Deb Curreen Author

  In the past five years I’ve written lines of bleakness wordy strings of worry lamentations upon the world, critiques of politicians' behavioural shame. Somber, has crept into my vocab, like sobriety into my fridge, or my own humility in a crowded room. I do not embrace these feelings of somberness. However, on a sunny day like this I get to dance with my moko boy, his face crinkling with joy, as he leaps in the air spreading magic. He is my aroha mai in gumboots.   Yet, the news still stinks, creeping in my room, sending out shocks of gloom, while I scan the horizon for warships and I search the seashore for polar bears who’ve lost their way. Misery has stolen my pen, it’s time to make fun of life, tease some friend, make the somberness end. I'm about to create some tom-fluckery, have a laugh, ‘cos if you’ve ever seen me dance, you know I’m not somber... I dance like a three year old boy in gumboots.  

I have just watched the Dylan movie, starring Timothee Chalamet, “A Complete Unknown.” I enjoyed hearing those old songs again and getting a bit more context of their creation, having been a Dylan fan since last century, songs that I have loved for many a year. The movie celebrated his musical success while only briefly touching on his formative years and significant relationships with women, notably Joan Baez but also, for the first time we see the complicated and doomed affair with Sylvie. Dylan read the movie script right through, met with the director to discuss the narrative and add some of his own before gave it the nod saying, "Go with God". Whether he has viewed the movie, to date, I do not know. Remember this is the man that famously won the Nobel Peace Prize  in Literature 2016, “for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition”, then did not go to the award ceremony to receive his fabulous prize.  Bob Dylan has always been inte...

Wolves run at night, foxes swing from vines, thieves leave no traces, cameras missed their faces. I'm gonna blame the moon for all this, and I'm sorry, it's not really her fault, or his fault,  or theirs'  or even the mist that fell on our town this morning. 💗💘💙💚💛💜 But something nasty, this way has come, sparing few,  thrashing some, leaving tears in the gutter, making heros stutter. A shake of the head, nightmares in bed. It might be more than the moon this time, with wicked people,  marching in lines. 💔💀👽👿💥💦💦😟 The weirdness isn't over, the nasty just begun, spreading through the planet, mankind is undone. It's really not the moon's fault, a waning globe up there, it's mostly about the power struggles going on down here. I am really lost for words right now, I think this poem is done, I'm going to take a wander outside, and have a quiet lie-down in the sun.

 The colour has been stolen from my garden, the painters are to blame with their splotches and swatches of paint everywhere, masking the sunlight, blanketing the flowerbeds. The whole world is fading, and society needs an overhaul. A top story in the London papers reads, "I had casual sex for a whole year!" Really?! A grown-up woman said that, in the newspaper that will wrap my fish and chips tomorrow. Ugh! Morality is wilting beside the colorless flowers in my garden. Meanwhile, a dignitary has died. And just like unemployment, early childhood injuries are on the rise, The economy is receeding, while fast food chains and beauty salons flourish. Nobody says sorry anymore. I watch the painters sidle from my yard, closing the freshly painted black door behind them. They stole the colour from my garden,  and they didnt even say good-bye. So, I chew on yesterday's sausage roll, sharing it with my loyal dog. "I'm sorry," I say, patting her head. "I wish ther...