The Hand of God

The Perils and Joys of being a Pedestrian in Auckland

It’s almost frowned upon to use ones legs in Auckland to get from a to b.

Menacing socialites barely able to see over a steering wheel drive with their

foot to the floor rushing to pick up their trim milk late while the peasants of the

path graciously hobble along forgotten. We who march upon the ash felt deem

ourselves lucky beyond all measure if we have the good fortune to even tread

upon a footpath. Many times I have witnessed tradies in their working vans

glued to a standstill at a busy traffic intersections. On my two feet like Achilles 

merciless I outstrip them galloping around the corner. It’s sad to realize how

our main roads, back streets, byways, dead end streets you name it are

peopled with less and less honest walkers. Ironically one does tend to see

a rise in exercising lunatics clad in leather jogging pants doing their very best to

suck in as many exhaust fumes as humanely possible. It almost makes me

sad as I think about their pristine athletic lungs slowly being riddled with carbon

monoxide and pollution.

Despite the gloom, something funny happened yesterday as I was trooping down

the road to a Socialist meeting on the edge of Morningside. While I was minding

my own business a heavy set leering woman of pakeha descent leaned out of

her passenger window and said hi. I said hi back while keeping a steady pace

toward my destination while feeling rather hungry. She asked me abruptly

“do you want some tits!”. I was rather surprised and taken aback then quickly  

realized this woman was trying to level me for which I pitied her. Politely I

declined her insincere and venomous offer as I being no fool saw that her

boyfriend or pimp was driving her about and didn’t want a part in any tomfoolery

. I then said to the woman in a low tone “I’m good thanks”.

She countered my genuine rejection of her advance by stating that the current

standing market rate to enjoy the sight of her bumbling breasts was a pittance

at “30 dollars” although she made her sum sound like a vast aristocratic fortune.

I dis-regard her quote entirely as I had absolutely no interest in playing into her

poisoned hand.

The next thing I know the woman’s four wheeled slug of a car zoomed off into

the sunset leaving me in peace. I silently hoped the cars smoky exhaust

propelled it’s occupants as far from me as humanely possible.

 It’s true that the undisputed kings of inner city transportation are cars.

This fact doesn’t stop me from laughing, howling even when I hear cheesy

generic car horns sing out with rage and anger, as if they owned the roads out

right. Like little lords and lasses with their hereditary authority unchecked

cars speed down the pot-holed roads with flagrant dis-regard for the safety of

young children walking home from school. Currently pedestrian’s maybe

overpowered by the might of the combustion engine. But sooner or later the

change will come and the smirk on their smug drivers faces will be lost for

good. The tables will do more than turn they will 360 flip. Then with the wink of

an eye the champions of society the glorious driver will become powerless

and unhinged as computers and algorithms direct humanities future movements

and the best route to ones desired destination. I would gladly pay far more than

$30 to strip despotic wayward drivers and their despicable passengers of the

cruel pride only afforded to them by the power that comes with having the

ability to direct the four wheels of a car. 

Scurrying Ants

My mind and spirit soar brushing the vaulted ceiling.

The music in the stadium propels us all into a blissed out 

state of being. It feels as if my skull has been opened up wide

causing me to lose all control of my brain. I begin to feel woozy 

and terribly strange. My limbs jump about as if possessed, 

perhaps they no longer belong to me. 

My circular eyes flicker and snap into ugly 

snare drums untuned. My thick brown hair rattles

around like spinning crash cymbals close to breaking.

My ears are engulfed in fuzzy bass-lines 

humorous and light. My arms and legs now utterly foreign to me

are moved about by discordant guitar chords

that patter through the air like overweight pigeons. 

The elevated human crowd are now lost wandering

in a different sonic dimension. All of us 

smell of over-priced liquor and burnt cigarettes.

The crowd sways and splutters like swarming plankton.

Despite my feeling of being underwater I continue to 

sip my plain lemony drink in my recycled paper cup. 

