Auckland Poetry

A Burial

My dog lay on the backseat dripping blood
my wife worried about the seat, I screamed
to her to “fuck off”; rain obscure my mind
I have known my dog for fifteen years.

Stopped at a supermarket, bought a black bin
liner, to get the dog into it was hard work, she
was unyielding and suddenly so very heavy
and I had her blood on my hands.

I borrowed a spade from a farmer, dug a hole,
ground stony, it took time and I couldn’t see
for rain; when the hole was big enough it was
also full of mud as First World War trench

I put her into the grave anyway and filled it
with stones wouldn’t like other animals to
find and eat her. Sappy crap you may say, but
we had been together for fifteen years.

Senryu (Food for Thought)

The moral base
For consuming human flesh
Is a green answer

Senryu

Is cannibalism
The practical green way
To save our planet?

Senryu

Let the old feel useful
Make them into hamburgers
And feed for cattle.

Senryu

Everybody can,
Not just Italians,
Be made into salami

In the woods at night

Noticed when walking past the woods in the centre of this
town I had come to live many years ago was getting thinner,
rather like Castro’s beard that used to be so lush; I used to
walk here with my girlfriend, loved her and believed in true
love, alas, she though I was eccentric and used to regal her
shrieking friends in the bar with what I had said during our
trysts, and the woodland lost its enchantment.

Looked inside and discovered a wasteland of trees pulled
up by their roots and waiting for the chainsaw, nature had
lost another battle against bricks and mortar, only a necklace
of trees to give the illusion of forest. They were going to
build luxury bungalows here, protected from the glare of
the plebs by a ring of trees, houses advertised as investment
and not homes where one can find shelter from the storm.

To be a Stead.

On the pampas of Argentine I rode when surprised
by a blizzard, to survive I killed my horse split its
stomach open and crept inside, this saved my life
But when the blizzard stopped and I got out of my
shelter I looked for my rider and galloped home to
the ranch and ran around in the coral with the other
Horses that seemed surprised to see me.

Eventually I was lassoed and brought into a room
where I group of concerned friends tried to persuade
me that I was not a horse but just like them. Yes, in
a way they were right, I had noticed that they other
ran on four legs, I accepted my shortcomings and
stopped eating steppe grass; but I sold my ranch and
became a long distance runner.

Tanka

Pornography films
Freedom of ones expression
Embarrassing I think
Private acts made public
Do make love cynical

Porno of the Mind

If you go into the woods tonight, I murmured
a song, but it isn’t needed for I saw a ghost at
the supermarket, it hovered above the head of
of a hog that had an apple in its gob and saw
my ex girlfriend, lift the head up and kiss it
square on its leering lips and the fruit fall out
revealing a brown tongue; all the while she
whispered a name that had a familiar echo.
from an poisonous fairy specializing in weird,
semen drinking sex to a hag with teeth that
could chop a trunk in half. I will not go into
the woods to night, but she has such intense
eyes boring into my soul and seeing my secret
desires drawing me into her netherworld.

Senryu

Sixty years today
Army parade and arrogance
While Gaza burns

Bash baby, smash baby, into the night

Nation wakes in morning to another fright

Bash baby, smash baby, have you no shame

Nation suffers in mourning and feels all pain

Bash baby, smash baby, we have had enough

Go get help right now, there is no place left for tough

Bash baby, smash baby, another one is dead

We pay with consciences’ and all bow our heads

Bash baby, smash baby, there is no lullaby

Cruelty seeps in my town and I weep sad goodbyes

Copyright Deana Platt 10/4/08

for a mind-wind that blasts

and blows so intense that  

it drains colour from the

blue sky and gnaws roots

of roses scattering comfortable earth

earthshaking the giant chimneys of

fossil factories mere words that

can cartwheel this fragile gravity

throwing paper and debris and

scattering fetid, letter’d music in

a contagion of new life

Chris Parsons

Senryu

Pity the Eskimo
With the vanishing ice cap
He can’t build a home

The Transplant

I have a bus on which I drive tourists from the coast
to the inland and show them roman ruins and a bit an
ancient road that used to lead to Rome.

