[this looks so much better on my site]
- Consolidate all necessary paperwork (tickets, visas, vouchers) into robust fiche to be carried on person at all times. Continue reading
poem
The lounge (a memoir)
[This looks so much better on my site]
Get ready
“It’s about embracing change,” says Penelope, HR’s hired gun.
Gull grey eyes look at me, just another improbable Ulysses.
Continue reading
The Short Tax Return for Individuals
- Start with your name: last first and then first last.
- Do you have a preferred name?
- Have you changed your name since your last return?
- Have you changed your name in the last five years?
- What did your name used to be? (Was it Amanda?)
cold front coming (Akaroa, New Zealand)
the twilight is as green as greenstone
and there’s a cold front coming. Continue reading
Standing on the Leith Docks
Now’s the day and now’s the hour;
and this December evening
the freshening wind brings
cabbage and a whiff of hashish, Continue reading
Early days
“Generations of Western Australians have grown up with the fable of the State’s huge underground inland sea. Today, the fable became reality with the news from mining company Big Snake Nickel that they had discovered the massive water…” ABC, 7.30 Report, 16 May 2000
Found underground, a sea
in parched WA. Continue reading
The best man
Marry me—let’s do it today
and tomorrow we’ll toast tequila
I’ll show you the fires of Manua Kea
and you can show me the dark side of the moon. Continue reading
untitled
Two old palings lean together. One wets a rolly
wrist all knobs and gristle Continue reading
The road not taken (38.0072° S, 177.2871° E)
Rather than the long road, the coast road,
the narrow goat road that follows
the bowls and bends of this sundered shore,
sea on your left or now on your right,
we turned inland, for we had far to go.
The Lovesong of the Flounder
June 2016
…or buying flounder in New Zealand out of season.
(with apologies to Prufrock)
Rhombosolea Plebeia – The Sand Flounder
Let us go there, you and I
Where the salt marshes are spread out ‘neath the sepia sky
Like a poem anaesthetised on a page. Continue reading
Peter Frankis writes 