Heavenly bodies

My stories endlessly revolve
    around the heavenly bodies
     of narcissism and desire

(Sex and beauty also feature
    but are forever tainted with
        the calculus of good intentions)

The tide of humanity
    washes
        over
            me

I mix my metaphors
    and conjure memories
        into bittersweet cocktails

The stars circle silently above me
    showing the only way that
        math ever makes poetry

— Early 2010s, after-Thailand, before-Tink

Originally posted at adam.nz.

Too late

A moment too late
my eye catches on the menace
of his lonely silhouette

The muzzle of his gun
glints with the morning dew
as it patiently scans the darkness

He doesn’t flinch
as we careen past
on our morning commute

This morning I am not
worth the effort of pursuit
He will wait for more profitable game

Originally posted at adam.nz.

Pawpaw at Peka Peka

We’re growing Mountain Pawpaw (Vasconcellea pubescens) at Peka Peka and while the fruit are still little, the fragrance of the many tiny green flowers is glorious. We have our fingers crossed that these gems will ripen into 10-12cm fruit laden with papain (digestive enzymes) and tasting of pineapple and pawpaw.

Speaking of glorious fragrance, the mighty San Pedro is still flowering. While blooming for just a few days, they smell of feijoa and frangipani. One of my enduring memories of Peka Peka is being tucked up inside during a howling February southerly and the dissonance of San Pedro’s tropical fragrance pervading a cold house. I’d picked all the flowers as they don’t do well in the rain.

So, now I know why it pays to wait until figs are properly ripe. If you imagine the taste of dried fig but with more caramel and utterly succulent, then you’re getting close. I’m not doing it justice. D.H. Lawrence does an infinitely better job with this poem.

The proper way to eat a fig, in society,
Is to split it in four, holding it by the stump,
And open it, so that it is a glittering, rosy, moist, honied, heavy-petalled four-petalled flower.

Then you throw away the skin
Which is just like a four-sepalled calyx,
After you have taken off the blossom, with your lips.

But the vulgar way
Is just to put your mouth to the crack, and take out the flesh in one bite.

Every fruit has its secret.