How long have you been watching?
        - Long enough to see the digital distortion. Why do you ask?
        The audio programme seems to be scrambled.
        - Is there a replacement channel?
        No. Just wind batting the palms along the street, the occasional spats of rain while blank screens leave me wondering if I will ever get back on the horse again.
        - I didn’t know you rode.
        I was being figurative.
        - Did you mean to say back on the cart, because you had fallen off?

       I am in an empty room. A painting of an empty row boat without oars hangs on the wall. The boat is moored in shallow water without a tether. It just sits there. Three palm fronds dip into the picture from the top left corner, hills across the bay beyond. The water is clear.
        I am unclear. A haze. Fog through the window.
        Ambivalence draining motivation.
        Jumping isn’t an option. Running isn’t an option. I only have floors and branches, arms and legs,
and reflections on the water.
        Clear, still water.
        There are voices in the wild, and salt on my tongue.
        Conversations down the corridor where light is hiding from the ashes.
 
        Am I my own son?
        The one, who was born again on the side of the ambivalent river; the one, who shed the umbilical cord into the water, rose again washed and fresh, and welcomed the morning sun against retired eyes?
        Time to stop looking
                  into the past;
                  into the future;
        Time to start living, as mindfulness is imparted upon the fabric of existence.

        I am, and is,
        me upon the stones,
        Dreamer who let go.
        Feather on a discerning breeze.

•  11/02/2025, 7:36 pm; Tūranganui-a-Kiwa
  

And I emerged
        from the void that is silence
        to erupt with fire
        over the horizon.

I smothered the tundra,
        creeping vines, and willow branches;
I laughed at hyenas,
        as they scattered from the ashes;
I claimed all the homes,
        and disowned the occupants;
I incinerated every treaty
        proclaiming peace and friendships,

And I returned
        from the blackened earth
        with vengeance and renewed desire
        to corrupt the liars
        hiding in the rafters,
        to have them ply their skills
        with half-truths
        for the vines to grown gullible opinions on.

Where the soft crusts will pluck their budding agreements from and nod along righteously,
Where the hardening weeds will feed their determined antagonisms through dribbling jowls.

You see,
        it was not your gardeners tending your soil for you,
        it was not your harvesters discarding rotten fruit,

It was I, bleeding into your brain
        delusions of division, chaos,
        and foolish pursuits.
        To have the lambs lie down in submission,
        To have the pack of dogs rise in retaliation,
and then to have,
        one-sided opinions flavouring the conversations,
        accusations based on hidden agendas,
        hard facts forgotten
        in exchange for soft truths comforting.

It was I all along
        with hand in the cookie jar
        laughing at every courtesy your enemy took from you,
        so that you could refill the jar with blame,
        and never see the hand that severed you from your own humanity.

This was my greatest achievement:
        To forever dissuade all from joining hands to grow peaceful prosperity.

And you all heard,
And you all listened,
And you all played a part in my raising of the lands, the destruction of temples, the raping of wives and daughters, the
murdering of fathers and brothers, the killing of your children,

While your beliefs grew, and grew, and reconfirmed all you believed you knew.

• 17/12/23; Brightwater

For you I ache and fall apart,
For you I tend these tender scars,
For you I hope the stars will shine
While I lie in dust upon the stairs.

• 12/01/22 11:14pm, Waikanae
  

Here it comes, young man
Clouds on every horizon,
A fire burning bright into the long night.
We waged war on our heroes,
Dug graves for our ghosts,
Sneaked love into tents as though
We had forgotten the lessons
Our mother taught us
Over this timid plate of hors-d'œuvre.


Tally the falling giant upon the stones
Where we once built a wall to obfuscate glory,
Dismembered parts levy the starved and hungry,


Equal among us are the stomachs that remember this fate.

~ ~ ~

Are we old enough to harbour the wisdom of age,
See through the soft glaze
Appropriating kindness on a stage?
Can we forgive our sins when all is remembered,
Chipping away at our present state
And ushering in the endgame?


See that smoke rising,
Bristling with static energy,
Coalescing with storms and anger,
Birthing the new frontier.
Frustration mates with the enemy
And gives conception to holiness and penalties.


In this hour,
In this day,
In this year
I hear you say:
Lay your bones down
now
upon this hallowed ground.

• 20th December, 2021; 9:05pm, Paekākāriki / © W.F. Stubbs

This beautiful life
With stars to battle over,
Longing to swim in an ocean of,
Feelings to dwell in the haven of;
Where we search for meaning
      and assume learning through reflections.
Have you held enough hands to warm your heart
      with integrity's shadow?
Have you felt enough grains fall loosely
      through eager fingers of morning's sorrow?

This beautiful life so lost in tides,
Here I swim again returning thoughts to horizons
Where ships spread their sails like birds on the wind,
Breezes for salt spray and crustaceans,
A laughing northerly and biting southerly,
The creaking wood that needs caulking,
Sealing boards of their sulking.
Yesterday’s tomorrow has yet to arrive
      and harbour intentions with harmless playthings.

This beautiful life is yours for the keeping,
This beautiful life is mine for the taking.
Have we these thoughts together,
Or are we separate like the sea and the sky?

Love without a bridge between earth and stars.

• 18th September, 2021; Paekākāriki