Auckland Poetry

Senryu

warm was summer
we swam in various rivers,
in a mere once

no man or woman
can win a war on mars
or on a new moon

Employment

At the office by the docks where sailors go to get
a job, wretched people in drab jeans, I went there
dressed as always, in a striped business suit; they
thought I was a captain in need of a crew. I handed
my papers to the man at the desk, he leafed through
them, looked up and said; my man you’re seventy
five.” So what! I’m have been ship cook for fifty
years and can make Irish stew and Danish meatballs.

A whisper flew amongst the harbour dredge, “he’s
only an old cook,” their laughter had no mercy,
I had given the sea scum something to make them
feel less inferior, but only for a moment; till the clerk
said: “but we have a job for you on the Staten Island
ferry, starting tonight; knew it wasn’t true, adjusted
my tie walked out of the office ram rod straight, as
only an old sailor on his last job can do

Noah the Seafarer.

There was an inundation years ago, seas rose up and flooded
the landscape, what used to be valleys became lakes. Why?
I don’t know, only have a degree in domestic science, my ship
this had engine problems just followed the surge and cast
anchor in one of those lakes. I saw villagers clinging to hill
tops waiting for the water to sink; and it did, my ship was sunk
in the mud only her super structure was visible. The crew,
faithless as the oceans, fled to the coast, I didn’t and soon mud greened into grassland. I bought land and sheep, the bridge of
my ship is a roof terrace, a house now but I do speak of her as
she. I know what they say about me around here that I’m a relic
from the sea, a flotsam, let them I’m a hill farmer know and
don’t miss the sea at all; however should there be another flood
I’m ready to rescue my sheep and set sail again

Mad men and muses on my screen appear
Scribes of pieces prized
texturalised justifications neutralised
lobotomized
rationalised
war-tified