Audio Blog

Have created a new blog featuring various groups in which I have been involved, and also many of the poems here, as a source of lyrics, for more recent solo works under the Crunchy Weta monicker.
Step into the tardis.

Late Home From The Party

Call me a skeptic
but I was untouched
by your dramatic performance.
Untouched too
by the toxic bile
masquerading as truth
you disengorged
from that grotesque crevice
between your bitter lips...
...lips that once softened hardness
and ravaged mortal dreams.
Call me a skeptic,
but I was never aware
that nagging vanities
are cause for an affair.

Download the audio here

One Two Three

I was annoyed, mostly, I realized, because I was impressed.
His reputation, even among his few remaining supporters...
..Immune! Christ, somehow there was enough money floating
To give away a shilling or to do a good action.
Provoke him and he will buckle to a shark,
Appear, to survey, to bless, to command; dominus and domaine.
Always intrudes and imposes his views,
His face, 'Take a look.' All at once he grabbed it back.
This attitude lifted the I Ching above the level of an ordinary.....
..Reputation was so damaged, it was an easy matter.
From the heart of Vajra Sattva the white light path of the mirror like wisdom,
Took a grotesque form
And told me to cut everything into little pieces.

Helen's Butterfly Dance

The Prime Minister, performing perfunctorily
passed through my class.
Short.
Softly spoken.
Closeted by her henchman,
Glazed with indifference,
Pausing to ask a question,
Verging on the rhetorical,
Interest ephemeral.

Perhaps she caught my cold.

Magic Moon Night

Bryanna.
How precious
Your blanket wrapped
Prancing jumpskip excitement.
Our little back porch expeditions
to watch crawling dark devour
Delicious strawberry moon.
And,
The Milky Way tickled your palette.
The milky way?... oooh The Milky Way!
How long until your faccia rossa
Will pass through life's umbra
Unable to savour galactic fare
But reflected through
Your child's shining moonlit eyes.

Warm Air Above, Dew Point Below.

Watching fog's first veil rising timidly
From grassy paddock's patches
Sweeping surreptitiously around the shy valley,
I am reminded of smokers, sitting outside cafes
Trying to hide their guilty secrets
In awkward, downturned, downwind hands,
Novice gambler's hands.

I am reminded that the Milky Way
Once wafted over the Southern Cross
Before being stolen by city lights.

How I long to see smokers standing proud
Animated extroverted and oblivious
Shining social magnets, blazing,
....wherever shooting stars go

More On My Mythic Hythlodayin Drive To Work.

Asphalt steers me from Mamaku to Reporoa
Across this country's naked heart
Pulse exposed, beaten by Maui's brothers
Tendered with Aroha.

Mamaku mountainettes, an ancient valley of kings
Mysterious geyser tombs, or mudpools, or mini-volcanoes
Calling down the frosts, fogs and clouds
The old one's mantle of mana.

And you, Ngongotaha, Es tu kia kaha
Proud amongst your peoples
Head in the clouds
On days you cry for Hinemoa.

Weaving through a fogbound quilt
Rolling hills stitched with naked birch
A patchwork swandri of exotic pines
Ruffling Rainbow Mountain's disgorged shoulder.

The fiery breath of rivers rises through the frosty fresh
Kerosesne Creek heralding Waiotapu
Her jewels scattered, spilled across the valley
Her irridescent palette, geochemical emotions erupting.

Beyond a battalion of beheaded mountain sentinels
Reporoa's plains unfurl from purple fog
A series of bucolic winter allegories
From those anachronistic Christmas cards.

I expect sun-sized smiley faces
To cascade over the hillside surrounds
Congratulations for winning solitaire
Finding my mythic eutopos outopos.

Time To Plant Trees

High in the hills
Thoughts come slowly
Clouds rush by.

Ambling drifts of nameless days
Roll nature's kaleidoscope
Then rumble into town
An avalanche of need.

