The Voyage of the Tangaroa

The Voyage of the Tangaroa*

If you scientists had gotton on deck

You may have noticed the Wilkins Ice Shelf, bigger than Aussie,

Instead you got seasick down below

Wading through incoming data slopping about in the bilges

And then teams of seamount, cephalopod, benthic fauna scientists

got together for tea

We mostly miss the inner invitation to leave behind your mind

In Island Bay and Berhampore

They feel the southerly presence of You

A white cold front making windows untouchable

Bergs of cloud up from Kaikoura

Like the cold cultural fear that blows from the shivering continent of the Capital’s transactions

Walling itself up or hiding behind hills and corridors

The soul is a vast and quiet land

Few go there

The occasional visitors are mystics and psychos

They are incarcerated, like Scott, in frozen beauty

No wonder they die young

Yesterday I woke up and felt the cold

I packed my bags and scientific gear,

Probes and prayerbeads

And headed south

* Antarctic research ship

The Black Chrysler (Illuminazi 911)

The Black Chrysler  (Illuminazi 911)

(the background of this poem is my family used to go walking together and we would invariably see this black car.So we got all paranoid and this poem came out of it. Children seem to like it. 

The fbi glide idly by the fizz factory

In her black chrysler

What you doing here myo bizz

Forboding plate code

With Too many ohs

We've seen your taillights bright braking

At peculiar addresses

With nondescript fences and blue tv faces

The lipstick seems plastic

Like a horizontal taillight

The smile quiet and gliding those lips around town

Perfect eyebrows set to cruise

Circuitry raucous under perfect skin

With her driving gloves and death ray under the bonnet

The strange extra aerial like a stainless needle

Same as the one on Dodi's black mangle   

Slowing at the Christian new life centre

Checking out for some decent stem cells

Mother ship overhead

Keeping an eye on her shiny black beetle

The ace of spades is checking out the crumbly graves

Under airline chemtrails like the entrails of spies

The last retail remains ply their trade

She glides by the Chompers crates of chicken mince in the matrix of shops with hitching posts for the ghosts of horses now bearing the bloody scrapes of mazdas

She will meet the contact at the designated point

Where murdered houses disappear into paddocks

And his suspect confident pointy shoes

The exchange

Gone wrong

Struggle muffle carboot shuffle

She Slows again 

to interpret the war memorial spire

Pointing to heaven and the mother ship

The stone carvers slip, the glorious dead

And the watching eye of the town camera

Has no one watching