Bloodlands – A Belfast Story.

Photo by K. Mitch Hodge on Unsplash Recently a show aired here in New Zealand on a Demand website called ‘Bloodlands’. The series was released in February 2021 and stars James Nesbitt. The show is based in Belfast, Northern Ireland. Bloodland flashes back to talking about The Troubles. The Troubles ended officially in 1998 with…

Daisies and the Doll’s House

The miniature daisies got cut off from their home Mowed over I keep seeing the doll’s house I keep seeing the doll’s house So much traffic The plane is full, we wonder if it can carry our tiny weight People everywhere, looking but not seeing our split lip or the bruises on our little face…

The front handbag, the psych ward and the hand held metal detector.

To be at the police station by 10am was rather a big ask? I missed flights all around the world due to them trying to get me somewhere early. After 26 years as a lady of the night, and years in the music industry were all the gigs are at night, we are used to a more leisurely start to the afternoon. A pot of tea, several flat whites, hair and makeup all takes time. As does the many changes of outfits, as we wait for one of our many Alters to make up her mind on what we shall wear.


The truth needs beauty to be palatable This has been learnt over several lifetimes We feel right at home in the lands of thousands of years Here waiting for you to hear our truth We just never knew the rules, only lead by our integrity Which helped us find yours You were the first to…

What happens when third wave feminism gets left out of the conversations?

Recently I watched an interview for the Auckland Writers Festival 2021. The interview was done by Alison Mau a journalist from Stuff news and the journalist who wrote my #MetooNZMovement story. Alison was interviewing Ngahuia Te Awekotuku and Sue Kedgley. Both women are Baby Boomer, second wave feminists. Sue Kedgley wrote the booked called ‘Fifty Years a Feminist’, which was disused and read from during this interview. I have not read Sue Kedgley’s book.

My career in the music industry.

I toured Australia and a chunk of Europe with a Ska band called Bad Manners and loved every mad minute of it, at that stage I was selling merchandise for them. I moved to London with the drummer from Bad Manners and he got me a job working with the agent Lee Graham. During that time I worked with a corporate band called The Melody Fakers. This band had members who had been session players with: Elton John, Simply Red, Tina Turner, Queen, Van Morrison, Level 42, Westlife, The Temptations, Gloria Estafan, Kylie Mynogue, Desmond Dekker, Bjorn Again, Bad Manners, Basement Jaxx, Amy Winehouse, Mark Ronson, Dizzie Rascal, Madness, Girls Aloud, Placebo, Craig David and Jamie Cullum.

The Event Horizon.

A police video camera is not like a normal camera, it is a large rectangle black box. In a plane crash they call it the black box, was this going to be the same box? That is painted black. It sat on the end of my table looking like a science fiction version of a black tiny Tardis. I wondered if it would take me to a strange new land, even though in reality I knew I would wash up in my past. In those places that even Stephen Hawkins never got to discover, when he looked past the radiation that dances around

Dear author’s and writers,

I finished a book recently that was painful to read. Because of this I am writing to ask you all too please do not do what the author of the book did. A while ago another author asked in a Facebook post, what was it that made someone buy a book? Most people responded that…

A serious breach

The Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in Care mistakenly leaked a vulnerable rape survivor’s personal information, including their name, address and the name of their rapist. A form containing the details is addressed from Chair of the Commission, Judge Coral Shaw, and was accidentally sent by a senior support worker to another survivor.Both the rape survivor and the man who received the document are devastated by the breach. The whole integrity of the Royal Commission is destroyed by this one email,”

Best Friends.

A couple of days ago I dug up some more of the lawn to prep for another new garden. My third new garden without you. I had dried some pumpkin seeds and without even knowing if it was the time to plant them, I put them in the ground and covered them in dirt. It…

Stabat Mater dolorosa

A small child has moved in next door

The story so far is that she appears happy

Her father is not with her mother, he is with a new women

They are both in their 20’s

I can hear an ancient drum beating deeply inside me

The voices all raise from a very old place

I see three generations suddenly appear before me and from me

A conference call

Right girls we need a conference call now, this madness needs to be processed and stopped before it gets anymore out of control.

Melissa “yes I agree, we all need to talk”

Jazzy “yes I will keep notes”

Rachael “oh for fucks sake do we really need to do this again?”

Cassandra “oh come on Rachael, you know very well why we need to talk”

Jazz “all I see is black and red”

Jazzy “oh wow Jazz are you going to start painting again?”

Jazz “no”

Jazmine “I just called the crisis team and they didn’t quite get it”

Rachael “what did you expect? The mental health team will only ever be about plasters over the cracks and our cracks are giant crevasses”

Jane “I don’t appear to be able to stop crying”

Rachael “Mary will you please stop saying hail Mary’s and just try and focus”

Cassandra “where is Jaz and the other girls?”

