blackmail press 22
W.S. Vun
New Zealand

It's been three years since BMP14, and I'm still an Occupational Therapist who enjoys traipsing around Northland, helping families where I can.  Urban jungles and open spaces continue to be my sources for inspiration, and of course, culture and people.

'Te Whanau' has been printed once in The Northern Advocate in 2006, as part of the Montana Poetry Day.  I've included it here because it has personal significance, and it's an honour to have it here.  Kakite ano.


Look at all the lonely people
she translated
as the music began,
flowing through
the apertures of my heart
as though shaped by the hands of a luthier.

Our quarrels were spent;
no longer fired from
the 'bows held across our lips...

Her words were now sweet
and I felt them whisper
and linger across the chordae -
like heartstrings
from a different lifetime.

We watched Eleanor Rigby pass by -
our hellos unseen in the dim light.
Her forlorn footsteps
faded in spiccato
and she
       was gone.

These Crucial Things

The unwanted find their home with me -
words strewn over my desk
pleading their cacophony:
Disability                      To-do
   Ongoing           Help
Me I     cannot
of anything
but of  hands,
cupping serenity over
my eyes.

Hands that meant everything.

Te Whanau

The kite was a constant –
suspended, like a small deity
against the backdrop
of the lightening sky.

The puddles, in reflection
were turning grey; with leaves
like stranded gondolas.

My thoughts were maudlin,
and encased by the Chills
while she had no chaperone
for hers…

She was facing the wind instead,
thinking perhaps, of her
forefathers and their mana,
across the ocean.

Our child’s hands were upon
the rain-dampened string -
harnessing happiness
from the wind.

Climbing over the ridge,
I saw a trinity of posts
with their wavering shadows


They were the three of us.