We play on the corner till the streetlights thin
and stars pinprick a corkboard sky.

Dinner is anytime: bologna on white;
Kool-Aid cut thin with tap.

No hurry home unless for the news -we don’t.
We want what’s coming, not what’s been.

Paper fortune tellers flutter open / close.
She writes the answers first.

Lift one flap: your dog dies. Another: a prince.
Another: best party in town, no dress required.

He lifts a flap: her name-
“meant for you,” her sister whispers.

Then rain- blue-lined paper caves;
ink loosens, futures wash mid-fold.

At This Street & That Road, a drunk witch
swears Saturn and Jupiter will make us rich.

She forgets conjunctions come every twenty years.
Lunch money turns to lottery slips.

Rounding the corner, the futures
sign their names where ours should go.

if the reader
falls in love with the character of a book,
their love can be eternal.

he can over and over re-read
each part of his beloved.
he can just stop for a while
and gently touch the mirage.
he can even ****** a piece
and carry it for a lifetime.

but what happens
if the character
falls in love with the reader?

Have you not heard.
Well come gather together, and let me tell you.
The Word says.
We shall have life.
And life more abundant.
Did you hear abundant.
This is your claim.
So live and do not die.
Fulfill your desires.
Fulfill your wishes.
Fulfill your dreams.
Reach for the stars ⭐.
Climb a mountain or two.
Swim the deepest ocean 🌊.
So at the end of time.
Your saying  will go.
Regrets I have none.
I have lived my life.
And a life .
Fulfilled.

The moon leaves the night
to find the sun,
the sun leaves the day
to find the moon
and I stand in the shadow
they pass between them.

As a child, the backyard was
my sanctuary and my
playground.
I climbed the soft
pine tree and crawled to
the top of the garage.
I stood and gazed at all the
houses and streets.
I felt rich.

My mom had a brown
jewelry box shaped like
a treasure chest.
It reminded me of
pirates and adventure.
I filled it with
football cards
gum
candy bars
family pictures, and a few
coins.

I found a small shovel
and buried it in the
backyard close to the
pine tree.
I pretended to forget
where it was.
A week or so later, I
suggested to my best friend,
Wally, that we should
search my yard for buried treasure.

Of course, we found it.
I acted surprised.
We celebrated.
All these years later,
I realize that my treasure,
then and now, is imagination.
I'm a wealthy man.

My team out of Buttercup were carting hay for old Scruffy Turner.
Scruffy was sick so we offered to clear the airstrip hay for him.
Toward the end of the day someone drove up and told me they were letting a herd of black pol beef cattle out on to Taurewa strip ,up near the Chateau road.
I had my little Cherokee parked on the Taurewa strip. Black cattle have a propensity to rub themselves up against the fuselage of a parked aircraft....really does a lot of expensive damage, very quickly...
So I asked Scruffy to drop me onto the Taurewa strip to pick up the Cherokee. He obliged with his Cessna 172.

I found myself bare chested, clad in shorts and workboots, hay in my hair getting into the little Cherokee and going through my preflight checks.

Scruff took off and circled, I followed him off Taurewa.
At 80 ft above the treetops we levelled off and headed for the National Park strip, now clear of haybales.
Scruff, his wife, Anne and I were communicating, chatting on 121.3 megahertz when my aircraft's engine abruptly stopped!

There is something comical about sudden silence when airborne!

I set about checking fuel and ignition and attempted to restart the engine...several times. ....SILENCE!

Funny the things that race through your mind in an emergency.

Several week before this I had attended the funeral and the wake of an old chairlift company mate of mine, Marcus Leecher.
At the wake over a couple of good sized Scotch whiskeys I bumped into old Jimmy Johns, an engineer from neighboring Stratford, who used to own and operate the National Downhill ski operation on Mt Ruapehu,

Jimmy said to me, "They tell me you're a pilot now, Gebbie?"
"Yeah", I said. "Well, if ever you get into difficulty over big forest trees or a large expanse of water, THIS IS WHAT YOU DO!"

Jimmy's instruction exploded into my head like a time bomb!

