"steppingstones" poems
I leap across steppingstones in the grass
that lead out to my washing line,
wait for the wind to come and pass
then drape my socks out in the sunshine.
Somewhere, it’s grey and cold
they hang clothes indoors on plastic frames
walls and windows gather mould,
those with wet work uniforms go insane.
There is hidden wealth in the economy.
There is no such thing as inequality.
(When I was twelve
my family moved to Dunedin,
my brothers became Christians
then travelled to Asia to spread their Religion -
they said “there is no class system in New Zealand,
there is no faith Cambodia” )
There is hidden wealth in the economy.
There is no such thing as inequality.
Oct 25, 2013
Oct 25, 2013 at 4:54 AM UTC
Morning was sudden-made as an onwardness of hills,
Meant for donning crusade in chainmail glistenings,
The sun visored in misty slats of cold steel,
To glimmer fusty through the godded grove,
A holy sepulchre, earthly-dim to its rafters of oak,
Where the forest-fall of sunlight shed its rosework,
And a red-breasted bird, its song-flight of dappled gleam,
And in the meadow, where colorful whorled the tale of Saladin,
Wayside flowers shook beneath the destriers' cloth caparisons,
A sunny fullness of vales for the crusaders' forest-heartened lungs,
And when this furthering of sights was sunken from,
Still an onwardness of hills to Jaffa like steppingstones.
Apr 16, 2023
Apr 16, 2023 at 10:11 PM UTC
Creek rose high in flood
Steppingstones have disappeared
Many houses too.
Jul 2, 2016
Jul 2, 2016 at 10:08 PM UTC
The pain rots and sheds,
as it smoulders her bones
and burns her skin third degree.
Loss and jealousy enwrap
her scorched heart into ashes,
while lava flows off her tongue
as it promises vengeance.
She becomes a vortex of emotions
engulfing her own life,
dwelling in the
merry go round thoughts.
Until she picks up the pen
and tucks the rage and ache
within the 26 alphabets
stringing words,
to sentences to paragraphs.
Ashes and embers stain the paper
as they ebb, blot and flow,
crafting the cathartic relief
until the paper stains darker
than the shades of her mind.
The blues that would pour,
become the budding flowers
in her chest.
She remodifies
cobblestones into steppingstones,
amplifying her narrative.
She tosses the losses
into words
and crosses beyond the horizon.
A candle flame burns deep
inside her solar plexus
as she transmogrifies the shards into a mosaic;
the strings of the web she was entangled in
weaved into embroidery to embellish her soul.
The cries and lies,
made her wise
as she built from the same sorrows
she was drowning in.
She put her ache on cadence
and turned up a brain wavelength.
She finally found her salvation
from abandonment
a dive deep and wide into
the depth of introspection
pulling from the cronies and nooks
the parts built and undiscovered.
She armed herself with
empathy fueled passion
as she has burnt, learnt
and learn to yearn the better
while she steers forward
with a transfigured mindset.
For the people who came,
now leave as poems.
Aug 18, 2019
Aug 18, 2019 at 11:00 AM UTC
Circulating memories of childhood amenities
Hurled beneath your feet like gold bricks and steppingstones
Your mother's loving remedies and the thought of praying for your enemies
I can feel you through the penmanship, I can tell you that you're not alone
Church on Sunday mornings, you're weeping through the rosary
Tears falling on your winter coat like rain drops through a Eulogy
Footsteps on the carpeting like the persistence of a metronome
When I pass your house I never will forget
Even when it's just dirt and they turn it into a parking lot
I'll always remember you, I'll always remember the summer when I thought,
That you liked me.
Feb 23, 2014
Feb 23, 2014 at 11:35 PM UTC
You started out chasing butterflies with strawberry baskets in hand,
So insignificant in their own right.
Barefoot splashing in the tides of winding creeks,
Taking shortcuts to steppingstones.
Your dreams were as big as the clouds you never even took the time to gaze upon.
With eyes sparkling in the midday sun,
A child-like ferocity held deep within your core shown through your every step...
The signs always pointed you down the right paths,
Safe and sound from the world asunder.
Sunlight framed your face in a perfect eclipse,
While you called for your nature's shames to grace your flesh.
The untrodden breath should have screamed "Aposematism" in your favor– instead it whispered luxury.
You had Pine needles jutting from your vellum heels as I watched you wander away;
Precariously denying the flush of red they had while they hung their heads to let you pass...
Irresolute on how to perceive dead ends:
You, gnarled and bleached by the lap of oak
You scrambled over boulders and crevices
Only to find collapse was nothing but your suitor in black,
Caressing your lechery in a labyrinth thicket.
Peach scraped patellas and a taste for champagne,
You should have seen right through that lush disguise.
...From day one you where laced in the notations of prima donna,
With your sticks and stones and ivory bones;
The only song left to resound drip memories of your
Hand-crushed wings.
Jun 27, 2017
Jun 27, 2017 at 3:59 PM UTC
The rich are committing suicide
and taking us along with them
the prosthetic limbed ********
Fort Darwin tottering on fewer stilts
once the Masters of the Universe
presently picking through garbage
looking for an Icarus to pilot
some way back among the clouds
their telepathic goon squads
armed with the hard on of God
squat in the darkness of doorways
lightning strikes all around them
even their telephone poles were clairvoyant
several thousand watts went up my leg
shorting out the only attention span I own
left me perforated but far from lacy
wearing all my masks all the time
fragments of self are selves
in a bulemic deconstruction
where form and content
mud wrestle incessantly for attention
on the crazy train to 3 color 3 finger hell
apparently the ancient gods still rule
in their madhouse heaven
ambivalent petulant flatulent gods
brandishing sword point conversions
wielding gun point perversions
the protagonists the antagonists
fornicators masturbators liquidators
pariahs and unlicensed poets
preaching hellstone and brimfire
now their carcasses are steppingstones
it's psywar out there kids
better find where they hid your dossier
mesmerized of the world unite
you have nothing to lose
but your failed methods of addressing reality
said his slowly twisting tongue
struggling for ratings like any media
the soul cannot erase it can only go sightless
a phantom trapped in melancholy
when we were built to dance
with the twinkling summer stars
he finally learned to undestroy memory
being an ascended master of non sequitur
carried aloft by the wings of Mother Goose
his metabolic hurricane of why
an inferno of intrigue and superstition
our embryo-headed UFO ruling class
have me inside their fence of skulls
an investment in diagram futures
the idiots
Jun 25, 2023
Jun 25, 2023 at 1:40 PM UTC