7 days of searching

Imma be spittin’ about what’s hitting my search history,

So here’s a poem made from things I Googled in one week.

“Are Clare and Dale from ‘The Bacherlorette’ still together?”

Whether Clare and Dale from ‘The Bacherlorette’ were a hoax.

50 most funniest and spooky short jokes.


TSB Bank.

TSB Stadium.

TSB Living.

TSB Bank.

Online banking!

Downtown Shakedown line up – who is in L.A.B?

Aries – your astrological predictions for the next 7 days

27 creative ways to tie shoelaces.

Gushing water from one nostril. Cerebral brain fluid. Symptoms to watch out for.

4 new cases in managed isolation

Latest breaking news, sport and weather.

Directions to Jessie Street from Cambridge Terrace.

How to pronounce “Uce.”

Fly’s versus flies, which spelling is right?

What does ‘te koati kotiti’ in Maori mean?

David Potts.

Why is David Potts famous?

Is David Potts dead?

Who killed David Potts?!

David Potts death hoax.

Acronym seach of WAG (Wives and girlfriends if you didn’t know)

What is crabcore?

Crabcore examples.

Cornbread recipe.


Lotto NZ.


Radishes on the FODMAP diet – how safe for IBS?

Soundcloud. com

Pacific Radiology

Blood collection places Wellington

Hours of blood collection places Wellington

Image search ‘Eschers snakes.’

Own name and every alternate spelling variation.

Mountain lakes.

Tarns and lakes Mountain Tarns.

UFO sightings, Illuminati and government conspiracy cover ups.

Error. These pages are unavailable. No records of history relating to your search terms. Clear cache, delete cookies. Erase search data. Data unknown.

Supermarkets near me.

Definition of ‘Experiential.’

Definitely or def-fin-ate-ly.

Read ‘Dads forced to adopt their own children in US to bring them home to NZ…’

Searched for ‘The Addams Family” cast members.

Viewed ‘Where is Pugsley now’?

Searched for “What band was Nick from ‘Dinner Date’ in”?

Searched “Why is urine so dark in the morning?”

Searched ‘Story telling’ with a space versus ‘storytelling’ no space.

How to cut a ‘V’ neck into a t shirt

Googled ‘What is Beggar’s chicken?’

Wikipedia page for Erik Satie

Visited Tarns Hood Dot Com.


On my hands

On my hands I see scars from back when I held handles.

Candlewax skin stretched shiny over knuckles

Old gashes and grafts from broken bottles and glass

I pass my finger over a patch that never tans

These hands held hurt that hurt these hands.

On my fingers I see nicks, cuts and nicotine stains

Past pain painted beneath bitten moons

Ripped ‘Quicks’

These hands have made me sick

Picked locks

Touched dick

Been needle pricked

Like brick & mortar

These hands have worked hard

Worked keyboards



Worked tension from muscles

Worked open stuck lids and latches

These hands have lit matches and had fist fights

Had nights in cuffs and maybe just once in my life…

A manicure

They have touched pure, nearly newborn skin

Skimmed sexually sweaty flesh

Gripped stemware filled with bubbles

These hands have then caused trouble

Been kind and unkind to all kinds.

They’ve been crushed in a firm, dominance asserting handshake

These hands have taken goods not paid for

Explored surfaces and buttons with warnings that say

‘Do not touch!,’



These hands have given a lot of animal pats

Swung bats

Cleaned flats

Tipped hats

Woven plaits

Traced over tatts

Emptied fish & chips from vats…

That’s just some of where the scars have come from.

These hands heal


Help words hit lines

These hands of mine have tickled

Tempted, tapped, snapped & clapped.

Trapped, slapped and wrapped around

They’ve found moisture and dryness

Tried nail polish to disguise their roughness

Distract from their red rawness

These hands have bled

They’ve held saws and hammers and Tug-of-War ropes and other hands but

No rings.

No symbolic, sparkly things.

