Auckland Poetry.com

Music is fluid
It comes and goes
The chameleon shade
Near a fruit that’s always ripening.

I love it
I listen as often I can
Music my greatest love of the land.

Music is fluid
Cd, radio, mp3 and FM
Any format it’s like liquid
That always flows from the top of the fountain
Moving, oozing always to a constant beat.

Roses are dead
Violets are too
You wanted me back
But i didn’t want you
You wanted me out
And i said no
So you sit back and watch my show
You have big feet
Ugly hair
Awful kisses
I couldn’t bare
I told you I loved you
You told me too
But you never meant it
So now I hate you
You have no skill in this game
So give it up we know your name
We know your a liar and a cheat too
I could have given the world too you
But you gave up and never tried
So you made up stupid lies
You hurt me bad you hurt me deep
But here’s a promise I can keep
What ever you say what ever you do
Just remember I did love you

The Forgotten Remembered  

It’s so long ago I’m not sure whether it was a dream, it happened at quiet a corner of a land where, although occupied by the enemy, war’s cruelty hadn’t reached yet. There was a prison camp nearby, Russians I think, guards let me feed them scraps of food as they looked benignly on at this scene of sweet innocence. A cold early morning many shots had been fired but no one knew why and after dinner I went to feed prisoners leftovers; the camp’s gate was open and they lay on the ground, some with eyes open, yet unseeing and there was blood in the snow. I must have been there long time it began snowing again and flakes of gentle crystal covered their faces and I wondered why. A giant soldier with his rifle slung across his massive shoulder, came, took me by the hand and led me back to the farm; whispering voices, they put me at the front of the log fire, I was very cold, everyone was so kind that I began crying gave me hot, sweet cocoa to drink.   

Unrequited Love

The street and the clapperboard houses flanking, it was the same
only the street had a layer of asphalt and the houses had been
painted. It was here it all began when I fell into confusion, or as
they say, love. Walking by her house, but on the opposite side
of the street, her home was green and had pretty curtains, flowers
on sills and oozed of small town decorum. I noticed people inside
and stopped, by a little shop that sold knitwear and wondered how
a tiny business like that can ever make a living and its window reflection saw her house; she came out, walking across the road,
and I recognized her at once even though she must be sixty five,
to be invisible, didn’t want her to think I came here just for her,
I put a yellow supermarket plastic bag with holes in over my head,
it worked, she walked by me into the needle & thread shop where
she bought a pair of shiny knitting pins.

Coming out she stopped said I looked daft in that xanthous bag,
(she is fond of using unusual words) I took it off, very was hot
inside it anyway, said I wasn’t trying to hide but was looking for
a gold ring and I didn’t see as well as before. Overcome by lust
I grabbed and passionately kissed her, till she lost her pins: “let’s
go and make love” I hoarsely gasped, but she pushed me away
and said: “Are you mad, I have to knit a jumper for my grandson before winter, and have to go home and cook my husband’s tea,
you must have better things to do than follow me around as you
did forty years ago when you camped outside the house; mother
was very upset worried if the neighbours thought I was common
a tart.” Upset, by her hard words, I put the sad bag back over my
head didn’t want to draw attention to myself when crying tears of humiliated rejection.