Finally the band takes to the stage for their final encore,

with what little energy they have left to give. 

After a time the lights switch on abruptly ruining 

the show, it's playful illusion broken in two.

Immediately everyone is reduced to scurrying ants. 

Foraging for Money

My hands dug through the snow looking for money 
We wanted our due and thought it not funny 
That some fool had left our cash buried in ice 
Without our modest wages we could only eat rice 
The men despaired doubting their pays existence 
I remained calm awaiting my crews enrichment  
For under a gnarled tree in a frozen forest
Were thousands of dollars fulfilling my promise  
So I dug up the folding without a second glance
Then preceded to wave the money about like a silly fan
The others crowded around and the loud roaring began 
Our pockets transformed our spirits blurred drunk   
We burned through cash faster than our ship would be sunk  

Desperation

Desperation had brought us all together. We had similar motivations for why we did what we had to do. 
Some of us had no job prospects, others needed more money for family, while others simply wanted a 

break from the languishing monotony of life. We did the jobs no one else wanted to do or ever thought of taking 

up. We were specialists in mopping up spilled milk and tying up loose ends. The higher the stakes were 

the more we charged. Overwhelming odds simply made us laugh. Of our small squad of five I was 

tasked with overseeing all the operations we took on trying to bring about the best outcome for all. 

Nothing compared to making away with the drugs and money and cashing them in for flowing riches.

We didn't like breaking the law none of us did but we needed more than a life offered under the law.

Living hand to mouth in one of the most expensive cities in the world was enough to break a man's spirits.

A complete lack of security, not being able to supply the bare necessities, struggling to pay the rent 

had made us monsters, lions, death machines that stalked the streets lurked in shadows and enforced 

secret codes the average citizen never knew existed. We lived in the grey zone between heaven and hell.

Only the Brave Look Inside

What are you running from and do you have any real hope
Of out running it 

why not be brave stand tall and slay the murky inner demons that congregate in your foolish thoughts at night 

Haven't you heard the glistening sword of clarity is the greatest gift you can give to oneself 

so weld it high like a double edged long sword and cut down the approaching enemy of negative emotion that persist in your head

In the deep recesses of your mind they are begging to be released set free and laid to rest in a bloody grave 

Once restored set out on a quest of any magnitude for however long it takes you be the judge but make sure to gather up a handful of friends that glisten brighter than rare freshly cut gem stones 

Also be careful not to drink to much in the depths of your sorrows only partake of rich wine to heighten your natural inclination toward ecstasy 

Have no fear when travelling over distant lands were danger often lurches hidden in the garb of poverty 

Laugh at the blandness of existence while cherishing the exotic vision of nature 

But always remember the only place that truly matters is inside you

Powerless as a bee dies

I saw the worst thing today
A trapped bumblebee slowly
eaten alive

The poor thing was lost looking
For an open window to escape
Into warm air

Instead it crashed against a musty
windowpane knocking itself unconscious
spelling out its own doom

The bees golden black body
Ricochet downward across the room
into a heavy drapery of silken cobwebs
spun by a menacing spider a waiting silent killer

I thought i saw the eight legged monster bounce up with glee
before letting the bee tire itself out completely
in woven webs ten times stronger than human concrete

I'm also ashamed to say that the bee was not the only one
that lay paralysed in the room I too was glued to the lounge chair
once in leisure now writhing in unabashed terror

I desperately wanted to grab a broom and shove it into the webs
saving the young bees life in the bloom of its youth
but worried I would only do more harm than good

Now I can't bare to look at that window again in case
I see the bees slender body drained of all life
a mere husk of the beautiful flying creature it once was

It was so happy and free before being murdered

All I can do now is erase and destroy all the webs
around my house to negate my sullen conscious
as a small token in homage to that fair bees life  extinguished

Only now have I come to realise how an innocent life can be lost
by my own inability to keep my house in order and free from vagabonds
lurking upon dirty windowsills