Auckland Poetry

The Good Shepherd.

As the sun was setting the pastor got up from under
a carob tree, time to take his flock home; it had been
a good day leading his sheep through olive groves,
scrubland and fields; his dogs looked at him they were
hungry and eager to get home too.

The pastor bent down picked up a tiny lamb that had
been rejected by its mother, it began suckling his thumb;
he was going to give it to his wife who would fatten it
for a month or so. Lamb-stew’s tender meat, he liked
now that he had lost all his teeth.

Yes, life is good he must remember to light a candle
and say thanks at mass on Sunday.

Indian Poem

As I waited the first cold morning of
the year awoke, streams of sunlight
came over the ridge;

so it began again, and as we cling to
our entities and hold on to our life, we
must surely hear the unsaid;

spoken by a saddest of hearts: we are
mere mortals, new days will arise and
fall long after we have gone;

and from my old school’s window
a child will see the blue mountain and
wish he could see its other side.