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kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
@kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
960 followers 1.9K following 540 posts
Would rather write than talk. Sometimes I don’t read skeets properly, especially pre-coffee. Rāmere is my favourite day. Published with Broken Spine Arts. Work online in Flash Frontier, Voicemail Poems
Please click on ‘media’ to read some of my poems
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kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · Sep 12
I am thrilled this poem got a special mention in Given Words 2025. It is amongst a wonderful collection of works, please fill your Friday afternoon reading.
I have added a glossary in the comments for those unfamiliar with Te Reo.

nzgivenwords.blogspot.com/2025/09/give...
No Te Paruparu, No Te Purapura Of the Mud, Of the Seed They came to me while barefoot in bitter mud, with acons angry whakapapa, they held me there. Hands stretched through flesh soaked earth, wrapped my feet in weighted expectation. My soles a pair of seeds, husks waiting to be pierced by a justice of tipuna, as steadfast as battle-blooded taiaha. Hope takes root. Lightfast, it endures this bright white blaze.
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
zentinl.bsky.social
A second one for #PoemsAbout #desire. @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poetrycommunity #poetry #poems #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry
November 14, 2025 at 7:49 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
johnchmura.bsky.social
#PoemsAbout #BreakTheMould
@thebrokenspine.co.uk
Depending on what the app allows, I will either put a reel or a link in the comments for the 🎤…
MASTER CLASS Not just the sinister misopedist who said a fib would turn my tongue black but every teacher I ever had lied as if their pull string plastic voice boxes were preloaded with platitudes like no one is above the law and what can you do for your country when they were pried from their molds at the same industrial complex as red lights and stop signs melting pots and voting booth curtains Chatty Cathy’s who whined “I hurt myself” instead of shouting “stop hurting me” and G.I. Joes who yelled “throw the grenade” but left unspoken “at the children.” All, except the sadistic Sister Misery who preferred to have a second grader pee the carpet rather than use the rest room before the end of the pledge of allegiance and then sent her to the office to call home for fresh undies and socks and detained me for crossing an imaginary border on the playground no one ever before judged illegal because she could, and Mr. Myopia the jaded eighth grade geography teacher to use the title lightly who never taught a single fact or feature while clock-watching on his lazy ass as we read the text book on our own and Sharpied a blood red X over three problems I got right on a test but wouldn’t change my grade because he didn’t make mistakes. Knowing what I know now I should have been studying them more than the snowflakes and fakers who softly peddled esoteric aspirations like science and art and fairness and made us cower in the basement lined up on our knees chins tucked to our chests heads against lead painted walls waiting for imaginary incineration from the other side of the earth unaware only forty miles north a slumlord’s son with bone spurs and shoe lifts was being groomed for this moment to liberate the freedoms we freely relinquish.
October 17, 2025 at 6:18 AM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Aotearoa poet Joel LeBlanc has been nominated for Best of the Net 2026 for his magical poem ‘in my dreams i saved us’
Published in Stone Circle Review
@cottageinwood.bsky.social
@stonecirclereview.bsky.social

stonecirclereview.com/in-my-dreams/
in my dreams i saved us
by Joel LeBlanc   A voice sings a lullaby: “The animals went in two by two, Hurrah! Hurrah!” Noah is drunk in the corner, grieving the past, he thought the ark would make him happy. Naamah is wash...
stonecirclereview.com
October 5, 2025 at 2:46 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
meemalee.bsky.social
Author and filmmaker Justine Bateman on generative AI
"They're trying to convince people they can't do the things they've been doing easily for years - to write emails, to write a presentation. Your daughter wants you to make up a bedtime story about puppies - to write that for you." We will get to the point, she says with a grim laugh, "that you will essentially become just a skin bag of organs and bones, nothing else. You won't know anything and you will be told repeatedly that you can't do it, which is the opposite of what life has to offer. Capitulating all kinds of decisions like where to go on vacation, what to wear today, who to date, what to eat. People are already doing this. You won't have to process grief, because you'll have uploaded photos and voice messages from your mother who just died, and then she can talk to you via AI video call every day. One of the ways it's going to destroy humans, long before there's a nuclear disaster, is going to be the emotional hollowing-out of people." - author and filmmaker Justine Bateman from a piece by Emine Saner for the Guardian
October 4, 2025 at 9:41 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
paragraphplanet.bsky.social
"Jason regretted the extra sugar in his coffee" by Cindy Kurukaanga @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social is today's 75-word #story on Paragraph Planet paragraphplanet.com #writingcommunity
Creative writing website for authors and readers. 75 words, changing daily. Submit your paragraph today.
A flash fiction website for writers and readers. One 75 word tale published daily. Plus author interviews and writing group map
paragraphplanet.com
September 30, 2025 at 5:23 PM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Thank you @paragraphplanet.bsky.social
My little story is today’s paragraph.
Today's 75-word Paragraph Jason regretted the extra sugar in his coffee. It is the reason he is standing in a bank vault. A cacophony of alarms and shouting growing louder as smoke congests the shrinking space. His thoughts narrow to the rich black syrup Maeve poured into his mug this morning. His usual one sugar added without expression. The second, delivered with her knowing sneer; the look she gets when she knows he will do whatever she says. By: Cindy Kurukaanga
September 30, 2025 at 6:05 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
takahemagazine.bsky.social
Last call for entries! The Monica Taylor Poetry Prize closes at the end of September, so don't miss your chance to be part of this beloved competition.