Soft Geometry

Today, rain's grey monologue
Tucks me sweetly, gently
Under Morphia's fleecy billow.

Today, work can wait
The bellbirds are quiet as
Earth and sky are truced.

Soft the grey
Soft the grey
Soft the grey.

The Lab Rat and The Mad Professor

In Mamaku
Verdant perspecacity
Warmed by honey tea
City sickness leaving me;
Time pinched cluttered brain
Battery housing
Moving metal things
Temples pulsing neighbour's thoughts
Pickled lungs particulate matter
The droning droning drone
Surreal fields of malls
Shop forest paths
Food eating halls
How strange, trained
Two legged rats
Driving in mazes
Racing their wheels.

Fat Hairy Man At The Beach

Hefting my carriage
From the seas salt laden sanctuary
My Dayself as exposed
As the eternal shadows
Cast on Hiroshima's walls
I know I am not enlightened.

My Nightself - my eyes
Bow uncomfortably
'Neath beauty's harsh light
Seeking Bolle-yellow relief.

How many comments, and looks,
Slid over me
Before I began to care
Blinded and bound by conformity's rack.

Under night's majesty and grace
I forget myself
Dancing with naked joy
My phoenix risen
I taste the stars
Letting the universe breathe me in.

O Dayself, forget the light.
O Universe, breathe me in.
Breathe me in.
Universe.
Breathe

Dreaming Of Photographs - The Miraculous Truth.

The congealed despair
Of amputees' prayer
Staining the collection plate
A bowl in the rain
Under umbrella's train.
White coated doctors
Armed with syringes
Loaded with miracles
Battling the scourges
Exorcising, healing
Not wielding or yielding
Cloth bound superstition.
The lone man who missed his flight
Ringed by 357 flaming remains
Of those who didn't.
Concentric waves of stillborn
Diseased famined and fateful
Accidents
Bullseyes beneath
Question marks
Aimed at the heart of the
Miracle breathing tongue speaking
Faithful.

Resurrection Of A Warholian Banana

The incident was incidental
The result resultant
On a roundabout
Taking her out
On you.
Initialised by her eyes
Hair there and everywhere
My mishmash headlong crash
Solved unresolved
Taking you out
On her.

Clowns On Wheels

Big cogs, little cogs
Unbroken karmic cycles
High wire through fire
Free wheelin horn tootin
Bell ringin crowd pleasin
High fivin harlequinian
Clowns on wheels.

The Quantum Mechanic Falls Head Over Heels.

Gleefully
she spins profusely
diffusing energy
randomly
in a bounded space
never to cross paths.

Her partner
in this magnetic moment
tumbles synchronously
minds melded fast-
er than light.

Distance shared-sheared
distance shed
a tear for the laws
of minds
blind to the heart
of this matter.

Meowry Christmouse Santa Paws.

Livid stops garish sprites
Cascading neophytes
Fool spectre delivery
Count the cells in cider me
Corpus collosal menagerie.

Fate dashed upon the rocks
Boot straps to the chin ups
Best forward it foot
Down the tracked one mind
Found alone I die alone
Ranger than striction
Narcisstic addiction
Pleased to meet me
For all internally.

A scratch looking for an itch
Burning touch tapping drip
A head by a nose you ear
Daren't call me a Picasso
Injust to say so
Swat I'm fly
Bye.

A life less ordinary - 25 Years of Flying Nun

Thanks for a life less ordinary.

Bought Tally Ho from the boys in the back of their van
Outside the Record Warehouse in Durham lane
Just doin it.

The Chills played Clean support on the first tour.
Some able Tasmans were in the audience.
Doesn’t anyone think Coldplay were inspired
And even ripped off riffs by the Chills?

The Gordons (technically preNun) shredded ears
Like the Skeptics at the City Hotel
Sound system filling half the venue
Their sound the other half.

Drank beers with Chris and Mark E
On the first night of the great bootleg
Discussed The Seeds (Try Raw and Alive)
Before double drummed divinity.