These hands have done the ‘Peace’ sign

Given the fingers – salutes both One and Two

Kept count visually


Innocently displayed ‘West Coast’




And that ‘V’ from Star Trek I cant’t ever do

These hands have touched a corpse

Have formed shadow puppets like dogs, birds and butterflies

They’ve wiped tears from my own and others peoples’ eyes

Have taken wheels of cars

Un-clipped bras

Unwrapped Mars bars

These hands have shook Shaka’s

Performed Wiri

Thrown ‘Goats’

Spun a Thumbs up

Thumbs down

Waved in that shaking side to side ‘sorta, kinda, maybe, 50 50’ motion

Notioned “Hello”

Signaled “Goodbye”

Gestured and applauded in sign

All of these scars on my hands

Tell a story that’s mine.

Manage my what?

Is it going down?
Going away?
Or going to burst?

Is my anxiety becoming paranoia, manifesting into unhealthy obsession that’s translating into physical illness?
Is all of this all and only in my head…
Or is it a real, rogue, rebellious bit of my body that’s noxiously twisting me into a toxic existence…

Is it spreading out?
Spreading over?
Spreading through?

Do you know what it feels like to be quietly captured by your own insides?
Bound and mentally tied.
Kidnapped by your brain with all of those pain transmitters pulsating potentially deadly neurons throughout your make up.

You wake up every day and assess whether it’s

Or just the same.

Try to diagnose the unnamed.
Blamed your diet
Your lack of sleep
Your abilities to properly function as an adult
All of these cause for concern symptoms YOUR fault…

Or stress.

At a guess, you’re dehydrated and foggy.
Groggy from all of the….
…..energy we need to rally up to simply just go about the day.

Say the wrong thing to the wrong person at the wrong time delivered in the wrong way.
Pay for Doctors to provide
And send links to webinars about wellness and relaxation.

Have an insatiable desire to do more damage
To destruct
To become more distant and depressed.
Fuck getting dressed!
Fuck bras!
Fuck dentures!
Let’s take adventures into getting away from ourselves!
Hit top shelves and rock bottoms.
Make out with her
Fuck him
Get into what makes you feel the best and…

Fuck the rest.

Coat of Covid

Everything’s covered in a coat of Covid
Hey, did you wash your hands?
And how long have you had that persistent, dry cough?
Turn notifications off, but don’t scoff at the stats –

At this rate, it’s a matter of who here falls first.

Thirsty work this staying in.
Does it happen to hurt when you swallow?
Follow the news but choose your viewings wisely
Counting confirmed cases can reaffirm your anxiety…

Why do we run when told to stay put?
Foot stapled between septum and labret,
Get all of the rules and then bend them.
You can extend your love,
But stay out of my bubble.

Trouble is,
Everything’s covered in a coat of Covid
Did you just NOT cough into your elbow?!

Go Home!

Rome has fallen…
Russia, America, Spain, the U.K
Stay 2 ———– metres away from those outside your letterbox.
Think of this as a levelled up Chicken Pox
This is zombies in Combies performing lobotomies on the economy!
There’s immunity within autonomy,
But insanity within isolation.
2020 becomes a Pandemic population;
We’re a nation sent inside to try and fly under a virus’s radar…
Paid the Chemist $77 for hand sanitizer

Yoga, cleaning, jigsaw puzzles, arts and crafts.
Laughs at memes and virals while global death rates rise…
Cooking, writing, redecorating, gardening, D.I.Y
Cries after reading the article but stops before the lullaby.

Everything’s covered in a coat of Covid
Hey, did you just touch your face?!
And I’ve noticed you go from singlet to blanket four times this past hour!

How are you feeling?
How are we all feeling…?

Reeling from updates and consumed by paranoid, flu-like symptoms,
We’re watching Netflix, attending Zoom meetings and bingeing full seasons of The Simpsons.

Like digital bones, our phones go constantly as humanity closes her borders.
Orders by the Government meant time spent in solitary while Scientists try to sort out a vaccine.

Clean surfaces thoroughly
Wipe down where you’ve been
Maintain safe and efficient practices of personal hygiene. 

Tarns Hood 31/3/2020

Reasons why I have never written a List Poem.

I have never written a List Poem and here are the reasons why:

6. I’m a little bit numbers dyslexic.

B. I’m not sure i can follow the format correctly and still rhyme…

Nine. What if I developed a lisp…?! Lithed poem…

2.5+ the Infinity symbol. Aren’t most people compiling lists on Xcel Spreadsheets these days?