💚$300 first prize + publication in the December issue of takahē
💚$150 runner up

www.takahe.org.nz/submit/
September 24, 2025 at 9:27 PM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
This is so good!
thebkmagazine.bsky.social The B'K Magazine @thebkmagazine.bsky.social · Sep 25
CW: Ableism

When I am old, I will not wear purple.
I will be purple. Bruised knuckles from knocking on closed doors,
lip split from biting down words they do not want to hear.

Read more of "Warning" by Aspen Greenwood in The B'K Mag, Vol 16, Issue 3: www.talbot-heindl.com/bitchin_kitsch
Image is the cover art by Jennie Cao which features double green self-portraits of the artist where one is whispering into the other's ear. There is a bright sunset and a stormy ocean behind them. Text overlaid is the exerpt of Aspen's piece.
September 25, 2025 at 8:29 AM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Congratulations @merrildsmith.bsky.social !
tinywrenlit.bsky.social tiny wren lit @tinywrenlit.bsky.social · Sep 19
Congratulations to our Best of the Net nominees!
Floral background in the style of William Morris. Text: Best of the Net, tiny wren lit Memento Mori (8/27/2024) “Last Wish,” Karen Grace Soans “Stillborn,” Vic Nogay “Rupture,” Paul Allatson Golden Shovel (2/14/2025) “stable dreams,” Natalie Korman “Every Falling,” CX Wang “Words as Homing Pigeons Fly,” Merril D. Smith
September 20, 2025 at 4:56 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
rteller.bsky.social
Here's my offering for #PoemsAbout #SilentPlanets @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk
Quiet as dirt When I'm dead and buried I'll hear the earth sigh As I sleep silently The soil hums Inhaling with each winter Exhaling slowly with each spring No voice to issue complaints A chorus only visible in Vibrant autumn leaves Vivid and varied In their undying rhythm
September 19, 2025 at 3:59 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
iambapoet.com
**AUDITIONS NOW OPEN TILL SEP 27**

Want three of your poems with text and recordings of you reading them to feature in popular online poetry quarterly @iambapoet.com?

You now have just 7 days to audition for your place in a wave in either 2026 or 2027.

Good luck! 🍀

iambapoet.com/audition
Audition for poetry journal iamb in Sept 2025
Audition to be part of quarterly poetry journal iamb between the 20th and 27th of September 2025.
www.iambapoet.com
September 19, 2025 at 11:00 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
voicemailpoems.bsky.social
“But dawn,
Because you hid behind the horizon
torches blazed, blinding,
breaking sleep and families
as parents were taken from screaming kids
to be jailed then charged then sent back to the islands
 
Dawn,
because you were silent,
because all murmurings were silenced.”

- @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
September 17, 2025 at 1:53 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
bethbpoet.bsky.social
It’s my online launch tonight!
September 12, 2025 at 8:02 AM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
I am thrilled this poem got a special mention in Given Words 2025. It is amongst a wonderful collection of works, please fill your Friday afternoon reading.
I have added a glossary in the comments for those unfamiliar with Te Reo.

