Fresh air and a sunny path
Exploring Granada's other half
The river is not quite crystal clear
No rudey nudey's happening here
I linger on the streaky sky
The clouds leaking shades of dye
The colours morph and darkness grows
The moon strikes a thoughtful pose
Knock knock
It's writers block
Who's there?
Didn't you hear...
Writers block
Oh sorry, I forgot
Well I'm here and I'm blocking
Well this is shocking
Smack whack bang here's a poem
Just allow me to sing you a low hym
Daintily drifting into your drums
While you snooze and twiddle your thumbs
This one's about all the heavy hitters
The insignificance of man, the frailty of quitters
Grab the popcorn this is getting good
It finishes on a high, as all poems should
The primal allure of a deck of cards
Gathering all within 26 yards
The dodgy dealer hoarding aces
Wandering eyes and shady faces
The smiling assassins that slowly appear
The one that's sure they have a poker career
The cards take on a life of their own
We scrap to take our place on the throne
We are all made of stories
Piles of indistinct categories
Old drafts crumpled, cast aside
Stories told, and those we hide
Narratives compel our every thought
The things we've done, the things we ought
The purist gift, my fellow dweller
Is that of a story teller
The novelty wears off in a 12-bed dorm
The things I see daily should not be the norm
The roommates are a constant lottery
A faster turnaround than the clay in pottery
My personal space bubble has had to shrink
There are less and less spaces for me to think
The mood is jovial and sometimes heated
Here I remain; not rested but not defeated
Post-election of the ape
It's time for me to don the cape
Enough of Facebook slacktivism
And its echo chamber mechanism
Moving concepts into daylight
No longer a bystander to the fight
The path of greed can be diverted
It's time to shout what once was skirted
Moving on and letting go
Relearning everything we know
Letting go should be so simple
As a smile reveals a dimple
But we cling on because we can
It's what we knew; it was the plan
But the joy, the water fresh and cold
The rolling stone sheds the mould
A TV binge is the modern drug
Known side effects: feeling snug
A gateway to horizontal inaction
The temporary high of satisfaction
The screen becomes a confidant
Whispering the things you want
Calling, pulling, shocking, soothing
All the while you remain unmoving
Sometimes on your wanderings
You will order the wrong things
Not out of choice you see
But an inability to speak accurately
What was once a burger is now pasta
There are ways to mitigate this disaster
Gesturing transcends all tongues
Saving inefficient use of lungs
After so long on the road
I'm tiring from the load
It might be time for a reshuffle
Give the feathers a ruffle
I need to sit still
And care less about the thrill
Travel is wild - without a doubt
But I just need some time out
The struggle, the grind
To mould your rigid mind
Letting go of certainties
Of ego and false expertise
You are learning as a child
Open eyes, curious and wild
The world is just a place to play
It is time to have your say
Another kiwi enters the fray
Ollie is here looking to partay
I dragged him along to salsa class
It turned into a bit of a farce
Dancing has never been his strong suit
It was all in Spanish so he went mute
Rather humbled we left with a grin
A pat on the back for taking it on the chin
My phone won't turn on
The phone doc doesn't know what's wrong
He's prescribed a surgery of sorts
It's hard to really gauge his thoughts
Maybe doc will keep it in an induced coma
I can only hope he has the right diploma
Time will tell, all we can do is hope
It won't do any good to mope
30 years ago
The first domino
Mum said yes
And off to an NZ address
Only $8 in saving
They went about paving
The way for me
Happy anniversary
Leave everyone with a gift, as my dad would say
A compliment or smile might just make their day
It's a cheesy concept, but who doesn't love cheese
Forget the lactose intolerance and let your smile be free
For every person that frowns in response
There's another in need of a positive renaissance
At the end of the day we all want to get along
Just a smile will do, no need to burst out in song
I'm off to India at the end of December
A less intelligent decision I cannot remember
My siblings and I have entered a race
Driving a rickshaw across India's face
I expect India to put up a bit of a fight
Throwing our stomachs around like a kite
I hear the roads are all exceptionally well-paved
The kind of tranquil driving I've always craved
I've picked up many skills this year
Some of which I'd like to share
I've learnt how to ride a motorbike
And how to ascend 5000m on a hike
I've learnt the correct technique for mopping
And the art of innocuous Spanish eavesdropping
I've learnt how to build a functional bush hut
And that I need at least a bi-annual haircut
I chop lemons every morning
Coffee casts away the yawning
Chop, turn, chop, slice; repeat
The knife marches to its own beat
The kitchen is a blur around me
Waiters carrying toast or tea
All I see are lemons non-sliced
Looming, lurking like a poltergeist
Careful not to step on her toes
I move with the grace of Shakespearean prose
My salsa skills are shaky at best
My partner on the other hand appears possessed
She sways her hips with frightening speed
I momentarily forget that I'm supposed to lead
The teacher barks out a further instruction
We dive straight in with no introduction