Tuesday Poem: Sticks, trees

rocks, stones
old stumps
birds’ bones
slimy stuff
and mud
to squish
and squash
with our toes
a track
to slide down
on our bums
ponga fronds
to build a hut
(bracken for
a floor) then
make a dam
or boats of twigs
and folded leaves
walk the plank
fly our flag
bury treasure
in that cave
(not too far in)
sail a raft of logs
lay a bridge
across the creek
tickle eels
catch tadpoles
pan for gold
have a swim
before we
dawdle home

I wrote this several years ago and thought it would fit my poetry memoir project.

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Tuesday Poem: Turning over stones

The dream with the dark halo
has returned -

it is dusk     in a foreign country
a small boy     is asleep on a bus
he wakes     looks out a window
sees a tall building     in shadow
atop a hill     it is not a house
nor a church     nor a shop
it has wires     coming in    and
out of it

The dream dissolves
but re-appears unbidden
over the years -
          always the boy
          always the bus
          always the building

At some point
the man who was
once the boy
drove north
searching for
traces of his mother
          under stones
          on the shores
          of his memory

He is drawn
to places
where the boy
had beach holidays -
          with his mother
          with his father
          with his brother -
                    Waipu Cove
                    Martins Bay
                    Mangawhai

On the way to Mangawhai
he sees an electrical substation
perched on a hill by the road

The dream never returns

A memoir poem - one of many to come.

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Tuesday Poem: Eruption

volcanic, pyroclastic, cataclysmic, of lava,
toxic gas, lahars (flows of plastic mud),
magma (molten rivers), plumes of pumice,
ballistic boulders (as big as cars and trucks),
floods of acid water (from broken crater lakes),
petrified trees, from domes, cones, calderas,
explosive, massive, dramatic, with warning
from a mountain's rumbling stomach, flare up
of spots, pimples, acne, anger, protest, temper,
of sentiment, a break out, recrudescence,
effervescence, on the ring of fire, activity in
slumbering volcanoes and others not yet extinct,
Taupo, Krakatoa, Popocatapetyl - which kill with
catapulting rocks, asphyxiating ash, burial alive.

Another poem in my 'Mortal perils' series.

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Tuesday Poem: Slip

slump, subside, slew, skid, sideways, slow
downwards slide of whole hillside (Abbotsford)
of rocks on road, earth in gully, scree on slope,
in (unnoticed), cordon - first, second, third,
down, or up (badly), over or out (surreptitiously)
below decks, beneath the radar, round the
corner (for a quick one), of a girl, of paper,
on some clothes (or a banana skin), away,
one's mind, out of sight or reach, of the tongue,
through one's fingers, grasp, into something
more comfortable, the clutch, a stitch, a latch,
half, pillow, knot, the leash, 'twixt cup and lip,
pad (for launching ships), life's moorings,
gently (or not), into the quiet of that good night.

I wrote this poem last year as one of a series on 'Mortal perils'. Inspiration for the series came from the poem 'Fault' by Joanna Preston.

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Tuesday Poem: The parentless child

On Mothers Day
and Fathers Day
septs of orphans
slip thistle sepals
through their lapels,
tally the days
since partition,
taste the halite
in their lesions,
till the sepia past
for lisles that bind,
but find only silt, ash,
septal defects, pistils,
spathes and stipes
of withered lillies,
and haspless staples
with which to tile
their hills of hell
on Mothers Day
and Fathers Day

A 'sound' poem. Visit Tuesday Poem for more great poetry.

Tuesday Poem: The poor child

had she shoes they would have holes
had she a satchel it would be plastic
had she sheets she would have shelter
had she a closet she might have clothes

oh the state it wrings it hands
oh the state it contemplates its navel
oh the state it blames its predecessors
oh the state it shames her parents
oh the state it prevaricates
oh the state it waits and waits
oh the state it denies that she exists
oh the state it feigns to care about her fate
oh the state it shuts the gate
oh the state it wants the waif to go away

sometimes she goes to school to sleep
sometimes she goes for heat
sometimes she goes to school to eat
sometimes she goes to school


Poverty, inequality, and a lack of political will to do anything about them are still needling my writing skin. Visit Tuesday Poem for more great poetry.

Tuesday Poem: The bag lady

she decants each day in cans

scans the drains for plastic treasure

trades lice and rats with lepers

raids the ruins for pins and tapers

clears the bins of tripe and crabs

plaits ducted cable to her tresses

drapes her scabs in spats of peat

scrubs the crud from her dresses

daubs the seats with lunar runes

taps public stipends from the streets

spiels and reels a descant tune

laces tea with beer and acid

her nightly sleep is lanced with pain

when spiders' bites redact her brain

and render essence of a past

so redolent of yours or mine

Poverty, impoverishment, the precariousness of continuity of access to livable incomes - these have been uppermost of mind recently. Visit Tuesday Poem for more great poetry.