Auckland Poetry.com

The Ruin

The ruin, in the woods, has been a ruin for
so long that it is no more than a heap of moss
covered stones; always damp it smells of
poverty, a place where those who were able
to, fled before they sank into apathy and died
of hopelessness and homemade booze.

Perhaps some of the fleers fled to New York
and their grandchildren, now runs a deli,
Portuguese delicacies that in the old days were
poor man’s food, paint the old country in
pastel colours and makes it wetly romantic;
poverty of yore has a patina of old gold.

Municipal Misery

The city’s public park had been deliberately run down,
no money for its upkeep it was said, the tarn in the park
was a disgrace, dirty water, excrement and plastic bags.

It was going to be privatized, like the municipal golf
course, built in days when people believed in social
equality and golf for everyone who wished to play.

The new “public park” is a fee paying park, there are
restaurants and an expensive tennis club, you can also
walk around there but it is too dear for ordinary folks.

I’ve been once, perfectly mowed lawns, trimmed trees
and flowers are standing to attention; no surprises, this
is always so when nature is made by a committee.

Friendship

He was my best friend we used to go for long walks;
we both liked the cinema and art, as my wife used
to say”You’re a perfect couple.” When I got arthritis
in one leg I used to keep my hand on his shoulder,
he was my cane and it eased the pain.

James, yes I was happy to be his friend, gave my
only boy his name. One day he told me he was gay,
perhaps I knew but preferred not to know, best that
way; but this knowledge changed our comradeship,
timidity had come between us.

I no longer held on to his shoulder, our bantering
was contrived. I didn’t go see the latest western
movie with him, blamed a cold, he wasn’t able to
come to a planned art exhibition. Yes, I do miss
him and my leg hurts like hell.

Tanka

Runaway price of oil
We slides towards the abyss
But refuse to see
Stick our necks in the sawdust
And watch World Cup Football

Tanka

Ready made food
The art of cooking gone
Bread, marge and jam
When there is no frozen food
Due to transportation strike