I used to think JPSE (As they came to be known)
had a great song in
Lime Green, falling down down down
Until I like Rain was released.
Somehow it made perfect sense.

“In poetry, the symbolist procedure - as typified by Verlaine- was to use subtle suggestion instead of precise statement (rhetoric was banned) and to evoke moods and feelings by the magic of words and repeated sounds and the cadence of verse (musicality) and metrical innovation” –Wikipedia
Oh and the sexiest of bass players was a bonus.

Doublehappies last performances
Mindblowing.
Sadness.
Beating Debbie to the dancefloor
Then the masses
As the phoenix arose.
Sadness again at an Abrought departure,
Climaxing at the BDO.

To the many D’s
Thanks one d for your discovery playing wargames
You halved my annual petrol bill.
Could never understand why another d was always appearing
beaten in Ardmore Rd – such a nice guy.
Ardmore Rd, 24 hour dairy, a friendly hub.
The silliest Rossi was obvious!

Spud boys,
The OZ crowd could not reconcile
What they saw
and heard.
Just doin it
For the music.

Hairy breath monsters
I carried your Jesus on A Stick
All the way home.
You were preachin to the converted.

As with many explorers, Tasman's name has been honoured in many places:
the Tasman Glacier
the Tasman River
Mount Tasman (aka Tasman Hill)
the Abel Tasman National Park
Tasman Bay
the Tasman District

HC’s Maximum points for song about a fat man.
LBGP love your cat.
GU shame about the Pollock

This twenty five year moment
Of life lived
Under a shower of creation
Of trips taken
To the beat of aural devotion
Of friends made
Who shared the best
The revolving doorway
twixt heart and soul, body and mind.

Thanks
I’m glad I was here.


For some free Flying Nunlike music visit here (The Weta-a-gogo stuff and The Unknown in particular)

Hoardings

The juiciest part of the snail
Is just beneath the shell.
Moving house is metamorphic
I have spun myself into a cocoon
The tattered hoardings of yesteryear.

Departure lounge:
Bittersweet letters of first love lost
Unread for a quarter century,
Posters of bands long defunct,
Shelves of books read,
Bus tickets, bar coasters, keys, id cards
Ephemeral jetsetting tokens,
Lecture notes no longer understood,
Apparrel from the 'Tus Mall' and 'Neverin' ranges,
Embarrassing diaries with secret marks
Plotting dietary battles,
Hand me down furnishings and near antiques.

In Transit:
Vinyl, CDs, instruments
Every recording we ever made
As alternative now as ever,
Paice Ave doodle book,
Poems, paintings, gifts, tools,
My collection of children
Two and two thirds to date,
Aging address books
Wildly innaccurate,
Top drawer contents
Useful, required on occasion,
Non fiction and gardening magazines
More reliable than the web,
Complete scifi works of Phillip K Dick,
Robots.

Wings need to harden
Before they stretch and fly.

Arterialsclerosis In the Heart of the City

Apartment blocks shoulder to shoulder
craning necks for better glimpses
listening to strenuous motorways
articulating anger and aggression
carrying auto corpuscular mobiles.
The city's pacemaker disgorges
clogging congested arterials
feeding suburban organs
infusing tissues and viscera -
a land long stripped
of lush.

Hospital Girl In Waiting.

Her pet Ipod nibbles on her tiny ears
Whispering sweet nothings.
Her thumb dances nimbly
Textualizing shallow depths
Of superficial intimacy
Shared through the ether.
She waits urgently for the next hit
Of belonging.

The long forgotten question "why"
Lies gnarled and arthritic in a drawer
Beneath her premillennial photographs
-on paper!
Of bare footed days
And birthday parties
With homemade cakes
And laughing friends.

A great judge of character,
Today, she is people watching.
'You can tell a lot about a person
by their skins and ringtones,
and how casually they display their labels.'
Her ride, a lime green beetle, appears
And she is gone.