But I have been losing business to the competition,
when I tout for business it is that I look too gloomy,
like I don’t really want anyone on my bus.

I told this to my dentist Jerry, he’s an American and
as such eternally optimistic, he is also a part time
cosmetic surgeon and a planter of hair on bare heads

He was only going to whiten my front teeth but when
waking up I had blond nylon hair sewed into my scalp
a permanent smile and Hollywood teeth.

Now I look as Berluscone, the Italian prime minister,
passengers think I’m a comic; when I say: “we leave
at four, you silly people” tourists laugh think I’m funny.

The Smiling Lady

We sat holding hands I was seduced by her smile,
yes, no doubt in my mind the fair lady loved me.
I did vaguely remember having seen her, not long
ago, looking up to another man just like that but
this wasn’t the time to think pettily. Since she had
rented out her flat she moved into mine, two bags
four suitcases and a wine cooler made of silver.

New love exiting time we had, she was so full
of life, not for us to sit in front of the TV to have
an easy night at home, life was too short for that.
I tried my best to keep the newness of our love
fresh, but I felt as she was drifting away from me
and quietly despaired, she was getting restless and
one day she left me for another man.

I do miss her smile, but feel a sense of relived
sleep well I do, enjoy sitting on my sofa seeing
a western movie and I remember the man she was
with before me, he looked happy to now. Lovely
lady not for her to eat yesterdays cake, wonder
what she will do when her flat is free, and music
is a dripping tap in her joyless flat.

The Video

They sent me a video from a time gone,
a family gathering, wine glasses held aloft
happy faces, what a grand illusion,

Moving pictures only mirrors a surface,
of something passing, it is not like the sea
mirroring the sky and telling a story

These moving pictures tell a big lie, nothing
about the anguish and betrayal anger and
clenched fist, voices shouting obscenities.

I knew those people once a Nordic year is
so short only lasts from April till September,
the rest is gloom and drunken melancholy.

The winter Coat

Cold day in March, mother wore a coat at least three
generations old; in the centre of town we’re stopped
by a lady highborn with a noble nose, a very distant
relation, she gave mother a 5 crown note, ( I remember
it was blue) mother was glad for that now that the fish
factory had closed and she was out of work. The fine
lady made a mistake she told mother what to buy, like
potatoes and milk, but noblesse oblige, we walked into
a very classy café where the waitresses wore uniforms
and looked down their noses; mother put the note on
the table and ordered hot chocolate and gateau, we sat
by the window in the hope the highborn should see us,
mother smoked and held the cigarette aloft the way film
stars did, but for the coat she could have pulled it off.

Wings.

Once I could fly, celebrating my return from the sea
My wife wouldn’t let me in, standing there in the yard
I stretched out my arm like a large phoenix bird and
Flew high above the roofs in the close where I lived
And could see I didn’t belong and could clearly see
That I didn’t belong amongst tax inspectors, office
Managers and police Sergeants.

My arms got tired I landed on the roof of my house
Where I tired fell asleep, when I awoke a fireman was
There insisted on helping me down, and days later,
When found guilty of disturbing the peace, the magistrate
Asked me how I got up on to the roof. I flew…sir
And there was talk of psychiatric valuation, but luckily
My ship came in and off I sailed never to return

Summer night in Rome

In the Fontana Dei Guattro Fiumi in the piazza Navona
I had a cooling dip after coming out of a smoke filled
bar, I stripped but modestly kept my underwear on and
watched over by an elderly patrolman, who wasn’t looking
for promotion, he knew everyone on his turf and when
needed he didn’t see a thing which was good for keeping
the peace. Dawn and the local market opened, I had oven
fresh bread and cheese; coffee, also a grappa to stave of
a slight chill after my douse. I sat there eyes half closed
listening the voice of humanity and it was good to be alive.
Walking back to my little hotel I saw the police officer
again he was talking to a prostitute, he smiled and said
good morning I did like-ways; it’s handy to have a friendly
lawman on my side. I went to bed, widow open and white
curtains moving the breeze, listening to the outside noises,
and drifting on the ocean of dreamy sleep, I knew I would
wake up at noon by the aroma of Italian food