Here I was, now 50 ft above a continuous forest of huge native trees, I had a dead engine and nowhere to put the aircraft down.
I gave Scruffy a quick mayday call....and of course, he panicked!
He started flying around in huge circles and promptly lost sight of my aircraft.

I went through my drills, fuel off, killed ignition, trim for glide, grab a knotch of flap, minimize airspeed........Look for a location to ditch.

Old Jimmy John's message came through loud and clear......
So I executed his instructions to the letter.

1. Located two ****** big rimu trees with sturdy vertical trunks.
2..Tree trunks separated by a gap large enough to fit the fuselage in between.
3. Brought the aircraft around in an arc so that I was lined up exactly with the gap.....Then dived the aircraft vertically downward.
Swept the foliage below with my wheels... then, with the momentum gained by the dive, climbed straight up into the sky.
4, Stalled the aircraft, actually stopped the aircraft in a vertical position....then aimed it at the gap as it fell out of the sky.
5 I took the impact with the wings, it actually sheared the left wing off the aircraft, broke the chord.....BUT IT SAVED THE FUSELAGE
6. Braced myself for the absolute unknown....hung on tight!!

The aircraft almost stayed up in the higher branches, then it crashed down through the foliage to the hard baked earth, 30 ft below.....BANG!

Momentarily, I took stock, no fire, airframe right way up, body wracked but OK. Aircraft wrecked!

I disentangled myself from the seat belts, sprung open the door and exited the aircraft at haste.

Located approximate position of Scruffy overhead and launched a parachute flare skyward to let him know I had survived. The flare almost hit his aircraft, it zoomed past him and continued skyward, he never ever got to see that flare....but all the skiers on the adjacent Whakapapa skifields did!

I fashioned a big arrow out of logs pointing in the direction of my intended exit....then walked 10 km out of the forest.

The very next day I purchase old Jimmy Johns a very special bottle of the best Irish whisky I could find and shook his hand hard....as a Brother aviator!

M@Foxglove,Taranaki.NZ
15 August 2025

they say god is love
they say god is light
but i see men twist his words
like broken mirrors
reflecting their own greed

they hold the book
like a weapon
swing it over heads
turning prayers into chains
turning hope into fear

they sell forgiveness
like coins at the market
while their hands
are stained with the lives
they destroy in silence

they teach love
but practice war
they teach mercy
but practice cruelty
they call it devotion
but it is only power

i see candles burn
but the smoke smells of lies
the incense curls around deceit
and i know
they are sinning in his name

god does not need gold
god does not need fear
god lives in the wind
in the rain
in the quiet moments
in the scream of truth

i will not kneel to their masks
i will not bow to their towers
i will walk in the sun
i will speak in honesty
i will love without guilt
i will believe without chains

their prayers are empty
but mine are alive
and in my truth
i find the faith
that burns true
and cannot die

The efficiency room days were
the worst and the best.
Broke and bent,
sick and deranged.
Disheveled dreams, like
horses with broken legs.

There was an occasional
miracle.
A forgotten five-dollar
bill crumpled in the
front pocket of some *****
jeans, lying by the fake
plant and a copy of Hamsun's
Hunger, long overdue from
the library.
The fiver would buy a
pint of cheap *****.
My nerves settled for a
moment.

Friends seem to drift
away by the month.

"Where's Johnny?"

"He froze down at the Raccoon River."

"Oh ****, he was always good for a snort."

"Have you seen Sue lately?"

"The cirrhosis finally took her."

"*******, I used to get drunk and
tell her I loved her, while she gave me head."

Poverty and death drank with us in
those cheap rooms,
Singing sad songs and songs
of victory.
Battles were won and lost
and great debates waged in our
addled minds.
We took care of each other the best
we knew how.
Life was just a myth.

I.
Lain down, unconcealed
toward the window
shoulder to hip -- a shadowy cursive
perhaps penumbra

II.
Seated, face in utter profile
standing, sorting laundry
washing dishes, guarding
the radiator

III.
Hair eschewed in
conjugated waters
double-exposed
roots and
foliage -- wisps
of sugarland
in subtext
their dark net
cast over a pearly bright sea
discovery left
to the imagination