Auckland Poetry

The Long Fall

This Indian summer keeps rolling along as
rivers run dry, nature licks morning dew and
asks: “What has happened to the rain of fall?

Autumn without precipitation, the old can
recall that it has occurred before, had it been
a first, we should rightly be deeply worried.

Rhododendron have red flowers, sky is blue
with fluffy, grazing lambs on, but I do ask:
“Where have the frogs in the dry pond gone?

Suave is the breeze that blows across the lane,
too urbane to play with dust; it effete strokes
my face, and tells me not to fear the morrow.

The Long Farewell

We had only met a few days ago, and were in love, had
plans but first she had to go see her father who lived in
another town. At the railways station we kissed again,
she entered the carriage and found a window seat; and
we were waving farewells. Only the train didn’t leave
and our smiles became fixed, one cannot stay there all
day waving. Her eyes strayed to a magazine on her lap,
I took an interest in passers by, but every so often I had
to look up, smile and mouth; “I Love You.” Finally, to
our great relief, the whistle blew, steam engine hissed
and I waved till I was sure she couldn’t see me anymore

Prince Oskar

I sat in a smallish café, near the harbour, when two
flunkies came in followed by the queen of Denmark,
who headed straight for the loo; the pair in suits was
guarding the door. When her majesty came back out
she saw me and came over; I kissed her hand it smelt
of the soap for the masses, but when mingling with
her expensive perfume, gave it a brief exclusive air.

We had coffee and spoke of the old days, but a whisper
had blown through the street, people had become aware
of her presence, time for her to leave. When I had read
my papers and asked for the bill, the manager wouldn’t
hear of it, “a friend of the queen it was a great privilege
to have me.” I didn’t tell him I’m Denmark’s best kept
secret, a product of her father’s youthful indiscretion.