How is it you call it?
The words were held back
By the tide of his grief
The man who stood in church
To haltingly thank the minister
For the support of his family
For his nephew who died.
‘How is it you call it … Oh yes
He committed suicide. That was it.’
The pakeha’s ‘committed suicide’
Doesn’t tell us of the man’s pain--
The man who killed himself
Had grown weary of disposing
The discarded junk of our lives
Had grown tired of living, earning his wage
By carrying our emptied spaghetti tins
Our rotten left-overs, the discarded wrappings
That came with our meat, cheese, pitted dates
The stiff cardboard and plastic sheaths
From our shirts and blouses,
Our mildewed shoes and handbags
The excess from our bursting cupboards
The overflow from our shelves
Books half-written
Stories relegated to the Tip
He, the man now dead, took away that load
Which we had no further need of.
Did he begin to see himself
As part of life’s junk – disposable,
Too grubby to keep,
Past our use-by date?
How is it we call it?
05/05
The words were held back
By the tide of his grief
The man who stood in church
To haltingly thank the minister
For the support of his family
For his nephew who died.
‘How is it you call it … Oh yes
He committed suicide. That was it.’
The pakeha’s ‘committed suicide’
Doesn’t tell us of the man’s pain--
The man who killed himself
Had grown weary of disposing
The discarded junk of our lives
Had grown tired of living, earning his wage
By carrying our emptied spaghetti tins
Our rotten left-overs, the discarded wrappings
That came with our meat, cheese, pitted dates
The stiff cardboard and plastic sheaths
From our shirts and blouses,
Our mildewed shoes and handbags
The excess from our bursting cupboards
The overflow from our shelves
Books half-written
Stories relegated to the Tip
He, the man now dead, took away that load
Which we had no further need of.
Did he begin to see himself
As part of life’s junk – disposable,
Too grubby to keep,
Past our use-by date?
How is it we call it?
05/05
Song
Let us not hold the sunset of that day
When, your arm about me was the song
The melodies our interplay
My ostinato sad and long
For in the waters beach to beach
Lapping boats and wharf and shore
We looked at pictures out of reach
Reflections only, nothing more
No future to be sought and found
No substance – as in the sea
Colours, shapes and sound
That cannot stay for you or me
But that we journeyed. Right?
And sang our song twixt day and night.
Let us not hold the sunset of that day
When, your arm about me was the song
The melodies our interplay
My ostinato sad and long
For in the waters beach to beach
Lapping boats and wharf and shore
We looked at pictures out of reach
Reflections only, nothing more
No future to be sought and found
No substance – as in the sea
Colours, shapes and sound
That cannot stay for you or me
But that we journeyed. Right?
And sang our song twixt day and night.
Yellow
At my door, dahlias
bright yellow
at my door, a box
laid at my door, lilies
bright yellow
marigolds in a ribbon
in a coffin at my door
your heart
dyed my heart yellow
all yellow flowers
like the sun in a box
to tell me you/we are dead
in a cardboard coffin, your heart
tied with a note
the ribbon in a box
as big as my love
in a coffin, your heart
At my door, dahlias
bright yellow
at my door, a box
laid at my door, lilies
bright yellow
marigolds in a ribbon
in a coffin at my door
your heart
dyed my heart yellow
all yellow flowers
like the sun in a box
to tell me you/we are dead
in a cardboard coffin, your heart
tied with a note
the ribbon in a box
as big as my love
in a coffin, your heart
To My Friend E.F
I can see you there
alone with your shadows
music filtering through your mind
keeping time alive
so that you can dream
and be with your Love
of yesterday
My words can break into
your dreaming
carrying warmth
and affection
conveying intimate feelings
which change
bleak Saturdays
into spa-pools
of sunlight
and bathe
your remembering
in balm
I watched the candles flicker
while the Rabbi burbled on
and their light gave me courage
to say goodbye
I turned and faced
the setting sun
and let you go
into the night
Now I wonder
if you are yet
face to face
with your maker
your Adonai
I can see you there
alone with your shadows
music filtering through your mind
keeping time alive
so that you can dream
and be with your Love
of yesterday
My words can break into
your dreaming
carrying warmth
and affection
conveying intimate feelings
which change
bleak Saturdays
into spa-pools
of sunlight
and bathe
your remembering
in balm
I watched the candles flicker
while the Rabbi burbled on
and their light gave me courage
to say goodbye
I turned and faced
the setting sun
and let you go
into the night
Now I wonder
if you are yet
face to face
with your maker
your Adonai
Heaven
I.