Cell 7, Row M. I often list things on my fingers, so i feel i couldn’t highlight more than ten points – I find this somewhat limiting.

16. I often forget where i’m up to. I feel the List Poem technique would be brutally unforgiving in this format.

15 or 16. I’d want to put at least two things into every Bullet point – I’m relatively economical.

B. I know i’ve already said B, so now i’d either have to repeat what ‘B ‘was, or try and remember what I had on the list after 15 or 16…

3. There are some numbers I just don’t like…


And I have numbers that are classic favourites, like Lotto numbers or meat pack raffle ticket winners – i’d feel torn about what content goes to what number.

4 of Spades. I’m not that good at maths.

7. I’m actually great at getting the answer to the equation, just shit at showing the workings. (Rainman-Hood)

Triangle. I’m a bit bored of List Poems.

Four hundred and twenty six. I secretly love List Poems and am just salty because I don’t have one in my prolific repertoire.

John 3.16. Lists make me feel like I have constant errands to run or people to apologise to.

8. Lists are more fun to write if you have heaps of money.

1 dollar & fifty cents. Would I need to do a “Pro’s and Con’s” list to see what goes into the list and then also about the List Poem itself?

Purple. Instead of stating the obvious, I’d prefer to inform you subliminally regarding how i really feel.

6. Repetition is ALWAYS in List Poems!

6. Repetition is ALWAYS in List Poems!

Question mark. Have I done one now?

Tarns Hood

Minutes missed.

I was a good time for a long time
Until there came a time where I became a bad time
I was a bad time in no time!
I was a bad time in less time it took for a good time to be had.

I had to have it all
The good, the bad and the less attractive.

I have this ability to remember things back a bit differently.
Filtering through files of mental footage

Finding the finest,
Shiniest examples of being:

Great company

…not a moody, selfish problematic drinker at all…

I was a great time ‘til a late time
Wines ‘til 1am and then some more beer…
Should mention here that this is a “School night”
Whatever, didn’t care.

1 becomes 2 becomes two more, then one more
Then i see 3…
something A.M,
Well then!
Vessel’s empty,

Best fall into a…
Pass out,
Out like both headlights on a car in a ditch…

This was my situation each night.
Fight the urge to go into the
Bottle Shop.
Don’t stop,
Don’t stop!
Go around,
Just pass,
Go straight…
To the back fridge and leave with an amount of piss I’m just not comfortable with telling you about.

The amount of times I took time off…

Took time to think up elaborate tales to tuck away the truth
Took cash
Took booze
Took Centre Stage when told not to…

I was taking everything
Not realising everything was getting taken from me too.

Too many times waking up with no idea how I got
That bruise
That roadcone
That much money out of my savings
This jacket that’s clearly not mine.

I was in denial for awhile
And for a while
I just wanted my time to be up.


I took the time to take some time and told the time to


A lot of Sundays didn’t even exist…

Missed Midday sunshine
Missed catch ups with mates
Missed the bowl sometimes when hungover hurling…

Curling my watch around my wrist,
I set an alarm to wake up.

Tarns Hood 2020.

Live for the soon.


Today I am boiled jugs and playlists.

I wear “On Leave, B*tches!” clothes with glittery camo socks.

I snack on Mainland© Creamy Brie and flashbacks of last night’s nakedness…

I stay in that moment.

Scenes of sweat-stuck sheets.

Traces of tassels that tease through the track lines of my tender places.

Today I am topped up Whiskas©

I am 30-gram Holiday© Reds on a damp deck.

I am cheap sunglasses and Olay©,

(Which I remember way back when being “Oil of Ulan©” and thinking my Mum would soon transform into that goddess on TV, all milk-bathed, glamour and draped jewellery…)

This afternoon I am attempting

“Chill time”.

I unwind to find that space I discovered yesterday,

That place reminding me to

“Be an adult!”

(Ugh, Boo to this place, it’s riddled with chores.)

Today I am looking for tampons in drawers,

Retrieving hair ties from floors,

Leaving Instant Kiwi© scratchy bits pressed into pages of new notebooks.