Melissa “I am keeping baby Jane away from this and the other girls have gone dormant whilst this is happening, it is too much for them to front at the moment”

Jane “can we please talk about T, he broke us all again”

Our poem about speaking to: The Royal Commission of Inquiry into Abuse in State Care.

The commissioner sat at the other end of the table

His head was bowed, was this a form of respect or just a better way to listen?

The candles of five different colours flickered in the breeze that was coming in through the open French doors.

The playlist, which took several months to organize was playing quietly in the background

Off to the side, now on the blue couch sat a facilitator, she had set up the recording devise on the table.

Our new friend, Tom, sat very close to me, his soft eyes held the world and many other people’s worlds shown through his bespectacled gentle face.

All eleven of us sat at the other end of the table.

Pink pieces of paper held notes,

The notes got lost in translation as the hand writing was written by someone else

Photos of our daughter and grandson hung in the air,

As did the photo of our mother and father, long left into the ether, buried not far enough away.

A poem: Number Plate.

Number plate. Your shadow is shaking Finding myself staring at number plates of cars that look like yours Is it because I miss you? Or is it because I am scared for my life? Changing my pattern Because those whom detect told me to By sitting in a room full of crooners singing for their…

The day that I needed to find my voice.

Katie Melua is trying to tell me that it is a wonderful life. I wish she was here so I could tell her what I think about that. My tv is dying, my cat believes I have not fed him, and my best friend won’t answer the phone, I know he is screening my calls….

Please help a young ballet dancer

Please can you help my best friend, Dra McKay’s niece Holly McKay get to London, as she has been accepted into a Ballet School.

Memories about words.

I have had a delayed reaction to this even through it has been in the news and my tag line on my page says ‘Stop blaming victims’. I had to sit and pause. I had to pass through the triggering stage that a victim goes through when reading something like this. All victims have this response. A trigger is like a gun going off in your head, you find yourself back in the medical room with a doctor swabbing your private parts that are now public parts and everyone now has a right to talk about those parts of you while you lay on the gurney with a room full of people. Only one you really know because she is your support person that the detective ‘let’ you bring along.

A news article about us: State care abuse inquiry’s gang connections the latest hurdle for vulnerable participants

Alison Mau: State care abuse inquiry’s gang connections the latest hurdle for vulnerable participants Alison Mau, Jul 14 2019 My name is Julie for this story. Alison Mau: State care abuse inquiry’s gang connections the latest hurdle for vulnerable participants SharePlayMuteCurrent Time2:02/Duration Time3:35Loaded: 0%Progress: 0% Fullscreen State care abuse inquiry lacking care – survivor An…

A poem: Gas-lightening

I left my body

It is too cold

I left my body

A psychologist got to close and I left my body
He said he was my friend

I left my body

He could only talk to me
I left my body
it is too cold

I left my body
He said he can only talk to her about work

I left my body He said he cannot talk to his wife like he can talk to me

A Poem: Living alone in a Lockdown

Living alone in a lock-down

Isolation has a different meaning when it is something you spent most of your life doing

Spent the first few months alive in an orphanage

Too sick to be adopted

Grief is in the marrow of that place

How to cope with Covid-19 anxiety

Just mulling over life, the universe and everything, as one does whilst drinking wine and chatting with friends and thinking about the Lockdown that New Zealand has been placed into. I just asked a friend of mine who lives in Wellington who is a big walker, if in the next month if he could please…

She remembers

She remembers She remembers some things Like dancing on the beach The wind in her hair The movement of her dress Her feet in the sand Your knee, which she gently touched Only for a moment Without your permission But it was enough, for her to remember That You care You have forgotten how to…

The Mirror

  I sit on the fence, observing you You watch me wash my hair I hide behind my hair as I do not want you to really see me The roof falls down from the weight of the water and my emotions We both grow older We still do not see each other The children…

Pizza and Binaural Beats.

Unspoken words left lingering in the air Now stale from all the air that has been sucked out of them Was it a mistake? Was it just madness? Words hold so much power when left unspoken Minutes, hours, days and weeks have passed into a place of dark matter A season changed A Solstice past…


Lines meeting Lines colliding Lines crashing Lines lying Lines meeting many times over So many lines were almost crossed Lines put on hold Lines paused Lines that were really about you and had nothing to do with me Lines written and sent and received and read So many lines read, especially the ones about missing…


Drowning Drowning in emotions and feelings Lost all sense of direction as our compass broke in the storm Wanting to drown The parade is calling us, they are so loud It is loud, so loud all eleven can hear it Some weeks ago we all swam in the ocean of being heard by the State…

The King and The Cross.