I thought I had found heaven
happiness swept my rooms clean
cobwebs in crevices fell like maple leaves
to join the earth
I began to dance and sing
The flowers in a bunch smelling of spring
drank deep the water I gave them
On day three
the sweetest anenomy of all
bowed its head to the floor
and dropped down
its black centre hidden
II.
It has been a long walk we have made
traversing arduous paths
Yet the force which draws us
is such that we cannot retreat
Carrying baggage hewn from the rock
of difficulties
Emanating light from hope in the future
we compact as new earth
I.
I thought I had found heaven
happiness swept my rooms clean
cobwebs in crevices fell like maple leaves
to join the earth
I began to dance and sing
The flowers in a bunch smelling of spring
drank deep the water I gave them
On day three
the sweetest anenomy of all
bowed its head to the floor
and dropped down
its black centre hidden
II.
It has been a long walk we have made
traversing arduous paths
Yet the force which draws us
is such that we cannot retreat
Carrying baggage hewn from the rock
of difficulties
Emanating light from hope in the future
we compact as new earth
How we say Hello
Between you and me mown grass
a gate and rain
between you and me
yesterday
the pain of separation sits with me in my car
the yearning bridges the gap
finds you beneath your yellow hood
a shy youth
I want to know you, want to
fall in love with this young man
so at home on the land
You have plucked dead wood from the avocado tree
picked fallen citrus from the ground
coaxed weeds from the path
and shaped straggling lavender
All the while birds sang their hearts
You mop your rain-speckled face and beard
push back your hood
and lean into the car to kiss me with that
familiar love which coats my brain and heart
floods my blood and bones
and lifts my spirit until there is no longer
a you and a me
but a song coloured yellow
Between you and me mown grass
a gate and rain
between you and me
yesterday
the pain of separation sits with me in my car
the yearning bridges the gap
finds you beneath your yellow hood
a shy youth
I want to know you, want to
fall in love with this young man
so at home on the land
You have plucked dead wood from the avocado tree
picked fallen citrus from the ground
coaxed weeds from the path
and shaped straggling lavender
All the while birds sang their hearts
You mop your rain-speckled face and beard
push back your hood
and lean into the car to kiss me with that
familiar love which coats my brain and heart
floods my blood and bones
and lifts my spirit until there is no longer
a you and a me
but a song coloured yellow
In Japan
love is of the heart
every day that love can grow
becoming stronger
for our love to grow
we must keep it on the move
giving all we can
a person’s true heart
has no substance to the touch
yet it can be worn
love is of the heart
every day that love can grow
becoming stronger
for our love to grow
we must keep it on the move
giving all we can
a person’s true heart
has no substance to the touch
yet it can be worn
Farewell My Loved One
I.
You were my sunrise, my sunset
In your face I saw the wisdom of God
I saw more than others can see
And I love you still with a love that
I will need at the moment of death
I am sad that you will not be there
II.
It would seem that I have once again
made a basket too heavy for its handle
I have filled it too full with love, passion
acceptance, and desire for you;
tried too hard to change some strands
of the brittle weave
and once again the basket
which held my best hope has fallen apart
III.
May the Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ
be with you, dearest, most beautiful Loved One
until the end of your days.
IV.
I will weave a new basket and into it place
memories of our dance, our love
our walks on the beach and our hopes for a new life together
I will endeavour to make it the right size for the handle
so that there is enough weave left for you to
begin again and make a basket that is right for you
I.
You were my sunrise, my sunset
In your face I saw the wisdom of God
I saw more than others can see
And I love you still with a love that
I will need at the moment of death
I am sad that you will not be there
II.
It would seem that I have once again
made a basket too heavy for its handle
I have filled it too full with love, passion
acceptance, and desire for you;
tried too hard to change some strands
of the brittle weave
and once again the basket
which held my best hope has fallen apart
III.
May the Grace of our Lord Jesus Christ
be with you, dearest, most beautiful Loved One
until the end of your days.
IV.
