Auckland Poetry

A owl in the crystal lens it tells & capturing face; emotion & heavy eyed. Lifts lid & stared & copy cat wrists in bangle & everything is silver he needs to escape through & break this dislike. “I don’t know ya, But,… I can understand ya” -repeat silently back & forever knowing anger & wants you to forget & he stares at you taking of his hat & borrows time for you I’m staying.

Surrounded by the imagination of my dreams, beauty ill forever hang on to.. Capturing the essence of real purity, as it forever lies within; draining me of the torture my soul has tried to base its life upon. “Live and learn, live and learn”… engraved, memorized throughout my world. “It made you stronger” her voice will always remind me!

New Europe

The white face of Europe is slowly fading away, middleclass
couples have few children; there are exiting careers to follow
in the world of business, media and the glitzy entertainment
industry. Shake their heads, in united dismay, when reading
about a poor woman, from a sink estate, unmarried and with
seven healthy, white children; they reward her with contempt and without shame let her live in disgraceful poverty. There was a time, not so long ago, when women like that got a medal and was called mother of a grateful nation.

When the same couples are mid forties and successful they
miss children and import some, 3, 4 or 5, preferable healthy
ones from Asia or Chad in Africa, shower them with riches
and a good education. Should we worry? No, not at all, they
will grow up and be as, say, French, middleclass and tedious
as their surrogate parents. Famous film stars, that before had a tame leopard as accessory, now travel with a multi racial orphanage on tow; and there is nothing to add to that, they are children rescued from poverty…we must rejoice.

Europe now has a new face, a smoother, darker skinned one,
on holiday it can sit longer in the sun without getting burned.
There are, however, a minority of people set against this they want a pure white race talk about European culture, without ever having read a book other than pamphlets of hate; losers with minds blinded by fear of the future and with hearts that know not of love, fight desperately against a tide of humanity that will drown them, and their loathsome racism, till there is no trace left of them to tell us they ever existed.

Still Life

He sat in a rowboat, in the deep fiord, with
a bottle of vodka, a flask of tea, bacon butty
and an apple. A mild spring day and he was
fishing mackerel; many he hooked too, soon
the boat was quite full of blue, silvery bodies
writhing and painfully dying.

Tea and vodka he drank munched the butty,
ate the apple; lit a cigarette inhaled deeply
and enjoyed his solitude.

Bodily functions never stop, he stood up to
have a pee, slipped on his catch and fell into
the sea; heavy boots he soon sank down to
where the sea is dark and unforgiving; rain
fell on an empty bottle of booze, apple core,
thermos flask and fish that had lost their glow.

The Future

When the last fishing boat docked it had only
a sardine and a haddock onboard; and eerily
the empty sea washed an indifferent shoreline;

the rich moved inland to escape the stench
of rotting seaweed that grew so thick that
one could walk form Calais to Dover in a day;

the poor took over what once were posh villas
but since they had no money for upkeep, houses
sank into ruin and stank as much as the sea did;

and the moneyed class said: look at the poor
we gave them fine housing and they have ruined
it all, their slothfulness is genetic you know;

the sardine and the haddock were preserved in
spirit so future generation could see what filthy
food people, in the old days, ate;

everyone is vegan now, the poor only have potatoes
to eat and that makes them fat, the rich live on
soy beans, cuscus and fried bananas.

Senryu

Epiphany me now
With your enchanted smile
The forever I’ll see.

Tanka

Lucid as the day
Blinding sunlight obscured you
When I could see
The night had devoured you
The time when all is too late

Tanka

Mirror in the hall
Don’t sarcastically laugh
When I walk past
On my way to the kitchen
To eat another strawberry tart

Senryu

Night time lonely
Fear the encroaching stillness
Till you call my name

As The Clock Ticks

Shall I resign to old age be a kind elderly man
who sits on a park bench and smile to passers by,
and wait for something, not knowing what it is,
but serenely accept the ending of the script and
not fighting back as brain cells die and my body
is a ruined edifice where the elevator has ceased
and the plumbing is unreliable?

Much time has been fritted away on sugar coated
banalities, sweet tarts and grapes of the reddest
kind; hang on, I’m so wrong, tell myself lies, this
was life, that and bawdy songs agreeing with my
sentiment; my salient friend literary learning is of
little use, hollow pursuit, what matters is human
companionship, the rest is a waste of time