Haiku

On October street
Pale leaves on silver birches
Fall slowly at dusk

The heat of August
Carries a hue of sadness
Of coming decay

Tanka

Suicide bombers
Lack understanding of
Their total demise
Think they are to live forever
In the mind of the awed

Pictogram

When an old lion
accept defeat
and leaves its pride
it does so
with dignity

Seeks not revenge,
but walk with
neck unbowed
to a lesser
hunting ground.

The Destiny (www)

The memory of her is like a beautiful diamond
cut by the expert Time that doesn’t wear black
and lives in Rotterdam. On world wide waters
I sailed her but had to rely on fair weather to
get safely to port; but I couldn’t stop her for
being beached on the coast of Bay of Bengal and
reduced from a dignified she, to scarp iron

Yes, the loves of my life, I remember the first
one the best she has been made flawless
by time; a dignified old woman now dressed in
black, attending mass; she had dreams of
domestic bliss and a big family. My vision was
different, it ended on a foreign strand, but my
ship keeps sailing on across the deep www.

The fences have fallen -
cut by the wants of the divine;
ungentle bovines,
satiating and soiling
in the nothingness of freedom.

She watched them wander
despite his sweating displeasure,
caring instead for the idle taste
of his doubts and her sweet,
sun-warmed wine.

She toasted the land, and her love -
drowning prescience
and her folly for certain
kind of thirsts.

W.S. Vun; 2006

She wanted to lie down next to me.
She did.
I said she ought to know there were no chances;
she took hers.

I remember this silent night
in my flat
up there
up the Plantation Shop
Bath
Nineteen
Ninety-six

Fanny
was her name
she once met the Native
and shared his wrath
against the wall
of uncertainties
that went up
between us.

Andy and Paul
were cutting plants,
tidying the shop,
clearing things,
counting money.
When she went downstairs
she helped herself with a cup of coffee
the smell of it filled up the kitchen.

I let her go
I had to
she had to go
and there were no
other ways.
The Native would come back shortly after.
He had been out all night.
Staring at the sky,
talking to the moon,
to the stars,
his fingers touching the darkest patch of the ethereal net
up there.

He entered the room
I was still lying on my bed.
He lied next to me.
The wine vapours still lingered in his hair,
on his clothes, on his pale skin.
I touched his back.
He said I ought to know there were no chances;
I got up
and went to work.

First published in Aesthetica Magazine - UK

What happened to Elmer?

In our dreary costal town, Elmer, the boy with a wooden leg;
was the beacon in a townscape uniformly grey. Irreverent he
was singing and joking his way through the town he seemed
to be everywhere at once. We loved Elmer:” Did you hear
what Elmer did and what he said to the chief of the police?”
Then one day he wasn’t there: “Where’s Elmer?” his urchin
face was greatly missed especially by us kids. But time was
moving forward, or is it us that walk forward till we find, on
the desert of time, our individual exit sign? My uncle had
bought a car and even mother looked up from the book she
was reading and came to the window

Years, later when station in a garrison town, I saw Elmer in
the street, he had a proper artificial leg now, so good that he
only had a slight limp, but his gamin face was almost the same.
“Hi Elmer, do you remember me? He did, we shook hands.
He told me he had a good job here and he had also found Jesus
who had saved him from the wicked life he had lived.
I looked into his eyes; they were filled with blandness, Elmer,
the boy had left ok, in front of me stood a thin little man in hat.
I never spoke to him again but saw him often sauntering along
evening empty streets always at a distant walking away from
me, disappearing back to my childhood.