I will weave a new basket and into it place
memories of our dance, our love
our walks on the beach and our hopes for a new life together
I will endeavour to make it the right size for the handle
so that there is enough weave left for you to
begin again and make a basket that is right for you
Sorrow
Sorrow prises open my heart
I try to stop the flow
steady the erratic pulse
by saying it how it is
You listen
apply a tourniquet
and save my life -
until the bleeding starts again
Sorrow prises open my heart
I try to stop the flow
steady the erratic pulse
by saying it how it is
You listen
apply a tourniquet
and save my life -
until the bleeding starts again
In Shock
“Diana is dead. -” But,
she’s on the lawn, there
with Charles and baby William
fair hair, spring green dress …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. -”
she’s in a hospital for lepers
shaking hands with a patient …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. She died last night -”
a fairy-tale princess in tiara, dancing with her Prince …
“Diana, Princess of Wales is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, -”
Prince William is signing his name
his mother watches over him …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, chased by the paparazzi -”
her brother says she is now in a place
where no human being can ever touch her again …
“Diana, Princess of Wales is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, chased by the paparazzi in Paris.”
Diana? Princess Di? The Fairy tale Princess?
Friend of AIDS victims? Campaigner against landmines?
The woman who touched all humanity?
Dead?
Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead.
“Diana is dead. -” But,
she’s on the lawn, there
with Charles and baby William
fair hair, spring green dress …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. -”
she’s in a hospital for lepers
shaking hands with a patient …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. She died last night -”
a fairy-tale princess in tiara, dancing with her Prince …
“Diana, Princess of Wales is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, -”
Prince William is signing his name
his mother watches over him …
“Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, chased by the paparazzi -”
her brother says she is now in a place
where no human being can ever touch her again …
“Diana, Princess of Wales is dead. She died last night
in a high speed car crash, chased by the paparazzi in Paris.”
Diana? Princess Di? The Fairy tale Princess?
Friend of AIDS victims? Campaigner against landmines?
The woman who touched all humanity?
Dead?
Diana, Princess of Wales, is dead.
The Garment of Deception
collar peaked
inverted mountain-sharp
neck, taut-rope straight
stiff upper lip of
sorrow tight zipped
pathos, the marinade of the soul
tears dry-held as carpet pile
beneath the skin
stiff-starched
yet designer clean
lifting head and public face
beyond the pain
a knotted tie the lie
in the heart of the boy
who dare not shed his skin
10 September 1997
collar peaked
inverted mountain-sharp
neck, taut-rope straight
stiff upper lip of
sorrow tight zipped
pathos, the marinade of the soul
tears dry-held as carpet pile
beneath the skin
stiff-starched
yet designer clean
lifting head and public face
beyond the pain
a knotted tie the lie
in the heart of the boy
who dare not shed his skin
10 September 1997
Gentle Guardians
Car lights caught them
three grown old together
one ahead, one tailing
the woman between
in single file
They had that easy look of
years of loving
a sauntering style of lope
snug, as gloves on worn fingers
out taking their exercise
padding the familiar trail
Wrapped by the darkness again
I got to wondering if the Collies
will share her warm bed tonight
or sleep on the flame-smeared hearth
And to worrying about who would look after her
when they are gone
Or will they be buried together in a single line?
Car lights caught them
three grown old together
one ahead, one tailing
the woman between
in single file
They had that easy look of
years of loving
a sauntering style of lope
snug, as gloves on worn fingers
out taking their exercise
padding the familiar trail
Wrapped by the darkness again
I got to wondering if the Collies
will share her warm bed tonight
or sleep on the flame-smeared hearth
And to worrying about who would look after her
when they are gone
Or will they be buried together in a single line?
