// Port Hutt //

Port Hutt


I take my Aunty to see the shipwrecks at Port Hutt

When we close the truck doors, small birds fly away from the top of a caravan without wheels

There’s three of them, I say as we drive down towards the coast

One lies next to the wharf; its flaking pale blue exterior betrays the rot.

The other, further down the beach, is a meeting spot for birds.

The third adorns the tired shore across the bay.

Look, hon, she says, after some time sweeping her hands across the detritus. 

She is turning a piece of paua shell in her fingers.

A bird flies over our heads.

You could never replicate those colours, she is saying, never reproduce them in any kind of art form.

But all I can see is how much her hands look like mine.



// Please Keep This For Your Records //

Please keep this for your records

Will be the name of my first collection of poetry

I recently saw the phrase on some official-looking documents and thought yes

that is it

I like the sound of the words together

Please and keep

For and your and

Two r’s together

Matches made in assonistic lyrrical heaven


Please, keep this for your records.

If you know me, you know

How I feel




Photocopies of photocopies of photocopies


The weight of documents made in triplicate.

This is because I was a lawyer in a past life

Who had nightmares about the after-death-wishes of certain clients

and sharp triangles made of folded parchment

and shredded paper colour streamers that would only ever decorate

the insides of locked red-lidded wheelie bins

That is, until I ran away to Europe

And was reincarnated at the East London Buddhist Centre

Where I began to write poems in my head when I should have been meditating

Tsk, Tsk,

Breathe in, breathe out

Cultivate loving kindness

(And remember to write that down)


Please - keep this for your records

This is kind of funny

Because I have a box full of journals with most of the pages blank but for black lines making cages

And I call myself a recycler

This is kind of funny

Because it is all digital these days anyway, isn’t it?

And I still have a bulging plastic concertina file playing the same old shit just

in different keys with different letterheads and different dates

This is kind of funny

Because I both want you to and don’t want you to read the thing and/or keep it

Just put a line through the one you don’t want to choose, okay?


Fuck it. 


Everybody already knows that all the good stuff – the what-they-call “juicy bits” happen off the record,



Still.  Please.  KTFYR.

Aoraki // Revisited

“I am content”

I said aloud and anchored,

My visual net cast out on your inverted ocean

Content to merely marvel

At the uncanny ebb and flow of blue-white, blue-white waves.

I do not need to conquer; to scale

To immerse myself in your cloudy depths

To look upon you is enough.  It feels like floating anyway.

The sport will suffice.  I catch only to return.

Poetica #5 // "Emerge"

"Emerge" is the theme for Poetica's fifth urban poetry project; Poetica's floating poem and water painting activity is also part of this year's Festival of Transitional Architecture (FESTA). The festival runs from the 24th to the 27th of October. Click here for more info about Poetica's installation and here for the festival programme.  (And "like" our Facebook page if you want to keep up to date with future urban poetry projects taking place around Christchurch.)  

As you were. 

// Raymond Carver //

 These fish have no eyes
these silver fish that come to me in dreams,
scattering their roe and milt
in the pockets of my brain.

But there's one that comes--
heavy, scarred, silent like the rest,
that simply holds against the current,

closing its dark mouth against
the current, closing and opening
as it holds to the current.

(Raymond Carver (1938-1988), The Current, )