I took some time today to do

…not a heck of a lot,


I think I got plenty from it.

We are burning.


We are burning

Our chests are play fighting

Breasts and breaths fill the space between us

This electricity

Enabling energy

Enabling ecstasy

Disabling every other charge on any single thing we have

been thinking

Sinking into mattresses

Heaving seas of legs weaved

We see heat come from places we’ve only known and felt was inhabited by Arctic frost

Our bodies are lost under blankets

Gasps and grasps as this desperation closes the gap between us

We are burning.

As we climb.


I’ve cut my toenails & fingernails

Plan to shower and shave

I have this whole day

and a cold.

I’m older next week and the people i speak to daily

say 36 is still young

that I’m “in my prime!”

I find that…


Bring the jug to the boil and seek out my tweezers


All of this takes effort.

I’ve straightened my hair

Found something to wear

I have snot-balled toilet paper in a plastic bag by my bed.

Fed myself cigarettes

I’m finding the energy to stop procrastinating

Bring the jug to the…


Fill the jug with 6 Ltrs of water


All of this takes effort.

I’ve applied 04 foundation mixed with tinted moisturizer

Eyes coated with two blends of a glittery shade

Paid $48 for mascara that still lumps

and clumps like my lashes have fallen down a coal mine.

I’m older next week

still yet to seek out those tweezers

Jesus, this is tiring!





So my face now looks as if I’ve hit a tar pit


All of this and I’ve not yet left the house.


I still have half a day

and this cold

Am closer to being that much older next week.

Powder peach-pink particles

across the bones of my cheek

Spritz my neck with

DKNY Fresh Blossom

Search the bottom of my hand bag for Papaw

and shut the door behind me.

Down the Rabbit Hole.


It was originally called “Alice’s Hour in Elfland,”

And I can understand why they changed that.

Mad hats off to those who

twist the tight, White tails of their Titles.

Shuffle their syllables

Get rid of all pronouns

Found letters sewn into gowns and monogrammed cloaks

THat fit them better.

Here’s to the Dodo,

Not Dormouse,

Late night croquet ground creatives!

Pigeon eyeing up cupcakes on tables,

Ably playing with words,

To the beat

to the beat

to the beat

March Hare.

Folding their fable under fabric footsteps,


It was only meant to be an hour…

A painted Queen of Hearts falls from her

Powerful, padded seat.

The bottle says, “DRINK ME”

Adrift in a sea of salty…



Prepares evidence in the form of


Eat tarts of mushroom,

A Duchess with chalice,

Sees Alice…

A Sceptre,

A Crown.

Down the Rabbit hole and through the Looking Glass,

“Off with Her head!”

She said to the reflection of her arse.

Passes beneath grinning shoulders,

Under lonely Cat girl literature laden shelves…

She’s small,

Like Elves…

But looks Wonderful in a waistcoat.

Just a Kiwi girl who can roll her R’s.


My arms are lineage brown

And my legs the shade of Ethnicity

printed on my Passport.

Sport freckles that make triangles,


Two eyes and a nose.

Hair goes frizzy, curly and sometimes flat on top,

I’ve spotted maybe six greys in total of

my existence thus Far……

ther dead;

Mother married to a Maori Man who is



Darker than I….

Why do I question my Heritage?

Ko Tainui o te Iwi –

Just a Kiwi girl who can roll her R’s,

Who can remember ‘Oma Rapeti’,

Made cups of tea for Elders on a Marae,

Why can’t I identify as ‘She’ of the tribe…?




Bal……..tic States.




Now, that be


Where my biological Grandfather was from.

Yanis Zadenis…I think…

It’s always remembered wrong.

Long frog limbs,

Golden syrup arms,

Former farm legs need work from the sun.

Just one Kiwi girl who can roll her R’s,

Sings ‘Poi E’ through Patea in passenger seats of cars.

Playing darts in sheds,

Drinking jugs

Making bets

Gets Fish & Chips and eats by the sea.

Raised rash forms from stupid salt water allergy,


“This Wahine, must recall some part of her Mihimihi…?!”

Ko Tania Ahau,

Ko Tainui o te Iwi…

Ko Taranaki te Maunga…

She didn’t know anything Latvian,

She was just a Kiwi girl

Who can roll her R’s.


