetic reflection
If I could only put music to this
It’d be perfection
There you are
At the foot of my bed
You’re so beautiful
My lady in red
The shape of your body
And beautiful curves
You’ve never let me down
If memory serves
Sounds like an angels harp
You are my guiding light
Leading me through the dark
The colour of your skin
Never fades away
I know you are there for me
Night or day
You’re faithful and sincere
You wont cheat
You’ll never lie to me
No matter what I say
The way my hands
Down your body
And up your neck
There’s a connection there
That has nothing to do with sex
I feel dehydrated
You’ll always be my first
I need to hold you again
Just to quench my thirst
You’ve been here all along
While I’ve been running
Around the world
If I find true love or not
You’ll always be my girl
For my return
There you are my lady in red
At the foot of my bed
I’ve always had a thing about punk garage bands.
My best friend at age six was Benji Matteucci, he had older brothers and sisters. They have American and Chilean heritage. The older siblings of Benji use to give us pocket money to run to the dairy. Most of the time it was for their tobacco or cigarettes. It was back in the day when a 6 year old could still buy cigarettes. The older siblings were like a type of Spanish mafia, they had outrageous haircuts, wore trench coats, smoked and drank
One of the older brothers got expelled from his school for taking a 38 calibre hand gun to class.
Back then I thought they were pretty cool I still think so now. It was the 1970’s and Punk Rock was exploding over the planet. A band called the Sex Pistols had started a new fashion. Benjis older brothers started a band, they practiced in the family garage.
One day Benji and I were chasing each other through the garage, Benjis dad Juan grabbed me aside and said I want to give you a “music lesson”. He took me to the drum set and showed me a series of ones and twos using one hand. He then gave me the drum sticks and told me to have ago, I took the drum sticks from him and tried the same with a drum stick in each hand. He angrily took my left drum stick and put them both in my right hand
This happened about three times he made me remember it using my right hand. I knew Juan had a career in music but I didn’t know what he did exactly. The first day I meet Juan he told me he was a conductor and he showed me how I should hold the baton and mentioned about how it was also the way to hold a glass of wine. When I got older and started to appreciate music more I was always fonder of the Punk genre when I turned 20 I started going to bars and gigs and by age 25 I was involved with the POD niteclub a music venue playing predominately alternative music, hence I was associating with many muso’s. I never played or created any music but I was defiantly in the scene. The lifestyle I was living then caused me to get sick I had had a dysfunctional sleeping disorder since I was a baby and by this stage it was becoming a problem in my adult life.
After a stay in hospital I found myself at Simon’s place, Simon was a skinhead he was in a band and had a drum set in his lounge. He had many visitors mostly muso’s everybody who was there were talking not direct to me but about me the theme of their conversation was about me doing something musical this was not my intention but it was what they were talking about. Simon’s band had a practice one night and their conversation was the same. When they left I was thinking about what they were talking about I had forgotten about Juan but I sat on the couch and traced back through my life thinking of all the times I had done something musical which didn’t amount to much. I sat there and traced back through my life until I remembered the only music lesson I had ever had the one from Juan. I sat at Simon’s drums and tried to play the series of ones and twos but I had forgotten about my right hand and was trying to play the routine with two. I could not get the routine I sat there for about 40 minutes trying I stopped and thought deep until I remembered what Juan did I put both sticks in my right hand and got the routine instant this is when I dropped the punch line “in my sleep” I had the routine simple but only using my right hand not both. Flashes of nostalgia filled my head it was then I realized just how important Juan was and what he had done and what it meant to me, for the first time in my life I had an inclination of who I was it was at that point I broke down and cried.
Check out review and multimedia coverage of Winter Warmers – a very charming and vital event Saturday afternoons at the Auckland Art Gallery. And while we are looking at things – am trying out various new themes for the next cover page. Before we select one, we will check it here. So don’t worry – if the Golden Gate (palam11 theme) returns – am testing functionality, then will settle on one (I like the seaside one, but there is a functional problem with navigation…) – the site will work and accept your submissions or it will be tested, here. Comments – is this seaside template too much, do ya think?
it lies at the bottom of
bottles of bitter wine dead on the floor
it whispers from its hiding place
on the edge of the dirty razor blade in the bathroom cabinet
it walks into the house
just as your lover walks out on you
it holds your hand
when all you were reaching for
was a straw
Stephen Tee c2008
here i am between the great white walls,
where i stand alone again,
stained in red still not dead,
nor am i sold to the devil found inside of me,
its getting cold, now i have found a destiny.
blacking out, I’m not backing down
and still the demon’s talking to me.
“theres no reason here,
give your life up to me,
she is gone not yours to have,
so give it up, your all alone”
i understand your point of view,
but is there another way?
“I am your demon!
I am your reason!
I’ll be closer to god than you’ll ever be.”
I’ll live today and see the morning light,
I’ll follow the night to see the world ahead of me,
Get back in, as i clean the walls again.
Work Of Jeff Wong “PhoenixTheory”
One of Aotearoa’s finest voices Mahinarangi Tocker has died in hospital at the age of 52 from complications of an asthema attack.
It is a really sad moment. Here is the NZ Herald page of public tributes. You can also add your own as comments on this post, if you wish.