Beyond the Portrait
each stone
has its kingdom
where shadows fall
and beauty rides on the back of the sun
cutting slices of shape
from each face
opening cracks and crevasses
for the artist’s taking
the geologist’s probing eye
and the whimsical lashing of the wind
each stone
has its kingdom
where shadows fall
and beauty rides on the back of the sun
cutting slices of shape
from each face
opening cracks and crevasses
for the artist’s taking
the geologist’s probing eye
and the whimsical lashing of the wind
PA -“ Former Prime Minister, David Lange’s mother Phoebe, says she hates her son and is proud of her daughter-in-law, Naomi, for speaking out about what happened to their marriage.” Christchurch Star 13/11/89
Phoebe
I hate my son
love my son
hate what he has done
love him
love, hate
a coin flipped
love on one side
hate on the other
one and the same
a game which parents play
none more serious
none deeper
the heart is torn
bleeds for the one
born to me
nurtured by me
fed at my breast
fed up with his behaviour
hate what he has done
love him
I hate my son
love my son
hate what he has done
love him
love, hate
a coin flipped
love on one side
hate on the other
one and the same
a game which parents play
none more serious
none deeper
the heart is torn
bleeds for the one
born to me
nurtured by me
fed at my breast
fed up with his behaviour
hate what he has done
love him
Discovery 25/9/1997
running by the windows of my mind, past film
I dream, dream of the day
day-dream away the present
re-create the past
and unfold myself before the light
dreaming in the dusky night
of things to come
in the morning counting down into the dream
the subconscious valleys, depths, shadows
into alpha, down and beyond
to delta, delta, delta
dream-discovering
light beckoning me inward, forward
into myself
toward the I of me
running by the windows of my mind, past film
I dream, dream of the day
day-dream away the present
re-create the past
and unfold myself before the light
dreaming in the dusky night
of things to come
in the morning counting down into the dream
the subconscious valleys, depths, shadows
into alpha, down and beyond
to delta, delta, delta
dream-discovering
light beckoning me inward, forward
into myself
toward the I of me
We Held the Sun in our Arms
Your Snow Falls in Summer pp.15-17
We held the sun
in our arms
shouting
laughing
at the world
rays emanating from us.
Joyous
we tangoed along the sand
making reflections
scattering diamonds
from the crest of the wave.
Night
like an oyster clam
closed us in
and yesterday
came too soon.
Your Snow Falls in Summer pp.15-17
We held the sun
in our arms
shouting
laughing
at the world
rays emanating from us.
Joyous
we tangoed along the sand
making reflections
scattering diamonds
from the crest of the wave.
Night
like an oyster clam
closed us in
and yesterday
came too soon.
We held the Sun in our Arms continued.
That parting gesture
did it close a door
or open one?
did it seal the past
or confirm the future?
It was tender
spontaneous
a gently giving.
I hope it was not goodbye.
Regenerated
by your love for me
I go on loving you,
and regenerate
the love for me
which you have
in you.
When you stop showing
that you love me
I go limp,
in my love
for you.
We become rag dolls
incapable of loving
if lovers we
wish to be
To grow
love must be
on the move.
It must sometimes
change tracks
seek out new territories
be adventurous
daring.
That parting gesture
did it close a door
or open one?
did it seal the past
or confirm the future?
It was tender
spontaneous
a gently giving.
I hope it was not goodbye.
Regenerated
by your love for me
I go on loving you,
and regenerate
the love for me
which you have
in you.
When you stop showing
that you love me
I go limp,
in my love
for you.
We become rag dolls
incapable of loving
if lovers we
wish to be
To grow
love must be
on the move.
It must sometimes
change tracks
seek out new territories
be adventurous
daring.
I Respond to the Softness of Your Touch
Your Snow Falls in Summer pp.39-40
Like a gull
trying to fly
with weighted wings
I cannot any more
get off the ground
Once serene in flight
I inhabited your sunlit world
Now caught
as if at the centre
of a storm
dragged down
in pain
I remain awake
at night
and hear the slowing train
the creaking roof
and pounding rain
Tormented
I do not see the sun
at dawn
I await a cloudless sky
forlorn
that I may wing my way
back into your world
suntipped.
Like a bird
with injured wing
I respond
to the softness
of your touch.
You speak my name
as if it is important
to you.
My wings are healing
ready to fly again.
Your Snow Falls in Summer pp.39-40
Like a gull
trying to fly
with weighted wings
I cannot any more
get off the ground
Once serene in flight
I inhabited your sunlit world
Now caught
as if at the centre
of a storm
dragged down
in pain
I remain awake
at night
and hear the slowing train
the creaking roof
and pounding rain
Tormented
I do not see the sun
at dawn
I await a cloudless sky
forlorn
that I may wing my way
back into your world
suntipped.
Like a bird
with injured wing
I respond
to the softness
of your touch.
You speak my name
as if it is important
to you.
My wings are healing
ready to fly again.