Sunday, November 16, 2003
How depressing...this afternoon I went off to work in the Children's Emergency Dept smartly dressed in the All Black jersey, and ....we lost the World Cup semifinal against our archrivals Australia. I won't even mention the score, it was so depressing. And all this when NZ are supposed to be their strongest ever.
Of course what made it worse was, as I was proudly displaying my national allegiance in a foreign (enemy :)) country I kept being disturbed by nurses poking their head in to gloat over the latest score (someone had brought a video projector in, connected it to the TV and set it up on an iv trolley to beam onto the nearest X-ray screen. The parents didn't mind - they were watching it too.) In the end I had to resort to the good old "go away, I'm busy saving lives" strategem.
Arrgh. what went wrong??!!!
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 2:56 am
Wednesday, November 12, 2003
For some reason, for the last few nights I've been getting home, switching on the computer, and just going for it. Must have a lot of things on my mind.
Quirky
“you’re quirky” she said,
“I like that.” Quirky?
Quer-key?
Cuer-kwey?
does that mean I’m weird,
a oddball?
it is true
I tend to wormhole
my conversations,
burrow into the fertile soil
of my mind
to emerge somewhere
entirely different.
But wormholes can span galaxies
and so I combine
philosophy and science
(once the same thing)
in one sentence
conversants running to catch
the tail end of thoughts.
There are days
I sprint home
from responsible work
to indulge in an orgy of poetry
days when I wear red pigtails
(just for the hell of it)
spend long evenings
luxuriating in solitude
a symphony of thoughts
warbling my life’s song
and yes, I have a Kiwi
named Pio.
Do such things make me quirky?
For once
my mind is silent
on such matters
for what is ordinary to me
may be extraordinary in the minds of others
who is better to judge,
from within
or without?
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 3:30 am
Tuesday, November 11, 2003
Fresh from another lonely musing drive home, I hit the computer and wrote another poem.
Passing
driving home tonight
the moon is hung like a big bronze gong
over the city of scurrying people
it beats away the golden hours
drawing slowly towards its zenith
and the moon sings
I stand edged on a precipice
searching again for your face
some glimpse you once existed
beyond footprints in a photo
a song arcing against sky
favourite blue bowls
squat unused in a cupboard
your hands wrapped them
in paper cocoons
I cannot undo
reaching all beyond to herself
my computer sighs incessantly
unyielding of files
you created,
images pulled
from a tangled Web
a shadow passes like a cloud
a green watch
honourably scarred in travel
lies broken on my dresser:
another gift
I can not bury in a wastebin
the moon howls outside my window
and I can not bury you
not yet.
and then I logged onto my email and found out that another very dear friend of mine had died this morning. How strange life is: how strange and yet so beautiful. It gives with both hands and then it takes away, leaving us staring and wondering "why?".
I have a feeling of us all standing on the edge of a cliff, our hands linked. One by one we fall backwards over the cliff, pulling the next person with us. But the air beneath us flows and pulsates in different patterns, and it seems gentler to be falling than perhaps it seems from the top of the cliff. But I can't see any more. I go to bed feeling very wistful and inevitable.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 1:48 am
Sunday, November 09, 2003
Yesterday was spent constructing Xmas cards....I must be more organised than usual, to get it done this early! In keeping with the tradition of using a new art "form" to create the card (over the years I've used cartoons, embossing foil, wrapping foil, "stained glass", photoshopped images, poetry and computer blended cartoons and photos), this year, I have created a painting - with the above sketch from a "live" subject sitting as basis. As usual, I have flogged my printer and guillotine hard to complete the hand-production.
I think I've been sending out handmade Xmas cards for over ten years now. It's become a tradition with me - an annual "hello" by traditional post to friends around the world. Of course, with the volume - over a hundred people are now on my "definitely have to send a card" list! - I have to take the time to make each card into account!!
Piokiwi 2:08 am
Piokiwi 1:57 am
Saturday, November 08, 2003
Just had a week off (well, sort of off - ended up doing some extra shifts) and have been trying to force myself to do some research project work, but (displacement, displacement) seem to have veered over into more writing and painting instead. Tonight was rhyming night, and am quite pleased with the resullts:
Transient Girl
What was that? A streak of light,
A super human being takes flight!
Boys and girls, do not despair
For Transient Girl is finally here!
Commitmentphobe? There’s no-one who
Transient Girl cannot outdo.
At first a man might catch her eye,
She hopes, she thinks, “the perfect guy?”
She likes his hair, she likes the grin,
She notes the strongly angled chin.
She ponders how he’ll be to kiss….
She even thinks, “eternal bliss?”
She meets his gaze…new love is sealed,
Or so the lucky bloke might feel.
They catch a drink, move on to dine,
The man is smug: “I’m doing fine!”
They talk of food, discuss biology,
Move on to in-depth ideology.
He holds her close, he thinks of passion,
Lulled in by her long long lashes.
Meanwhile Transient Girl’s a-flutter.
She thinks, OH-My-God he’s a nutter!!
As Ideal Guy moves in for the kill,
She gasps, “Perhaps we’ll get the bill?”
She wonders how she failed to spot
This guy’s not really quite so hot.
Now she sees he’s slightly podgy,
And his dress sense rather dodgy.
Super heroes have no fear:
For Transient Girl the answer’s clear
Once again she’ll neatly dodge
All contact from the poor male sod.
Phone calls soon will go unanswered,
All attempts at email countered.
For every dinner, she’s got two
Or twenty “pressing things to do!”
So if you never find the scene
And lead a loveless life pristine
Do not despair, it’s oh so true –
Transient Girl can outdo you!
Annandale 21/8/03, 7/11/03
The Kingdom of Nights
The hour is nigh, oh don’t be late!
