In choosing we Dream tomorrow

rising up like waves activists
press against the bastion
eroding sharp edges
flaking chipping away,
the wall remains sealed
holding tight
against the change agents.

anyone who has ever been part of a movement of protest
knows the drill,
hours days nights plans maps letters
bright ideas, fundraising
tears dramas court cases,
years flowing like the river
banks ever changing,
where once a pool now a sandbar
where once a gurgling rapid now a reedy swamp.

grey hairs threaten
exhaustion depletion anger
ptsd despair depression,
until …
run walk away give up fighting
become a baker or a plumber
retire take up gardening
drink a beer knit a blanket

and still after all the blood sweat and tears 
the brilliant campaigns
the lock ons tree sits marches
meetings with politicians
bumper stickers
signs of hope
minor victories
changes in legislation,
the bastion remains.
greater technology deadlier weapons,
coveting more and more Earth
a seeming impenetrable nightmare of coercion and profit.

some activists change stories
slip sideways
stop pushing against
return, reduce the scale to one life
one choice……. theirs
one hope……. theirs
and from one breeds many.

the virus teaches us this
infection spreads
ever widening its circle of influence.

a smile thrown to a crowd returns
a story spoken around breakfast whispers over social media
a piece of art, a quilt, a poem,
teases and stretches
melding into cells and blood vessels
strengthening resolve
soliciting further inquiry
enabling contagious spontaneous bursts of action
for the benefit of…
for the Whole.

2021 begins
active aware creative open hope full 
in choosing we Dream Tomorrow.

kapiti island dreaming

   coming ashore in my longboat
           gliding gently into the shallows
           the happy slap of ocean meeting land.

           feet splashing into the water
           hands drag the boat to rest
           high above the tide line
           a wave of driftwood and opened shells.

           gull prints etched in the slate grey sand.

           wind tugs our hair
           tattoos tell stories of who we are
           mullet waters- Waikanae –
           fire on the beach
           children playing  fish eaten and plans made.


           Kapiti – bold and mountain blue island
           where maori and european , whale and greenstone met
           symbol of our dreaming.

           like you we too are travellers here
           and call these islands home.






the light of day


I have been waiting for the muse for a while – yep close to a month since I last ventured forth

and then I thought I would put out some stories that for some reason or another didn’t hold up to the light of day

and so as darkness falls here and the night comes closer

I offer a story called



The light of day


Dawn snuck into my room jumped up and down on my bladder and pulled me into awareness.

to my reckoning it was still dark.

Go away I murmured.

I am snuggly.

I am dreaming .

the urgency increased and I was forced to get up.

The grass was wet underfoot and from a squat I raised my head to the star-studded cast of players in the sky.

Almost a blush, a hint of light but not really enough to take it seriously, I returned to my nest of sleepy warmth.

But the scout heralding dawn had already snatched me from the dream and there was no return.


I listened then –  wondering if anyone else was awake –  and very faintly heard a few soft tentative tweets.

then a melody rippled thru the air and into my bedroom leaving me in no doubt that day was on its way.

the ancient song of awakening as channeled by the magpies.

It seems that we get so caught up in  indigenous  sovereignty and rights of humans that we forget all that has occurred to make this world absolutely and perfectly suitable for our existence.


We have become  so enthralled in the human story that we disregard the forms that birthed us onto the planet.

consider the genesis of oxygen ,the division of the cell,  the chlorophyll molecule

from an inhospitable environment human wise so many things had to happen for us to be able to live here.

And in the grand scheme of the birth of life onto this earth we have only been here a very short while.


Walter Boles from the Australia Museum unearthed fossil bones in south-east Queensland of a song bird that has given rise to the notion that songbirds were singing on this continent 54 million years ago and that the present day magpie is its offspring.

what else can I do but get up and join in to one of the most remarkable moments of the day.

The sun clearing the curvature of the earth and casting its light onto our dark world.


Suddenly the orchestra swells to include the grey shrike thrush ,butcher bird , yellow robin, whip bird, the wren that will later skip about on our verandah picking up crumbs, eastern spinebills wattle bird – they all have a voice at dawn.


The faded wishy-washy colour in the sky crystallizes into a searing blue of possibilities and continuance. Dogs from neighbouring farms stir rattle their chains and cough off the night. Cars trucks bikes start up and the world begins.


I am standing out side the kitchen watching the glimmers of light fade up and the stars recede until there is only a sickle moon next to Venus and Jupiter in the northeast.

They are brilliantly lit in the suns beam and blink out even as I watch.

In houses all over this land alarms ring kettles are switched on, radios tuned in, the morning show on tele, cupboards open to reveal cornflakes and muesli, toasters pop up, drinks are stirred, showers turn on, instructions are shouted and children and adults move into their day.

And even though I have watched this particular show before, even though I have seen the pinks and butter yellows sweep onto the palette and even though I have heard the dawn chorus a zillion times I am still gob smacked

I am still in awe – this show that repeats itself every morning but is never ever the same.


I cannot contain it, nor write it nor draw it. It will not be captured except in some Clayton’s version of the real thing.

And the beauty of the moment is that if I care enough I can rise again and play a part tomorrow morning in this award winning drama.

But  even if I don’t

it continues to do its thing anyway