I have a room.


I have a room.

No children, no husband or wife, no mortgage, no pets of my own,

No licence, no savings, no genital piercings, no lay-bys on lay-by.

No Air Points, no partner, no shares, no cyber currency, no full-blooded siblings.

No white-ware, no furniture, no spice rack, no fluency in any language other than English.

No frozen meat, no moisturizer, no boat, no pair of stilettos.

No I.D card, no minors in my care, no holiday home, no degree, no runway designer clothing, no plants.

No teeth in some places,

No iPhone.

No celebrity status, no Olympic medals, no rings, no tattoos, no antiques, no abortions.

No casts, no camping equipment, no Cabbage Patch dolls, no real singing or dancing ability.

No stocks, no idea how to pump petrol, no bridesmaid’s dresses, no tool sheds, no Uber account.

No living set of parents or grandparents, no disability, no Snap chat, no Last Will and Testament.

But I know who I am.

No need for what is not necessary to me.

No worries,

No regrets,

Yes, I have a room…

But there’s still room for plenty more.

Chunks of Blue.


25% through vote count,

I’d checked out.

My hopes sunk,

My house full of chunks of cheese and bread and seas of Green and Red

and not a Blue in sight…


So then,



I see a thumbnail of sun breaking through clouds in the sky.

Select a guided morning meditation for Peace,

Letting go

And Acceptance…

Except this feeling of unrest atop duvets upon fault lines

finds me scanning through frequencies of friends,

Searching for those responsible.

Feed me love.

Kakariki hearts,

Crimson lips,

(Stay Woke.)

Those who feel deflated,

Hold Hope.

Those chunks of cheese and bread,

although Blue,

Might learn to acquire some taste.



noun.  a coarse woven fabric used to make floor coverings.
    • a floor covering made of drugget.

“Formerly, a drugget was a sort of cheap stuff, very thin and narrow, usually made of wool, or half wool and half silk or linen; it may have been corded but was usually plain.”

I like to sit and write on the floor.



draw on the floor


be on the floor.

Because everything down there is at and on my level.


I scribe lying in fibres.

Let them absorb anxieties

as I imagine that my piece of carpet

is stitched into the very bottom seam of the world.

Exiled into textile,

I’m a rug respecter, check my shoes at the door.

Inspect the flecks that checker the coverings underfoot,

put my bag down on the shag

and sprawl.

Crawl my hands through and over woollen loops,

collect balls of hair and make groups of crumbs.

Thumb catches a bitten and spat fingernail clipping,

Slipping catastrophe into the tapestry,

This loom, a womb…

I sat

and the mat held me.


I’ve sunk sobs into shoelaces,

Sat next to waste bins

Been a face-first disgrace with lips laden in lint.

Put footprint stains on a Persian,

had an aversion of hoovers,

(***and spot removers***)

Browned skin on Summer ground,

relaxed on the flax, stayed a while on the pile,

There was no leaving this weaving!


I love nothing more than being on the floor.

Because from down there,

you can go down




Force the first

19490401_10159120821060268_1226627514_o - Copy

She says to herself,

‘Go with the first thought’

And watches her hand as she writes that down.

There was almost an italics catastrophe, with the L wanting to preemptively,

Grammatically grotesquely,

turn itself straight into an F,


But she knows hersef…


Self-reflection on Sundays,

Plays chilled tunes and turns all chat to off.

Off clicks the jug,

She scuffs snug sheepskin slippers past the sink

And drinks down caffeine forced creativity.

Go with the first thought,

which was singularly,


and only just that.

What’s next?

Go with the next thought I guess.

Which is….


Chairs in circles.


I set up chairs in circles and hang things on walls.

I sprawl Big Books across cushions and step



Three up to 12 I fall into place as I space out the cups from the coffee and tea,

I see …

People coming through doors broken,

I see and hear spoken sadness and silent success…


I see


I ask that we desire and confide, that we share and air what’s happening inside,

Inside us…

Inside here.

That, if we need to, we crawl!

We crawl through these doors, where all the chairs are set up in circles and where things hang on walls.