Across the threshold lies your fate
On the board in letters bold
The future of your night foretold.
Here’s a baby, ailing quick
There a boy who’s very sick
In the corner, a small child
Whose heart beats still against the tide.
So start to run: from bed to bed
We look to find what others dread
Numbers, lines wand’ring low and high
Will offer insights into life.
Hear! From whence is that bell tolling?
The nurses have the resus rolling,
Monitors alarm and shriek
So one more goes from bad to bleak.
It’s hard to feel a superhero
The manual followed, blow-by-blow.
When in dire need, who can sleep?
Wake up the boss, from slumbers deep.
So all night we walk tightropes
Balance numbers, dish out hope.
There’s many queries, often doubt
The nurses hold our hands throughout.
A break can never come too fast
We fall into a chair at last
The time is short, so fight to glean
A little rest through troubled dreams.
But look! Is that the morning light?
Perhaps salvation is in sight.
And look – appearing like a vision…
The morning staff, so fresh and willing!
CHW 24/9/03, 7/11/03
I think "Transient Girl" flows better and is funnier than "The Kingdom of Nights" which I started writing while on nights and was starting to look a bit contrived in places. However, in others it almost gets across what I want it to say...... only thing to do is to throw it to the lions at a poetry workshop (spent 4 hours in a workshop at the Writer's Centre last night!).
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
watch for the sneak preview of this year's Xmas card (featuring Pio, of course) which I also designed this week!!
Piokiwi 1:34 am
Wednesday, November 05, 2003
On to sweeter things. This afternoon driving into work a weird, almost hysterical feeling struck me. It went something like this: HEE HEE I WILL SOON BE IN AFRICA HEEHEE IN SOUTH AMERICA HEE HEE I WILL BE UNEMPLOYED AGAIN YEE HA WHO CARES!
Well I guess it is more of a calculated periodic unemployment, and far less daring than last time when I tripped off to Europe to spend all my money unsure of what job I would land in England afterwards....but anyway, it's immensely emancipating, and worth trying more than once for the feeling of gay abandonment and utter irresponsibility.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 5:10 am
Driving home to bad pop music can do funny things to me. Amazing the number of times I’ve ended up blubbering on the way, and arriving home with half-connived song clichés in my head. Sometimes these are tossed aside in favour of much needed dreams (and rest), but occasionally they make it into my diary…..and even more occasionally, into my computer in the form of tuneless song lyrics. The opposite of a Song without Words….. Up to now, I’ve not been game to release these for public perusal, aiming to one day (whenever I magically become a genius guitar player I suppose) put in some attempt at a tune. However, seeing that’s not going to happen for some time, what the heck. Here are some of them.
The reason I’m a bit embarrassed is that (this is the theory anyway), being song lyrics/mass appeal etc, they are full of clichés, bad rhymes and words no self-respecting modern poet would put in a poem, such as “love”. Everyone will now jump on me and point out all the deep, meaningful and totally poetic song lyrics that have been written by U2, Sting and the like – I know, I know.
Strange
I’m walking the streets
my body torn in half
No one turns, no one screams
How strange
I look into the mirror
My eyes do not connect
They rove distant lands, seeking
How strange
My body is below
I drift above
Look down to see it weeping
How strange
You’re talking to me
You see that I laugh
But you’re talking to a fake
How strange
Strange I lost the one I loved
I never told
Stranger come and rescue me
From this despair
I”ll walk the streets
Tonight, in halves
No one will turn, no one will scream
How strange
Forgive me
I know you didn’t
Believe in life beyond
What’s done is done
One life we own
But if sometimes I call you down from the sky
sometimes I see your eyes in the stars
sometimes I catch your voice on the wind
forgive me
Your hand was warm
Your pulse still so strong
But blood betrayed
Your mind had drowned
But if sometimes I dance with my hands wrapped around
sometimes I sing in a solo duet
sometimes I talk to your smile on the wall
forgive me
So now you rest
Dust in a green box
Soon to be free
At one with tide and sea
But if sometimes I sigh at lingering sunset
sometimes let the sand wash from between my toes
sometimes dream of your warm hand in mine
forgive me
Annandale 4/11/03
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 5:03 am
Sunday, November 02, 2003
A little boy was brought into the Intensive care today. He had been found floating limp in a pool, 8 minutes after last being seen busily helping out in the yard. His heart had stopped for at least 20 minutes before an ambulance crew got it beating again, by sheer brute force of drugs. Young hearts are strong but brains are still fragile. Now he lies on ventilator support, his muscles paralysed to stop the seizures and aid in cooling him. His brain is swelling, pushing itself against the confines of the skull, and all we can do is watch helplessly from outside. At worst he will die. Or is it at worst? I remember the first near- drowning I looked after, 4 years ago. She was a beautiful 2 year old, and I remember the long weeks of seeing her lie like a vacant, perfect doll, blond hair tied back with a ribbon, her hands and feet fisting uncontrollably as her parents tried to believe she was communicating with them.
Over the three months I’ve now worked in Intensive Care, I have seen many patients whose situations remind me of Casey’s. I have even, now, sat on one side of the table in the Interview room and watched the faces of parents as all little remaining hope was taken away from them and they had to face the ultimate truth. Their faces must have mirrored mine 7 months ago. I do not watch bravely. Twice, I have begged colleagues to take patients that I feel I cannot look after without becoming too swayed by my emotions. There have been many children with the same condition as Casey’s: 2, 8, 13 years old. Some have died, others have survived. It is hard to watch their parents pacing, disempowered and for once unable to protect their children. I feel I have to remain on my side of the clinician-parent barrier. And so we each pace, one side in acute fear and abandonment, the other in memory and longing.
email me: piokiwi@yahoo.com.au
Piokiwi 4:58 am
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