Auckland Poetry

Soldier Hero  

They are so proud of their son, the war hero,and now he was given the highest accolade a soldier can receive, from a grateful nation.In the great hall they met generals who said it was an honour to meet the parents of a hero,  they had brought up a fine son, (post mortem medals are as soft plaster on ulcers of grief.)   

Music and red carnation, chocolate cake andtea; the nation’s president shed blameless and manly tears, his lachrymose for us to admire; pity the hero wasn’t there. Time to go as low paid cleaners came, gobble up the remains of  the cake, drank lukewarm tea, and idly spoke about the weather and the high price of gas.   

Beloved King

A drab dawn drizzled onto the grey village.
Damped ashes lay stilled in the chill breeze.

No spark from the fires,

Which had caroused with the laughter

Of our plundering visit.
Animals, too contemptible to be taken as trophies,

Shivered and pawed boundaries where their pens had been.
The villagers’ charred corpses lay

Where the flies and foxes would shortly find them.
Such were the ruins our raiders had rendered

From the living hearts of the village;

Hearts, our fight against winter’s threatened famine,

Had trampled.
Such we were told by the fighters we had left to await that village’s men.
Doomed champions,

Whom with rumours of boar and deer in a distant wood,

We had lured away.
Heroes, poisoned by spears, Left,

On the approach track where their children had used to dance them home.

To moan shames and miseries.

And we, at home,

Roar to our giggling children.

Renew tales of our force that will not be withstood.
Give to our women

The hides and meat that will clothe and warm their feasting family futures.

And my Empress,

You take me,

The unchallenged chief,

Into our tomb safe lodge.
I Weep,

To you only,
For the hopes

And the cousins

I have mangled.