I see you,

Sit here.

Ellipses. (plural)


If you put three dots after a line of words

It’s like going into The Future.

It’s like

“And then what…”

Dot dot dot

Which forces one to explore the potential,

The probable outcome,

The possibility…



Can say a lot,

…depending on where you’re heading.

‘She was dreading her up and coming wedding…’

Dot dot dot

“He didn’t kill just one, he slaughtered the …whole…

Dot dot dot

Got taught in Mathematics

that from Ancient Greece, Ellipsis means

And so forth.”

So forward we go!

Heading into

what’s being left out…

The omission to this magician grants admission for creative cognition

and fruition of thought…

Falling short…

Dot dot dot

The concept of The Future is easy to digest

if you think of life as having

just three period points;

Birth into youth,

Youth into middle-aged,

Middle aged into …

A breath is needed

as we journey into destiny,

Three dots bob up and down in a chat box,

Suggesting there’s more to come.

Dot dot dot

And so on.

Tea for Tarns.


The teaspoon was wet

So she got more sugar than needed.

The tea towel was dirty

So the plates permeate the scent of old flesh.

Refresh the page,

Stay awake.


The teacup was chipped

So she got lipstick in ceramic.

The teetotaller was tipsy

So she knew she was dreaming.

Theming the narrative,


Stay alive.


The tea cart was wobbly

So she got stuck turning corners.

The teapot was lidless

So she poured only cold water.

Slaughter the syllables,

Edit the drivel,

Stay steeping.


To Float.


There’s a poem floating

Just under the surface.

Simmering and sifting

And swimming without purpose.

What category surely deserves these

Penned and spoken words of glory?!

Or of shit.

Because sometimes,

I write shit.

But, there’s a rhyme resonating

Between interrogating thoughts.

I ought to just write this…

Avoid the fright of this,

Sit in the quiet with this,

…and be alright with this.

Clean up the scribbles and cut the first three lines,

You’ll find yourself,

just keep floating,

Go deep, go deeper,

Deeper down below.

Slowly breathe,


Deeper still.

It hurts down here –

it is fuzzy

and it is dark.

A stark contrast from the shuffling, busy reality;

From muffling electronic noise and visuals,

The Rituals of turning on screens,

Ordering coffee…

Residual energies clinging to the slept-in,

Sweated in sheets you shared with both a lover and both your dreams,

Now these scenes are pleasant and positive,

That means,

You’ve just found the perfect category to pop that penned poem into the pocket of!

There are ideas in the hairs on my arms

And through the stubble on my legs.

Mind begs me to note the observations I caught upon my walk up the hill in the breeze,

My knees straining as sneakers feel tight,

Vocals through the right earbud have dropped, if I stop…

I will get too hot,

And the guy behind me will catch up,

Up, up, up the hill I stride,

3, 2, 1 more letterboxes to pass then I’m inside

my house and away from the world…


Ramblings and rantings and creative workings still reside,

They still float just below the surface…

Shimmering and shifting,

their purpose,

is still unknown…

Alone I leave scrambled letters and twisted lines,

Their stanza’d, structured, syntaxed sentencing can stimulate another time,

Because right now,

I’m heading under.



We deserve to have someone that fits in nicely against us

like an adjoining jigsaw puzzle piece.

They can be part of the picture in this scene of our existence!

A corner of a tree in the background;

A slightly bluer part of the sky,

or maybe that obscure bottom part of a waistcoat with a floral print which shows the part- ponytail of the redhead that’s standing next to the mule…segment.


Most jigsaw puzzles are simply made from assembling similar shapes that can interlock…

Remember, this is cut from a generically designed template.

We complete many of these“Fun For The Whole Family!”, ages 2 and up, sprawled across the board atop the dinner table so now everyone eats in the lounge on their laps by the fire, winter indoor entertainment boxes of 1000+ jigsaws in our lifetime…

It’s ok if some pieces aren’t flush;

It’s ok if there seems to be a piece missing,

(It’s not missing)

It’s ok if the cardboard has lifted from the knobbly bit that sticks out and into another piece,

And of which that piece also has cat teeth indents upon,

We will fit the pieces that fit for us

When we know what scene we want to see.