The job of a singer is often to be the front-person for a band. Often, a singer/songwriter becomes the singular spokesperson and salesperson for their music. To many, this becomes an onerous, cringe-making activity, rather than the joy that public performance should and can be.… Read the rest

From “The Music is Bond… James Bond” In Concert – presented by Tim Beveridge with his Neophonic Orchestra November 2009 – Bruce Mason Centre, Auckland, NZ.… Read the rest

Yesterday I met your assassin We exchanged greetings at my front door deadlocked behind me as usual bathroom window bolted shut Well, who’s to know? How was I to know he was a hitman? Hired to kill not just cut back, scare or restrain like the last times If I’d have known, I would’ve put up a fight That raging, uncontrollable mother’s defence when she knows it is her last chance innocent to corrupted life or death once and for all But There’s just a stump of you now Chainsaw criss-cross cuts across your upturned face open-mouthed slack-jawed shock slain mid-breath Splinters of you strewn down the stones of the path Even as far as the car park on the street You are dead nothing more can be said on the matter That is that The last tree on Easter Island felled For hours there was a pineapple sweet sawdust Slow motion softly falling all around Glitter-sprinkling the lids of wheely bins, banisters and letterboxes Onlookers, passers by or guests to these rooms flinch They cringe and look away from what’s left your remains aren’t pretty Hey, you used to be Before your throat was cut, limbs removed.… Read the rest

oil stains

		smear

blood stains

		tearing

separate

		water marks

bloodied

		strained

brown

		all stains
	
muddied
		marked

indelible

		swollen

scarred

		ripped

apart

… Read the rest

I remember now Why I die every Winter like the libraries torched in a scorched earth ideology of ‘The New’ erasing all archaeology – manmade ‘his story’ – from Samarkand to Tehran trying to impose the illusion of nothingness nothing to see, hear nothing to see here anymore I remember now How Your socking it to me Punch drunk crack on impact the only way to loosen the tight fisted fighter grimace I wore daily to then hang broken bones from my mandible’s slackened muscle Silenced

Detached

Shocked!!!… Read the rest