nzgivenwords.blogspot.com/2025/09/give...
No Te Paruparu, No Te Purapura Of the Mud, Of the Seed They came to me while barefoot in bitter mud, with acons angry whakapapa, they held me there. Hands stretched through flesh soaked earth, wrapped my feet in weighted expectation. My soles a pair of seeds, husks waiting to be pierced by a justice of tipuna, as steadfast as battle-blooded taiaha. Hope takes root. Lightfast, it endures this bright white blaze.
September 12, 2025 at 4:47 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
voicemailpoems.bsky.social
we are currently accepting submissions for our FALL 2025 issue, & we'd love to hear from you! ✨🍁✨

voicemailpoems.org/submit

🧡 deadline october 1st 🧡
September 4, 2025 at 8:45 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
bookshelfie.bsky.social
August 29, 2025 at 1:06 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
luaz.bsky.social
Another item from Becoming Altar (this one originally appeared in Dawn's Fool). Becoming Altar is coming in mid November, God willing and the creek don't rise.
Not the End There has been a huge flood. Many people go down to the water’s edge. The water is all brown, far out to sea. To get to the shore we go along a flooded path, then a narrow rocky ledge, shaky and unstable. A fat hippie sitting on a tall rock tells me there will be another flood, a tower will fall. I see a surviving plant in a pot on top of an oil barrel. Its foliage looks like spruce needles, (but soft, not prickly like spruce) and it smells of fennel. It has a bloom at the top, a fluffy spike of many small florets, orchid/ lavender/magenta color. The plant is thriving and healthy. I am so happy to see it. I touch its soft growth.
August 26, 2025 at 11:50 PM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Eden Rock
Charles Causley
Eden Rock They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock: My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet. My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat, Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass. Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light. She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight From an old H.P. Sauce bottle, a screw Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue. The sky whitens as if lit by three suns. My mother shades her eyes and looks my way Over the drifted stream. My father spins A stone along the water. Leisurely, They beckon to me from the other bank. I hear them call, 'See where the stream-path is! Crossing is not as hard as you might think.' I had not thought that it would be like this.
August 26, 2025 at 7:08 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
asteralesjournal.bsky.social
What a pleasure to find a completely original love poem that takes you on a journey through the literal heart. "Diminuendo" by @johnpauldavis.org does just that. Read it in Issue 4!
asteralesjournal.com/1-3-davis-wi...
maybe this is the section of the scripture that just lists the livestock everybody owns & all the begetting... John Paul Davis "Diminuendo" White text on black backgrouns with rays of light filtering through a stained glass window on the upper left.
August 25, 2025 at 11:04 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
fiftywords.bsky.social
For #vss365 Disability is a name given by others
August 24, 2025 at 9:24 AM
kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
Bloody brilliant!
mcsweeneys.net McSweeney's @mcsweeneys.net · Aug 24
"The sex will be really loud. Like a horde of demons unleashed from hell loud. Like the Blue Man Group wailing on each other’s asses to create a human bongo loud. This is the most I will ever say to you."
I’m the Roommate You Never Speak to and I’m About to Have Loud Sex
Hey man, I know we never really speak—but I’m about to have loud sex. Like really loud. We’re talking a troop of howler monkeys absolutely going to...
buff.ly
August 24, 2025 at 2:00 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
ralpheeboi.bsky.social
Received my contributor copies of this year’s Best American Poetry anthology & I’m hype af!!

All these amazing ass writers & lil ole me somehow in the mix. 🤣

Shoutouts to The Indiana Review for first putting this poem into the world.
Picture of my two contributor copies of The Best American Poetry 2025 Picture of the back cover featuring all of the names of the contributors to Best American Poetry 2025 First page of my poem printed in the book Second page of my poem printed in the book
August 23, 2025 at 7:23 PM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
stacebot.bsky.social
For this week's #PoemsAbout #Chandelier, I'm offering "Cavities."

Thank you to the host @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk and to all of the other writers.

#poetry #poem #writing #PoetryCommunity #BlueSkyPoets
Cavities And then I saw the chandelier, my hands still sticky from a corner-shop cone. I arrived at it in pieces— fairy-tale castles, stories borrowed from books. At home it was bare bulbs, buzzing steady over the table. I held it in my mind— for years afterward— beauty I was unprepared to hold, as if it were a prehistoric jawbone strung with glass teeth. Everything trembling. I swallowed it, whole. Carry it, still, to light the dark.
August 22, 2025 at 1:54 AM
Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
andywilliamson.com
Nice to write something fresh for #poemsabout #chandeliers after a week away, hope you enjoy it. Thanks as always @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk for the great prompt and everyone for the wonderful poems I'm enjoying reading instead of getting work done! #poetry #poemsonbluesky
We follow the drove roads in late summer the moon is new when night finally comes where starlight and satellites hang like chandeliers above us already what we see is history now the sky dances just for us a reel we both know so well and your eyes as bright as any star as you trace the old drove roads where shooting stars follow the paths our ancestors walked across the heavens signals crossing stone and stardust we lie on our backs in the heather you take my hand beside the old shieling in the briefest night and the world is fine
August 22, 2025 at 8:45 AM