Originally posted on Dissociaton with Jazzy Bell:
Ode to being in your late 20’s in the 90’s Were one becomes bored with the landscape And decides to venture forth to foreign lands A head full of concurring other people’s cultures Knowing you could be like other Kiwi’s from the antipodes Therefore, you jump into a…

Some days

Some days like today I need the poetry of Charles Bukowski to fill the spaces in my overly busy mind. I know he was an angry aggressive twat. When I step outside of that and really listen, I hear a dark truth that resonates on a level like Albert Cummings also always did and other…

The snake in the shed.

We just came out to the shed to visit the long green snake, He is our new best friend, He is tied up in a perfect shaped knot, We must call him a name soon, so far Saki fits best


They stare at the screen
It fades to black before they do
Their heart is not read
Because no one is that well read

Sex Work in New Zealand.

I believe New Zealand has the best model for Sex Worker’s. Sex Work was decriminalized here in 2003. I spoke in this short documentary made about the time that the law change happened here, about how Sex Worker’s now have more rights, for instance I lost custody of my daughter due to being a Sex…


I just wrote a poem for New Zealands National Poetry Week.

I Am Still Here

I write that tile and have a tidal wave of emotions overwhelm me. I am only still here because nearly three weeks ago I was put back into the mental health system after being discharged over 9 years ago. I am on a new anti-depressant, sleeping pills, and Valium for anxiety. A couple of weeks…

Aftermath Part Two.

It has been two weeks since I was interviewed since then I have slipped into a suspended space that feels like floating. Nothing really feels quite real, it is as if I am looking at everything through a glass paperweight. It is neither bad nor good in here, it feels a little fluffy and dreamlike. I quite enjoy the quietness of this space, I just stared at a rose for over 10 minutes, the petals fascinated me as I saw them cradle there core. In one of those moments, a Bellbird sang and I knew then I also need to take care of my core.

Cire Trudon

I just walked into the bathroom and out the corner of my eye I saw the box for my Cire Trudon candle. I had brought my candle over ten years ago from the World shop on Victoria Street, in Wellington, New Zealand. There is no other candle in the world that smells like this, with smells come memories. I often wonder what happens to other people when they look at an object? Do they just see what is in front of them or do they experience the tidal wave of memories as well? Do they let it just wash over them, or do they wash up to when it happened? In my experience it appears that it takes about twenty years for memories to just be memories without attachments.

Dear Alison,

Dear Alison, I just walked into my studio and saw these crew passes that is a photo to Drive, only some of them as the rest were lost a long time ago. I was once again haunted by it all. I have been going over the emails and I need to let you know that it…

My Life in Cafes from 1985-2005.

My first real café experience was a café called Te Kano Café in Wanaka, Central Otago. It was the mid 1980’s, during my teenage years, I went to the café off and on until I was 18 and left Wanaka forever. The café had the most beautiful atmosphere and food. I went there with my first love an 18-year-old boy called Dylan, his family where house truckers and had moved in next door. Dylan’s father was an artist and they were all hippies. Once when we were sitting on the cushions, on the floor at a low table in the café Dylan gave me a friendship ring, I thought I would die with excitement and the fact that the magic mushrooms were kicking in and lift off was imminent.

The Wonders of the World

The wonders of the world are the morning stars singing together The waves of the ocean rolling over me The treasures of the snow and the treasures of the hail The waterfalls Lightning, thunder, and the rain The herbs springing forth The drops of dew The hoary of the frost of heaven The clouds The…

Granny Life.

That moment when you have just turned 49, and you want to reach out to other grandparents. A big chunk of your life in your 40’s has already been about, turning away from those friends whom are not, nice people. So when a moment happens, as it does with a grandchild, who is grand, and…

The power of words.

A post on Facebook the other day lead me to have a delayed reaction to it, even through it has been in the news and my tag line on my homepage says ‘Stop blaming victims’. I had to sit and pause. I had to pass through the triggering stage that a victim goes through when…

The King and The Cross.

Ode to being in your late 20’s in the 90’s Were one becomes bored with the landscape And decides to venture forth to foreign lands A head full of concurring other people’s cultures Knowing you could be like other Kiwi’s from the antipodes Therefore, you jump into a tin can with wings The excitement almost…


Beginnings are supposed to be a happy time to collect lovely memories, whilst dreaming about the future. Whereas for me I feel the same way I did in the maternity hospital after birth, I sat up waiting for the manual to be handed out to show me the road ahead.


Self-doubt has stopped me from developing my writing for far too long. My psychologist said to me recently that self-doubt is a trauma for me to add to my list of traumas. At that moment when I wanted to throw the phone away when she said that. I did not want another one to add…


Vibrations   The Book of Job, once talked about the Wonders of the world How they can be reached through the eyes of pain Metaphysics once talked about equal and opposites creating attraction that set forth a chain reaction, which any story could unfold from Explosions create new planets, comets float without resistance through the…