Between birth and death, art extends our breath
Toward the bliss of heaven, though not clear.
Dreams, beautiful on paper, invite Death.

What is an artist but a scared preacher,
Babbling fugitive immortality,
As steps of Death ring louder and louder?

We’re illusions we make of reality.
The finer the art, to death, the closer
— We die with pictures of eternity.

Lest he knowing his vainness lose his mind,
Man must drink his own futile therapy.
Who through its unreserved love abides near,

Dreams, beautiful on paper, invite Death.
As steps of Death ring louder and louder,
We die with pictures of eternity.

Art is a gift of the gods to mankind.

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A bardnelle is a blend of the villanelle and terzanelle forms with which I’m experimenting.

My parents were from the Eastern Highlands but I was born and bred in East New Britain. I'll be 28 on 1 August.

I began writing poetry in Grade 5. I went through to Grade 12 at school but was not able to make it to university. However, that hasn't stopped me from scribbling my crazy thoughts on pieces of paper.

Apart from poetry, I like classical music and rugby league. I’m now enrolled at Pacific Adventist University studying theology.