The 2035 New Zealand Poet Laureate writes on the occasion of the election of the Tenth Term of the National Government

Let’s make sure this remains a morbid fantasy not a fact. Vote on 23 September. – VB Fellow citizens, we celebrate today The Surplus. From all levels of the Survival Dome, we gather in solemn appreciation in a National Minibreak of Gratitude. Could all digital devices and personal teleportation equipment be turned to apocalypse mode.Continue reading “The 2035 New Zealand Poet Laureate writes on the occasion of the election of the Tenth Term of the National Government”

Central Redux

  Shadows flicker beneath the greenstone waters where the past is inundated by a billion litres of unobtainium, while a ghost road fathoms deep leads through the drowned mountains of an inland sea.   Megafauna of state capitalist uberdevelopment plug the valley’s neck below waving constellations of tussocks, dusky anemones on a reef of ironcladContinue reading “Central Redux”

DWRF17

Massive week at the Dunedin Writers and Readers Festival 2017. Launched Ambient Terror at Chain Reaction, a multiple book launch with fellow Dunedin Writers Peter Olds, John Gibb, Paddy Richardson and Huberta Hellendoorn, at the Athenaeum on Wednesday night, followed on directly by MCing the launch of Manifesto: 101 Political Poems at the Leviathan. FridayContinue reading “DWRF17”

Chain Reaction: Book launch

A group book launch to celebrate a goodly crop of new publications: Peter Olds’ poetry collection Taking My Jacket for a Walk (Cold Hub Press); Paddy Richardson’s novel Through the Lonesome Dark (Upstart Press); Victor Billot’s third volume of poetry Ambient Terror (Limetone Singularity); Huberta Hellendoorn’s memoir Astride a Fierce Wind (Makaro Press); and John Gibb’s poetryContinue reading “Chain Reaction: Book launch”

The New Zealand Poetry Day

Doctors of lit in sensible shoes, Rural iconoclasts from the back of Waiku. Daughters of Polynesia tapping on an iPad, green ink scribblers who’ve got the bug bad. Sentimental, romantic or existentialist gloom, in the House of the Word there are many rooms. The ghost of James K. wanders George Street and in neon squigglesContinue reading “The New Zealand Poetry Day”