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O … kay ….
Let’s dress Don in a hoodie and get him to say mo fo alot. No flip flops for Don … Slippers and ripped pyjamas, chow down the burgers, get on side with the kids…
Get some steriogram white trash, get don down to the trailer park. Yep, that’s some good advice.

Ode to Auckland…

Perhaps this poem has one of the most memorable opening lines of any New Zealand poem, especially if you’re a South Islander. Search it out if you never have, it was one of Baxter’s last (probably the last) poem he wrote before he died.

I have an affinity for Baxter, not least because my father did as well.

Dad met the man, and one of my treasured things is the collection of JKB poetry dad had – first edition i think – but special for me because of dad’s connection with the man and his struggle. I’ve read a bit about baxter – although there are surprisingly few websites about him – and it strikes me how little people actually get him. Plenty of people quote or critique him, but not many get it, if you know what I mean. I think my father lived a lot of the struggles of baxter – drinking, AA, calvinism, faith, work, escape, journey, intellect, faith, despair and religious experience.

Mike Riddell puts some interesting context on baxter’s place on the spectrum here.

The man himself was a sea of words, a great flow of words, according to Dad. A burbling river, wai taki. A courageous man who faced his demons. A flawed character, but a brave one.

Mind you, a lot of his work is dark, morose, preoccupied with death even from the early work. Some detailed, torturous confronting of mortality. Strikes me as a massive intellect trying to come to terms with death. In the end his answer was faith; although he probably got sidetracked by the commune thing. Ironic that Baxter died in the 1970s after living in a commune that was more like the 1870s…

I just sat there eating my camel turds and cheese

Well, they had their chances, but its not often you see Australia not be able to put an away an opponent, especially one with 10 men …

Still, a penalty, close to time, is a rough way to lose.

Wake from your sleep
The drying of your tears, today we escape, we escape
Pack and get dressed, before your father hears us, before, all hell breaks loose
Breathe, keep breathing, don’t lose your nerve, breathe, keep breathing
I can’t do this alone
Sing us a song, a song to keep us warm, there’s such a chill, such a chill

You can laugh a spineless laugh
We hope your rules and wisdom choke you now we are one in everlasting peace
We hope that you choke, that you choke
We hope that you choke, that you choke

We hope that you choke, that you choke

LONDON, June 23 – A herd of cows chased a man and his dog into an English bog, police said after they rescued both.

Police dispatched a rescue helicopter when they received an emergency mobile phone call from the man as he sank into deep mud.

The drama began when the man took the dog for a walk in fields near the city of Exeter.

“He rang the police on his mobile phone and said he had been chased into the swamp by some cows,” said Devon and Cornwall Police spokesman Baxter Provan today.

“He said he was hanging on to a branch and was sinking in the mud,” he added. Reuters