there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at ****** are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to **** you
to **** anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art

As sunrise and sunset,
Paints the sky in a tapestry of colours,
Autumn colours my soul in the loveliest shades.
19/8/2023

Is where the heart is
That’s what they say
It’s where one’s roots are
From where we come
It helps define us
There’s comfort
Familiarity
Sometimes
We crave it
We need it
To recenter ourselves
To remember
Who we are
We all go
Home
Where the heart is

Where moments sped on rapid wings
For love hath dwindled silly things,
Carousing special thoughts of you
In incandescent passion’s brew.

Fingertips touch, tenderly
Then soft brushed lips, especially,
That honeyed calling in your eye
Caressed the silky night to fly.

That in our fleeting, stolen kiss
Entwined both souls in raptured bliss,
But bleak this glow of lovers moon
For passion fled far, far too soon.

Both panting in the stark moonlight
Bewildered, thudding pulses, tight,
In wretched circumstance’s stand
To force our separations hand.

Confusion, stark, in dead of night
She’s gone. My moonlight quails in fright.
Leaving just a trace of scent….
And, in such, my shattered heart’s lament.

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
1968 Butchers Hill, Northern Queensland

How do you
Forgive yourself
For all the
Things that
You never
Became?

As the sun sets,
I see familiar
And unfamiliar cars
Driving by

People that like me
Have highs like
No other,
And lows that
They’ll never get over.

I look out into the street
One last time
As cicadas sing their blues,
I wonder who’s truly right
Or who’s terribly wrong.

How boring it must be
To be able to wake up in
The morning and do
What you need to do.

I will dance around
My kitchen table
As dishes pile up.

I will lay on my bedroom
Floor as the laundry
Screams that it needs
To be done,

I would go into the bathroom
If it wasn’t for the person
In the mirror that despises
Me so much.

Oh but when I get that spark,
That little moment of clarity,
time stops,

I become a fraud and can’t write
Poems anymore,
But the way my hands move
Around the dishes,
How fast the laundry walks itself.

It must be perfect to live
Like this forever,
But oh, how boring.