Years ago, there was a poet who wrote his one-off pieces in fine black marker on the inside of used soymilk cartons and sold them. He signed all his works ‘Noodle*’.

I had some favourites – two of them have sat in my favourite things pile for some time – because of their rich images and the words that describe this land of my birth. So here they are for you.

Noodle disappeared. I’d like to know what happened to him.. or if anyone else collected his pieces the same way I did.


Simple days are dreaming
Relax there’s no more scheming
The now is all consuming
Once you’ve caught the flow

The city is a pool
To which the river eddies
A tributary to the larger stream
That will help you when you leave

And confusion is a drowning
Whereas floating is a keeping
You’re (sic) spirit will only surface
If you keep from breathing fear

So like the Tui is learning
The lesson is in letting
Go of expectation
And becoming one with air


The Matakana Hills
Bowl around like any other
Dish of countryside

Sitting next to
The Sandspit Harbor jug
The Plate of Warkworth Manor
The Colander of Dome Valley

Set amongst the cutlery of
Roads and teaspoon tracks
I’m reminded of your kitchen
And the dishes in your sink