Auckland Poetry.com

Nazism and the Belgian Chef

In Belgium, I read, a TV chef has been fired and
The program axed. He cooked dishes famous people
through history liked. All went well, till he cooked
Herr. Hitler’s favourite dish, fried trout with sour
cream. People protested, this was to humanize Hitler
and our chef was fired for having bad taste (pun?)
It is quite naïve to believe that by not mentioning
Hitler, the towering inferno of the twentieth century,
they can somehow wish him away by making him
into a monster without human feelings and emotions.
Alas, he was so very human and real, there are many
as him walking around and giving half the chance
will behave just as Herr. Hitler did.

The Lady and the Tramp

I took the bus from Ellesmere Port to Birkenhead,

from there the underground to Liverpool, walked

to Hanover Street; took a rickety lift up four floors

to a studio where Miss Summers tried to teach me

to speak posh English. A hopeless task my Norse

accent refused to be relegated clung to my throat

like phlegm, the size of a jelly fish, and anyway,

when Miss Summer said my own voice was sexy

I decided to take acting lessons with her instead.

Alas this didn’t last; the doctor said I was fit to go

back to sea and I was sent to join a ship in Aruba.

I loved Miss Summers used to meet her secretly in ´

Southport on her days off, impressed me with her

noble manners it was like making love to a duchess.

The problem with being a seafarer is that when he

returns, life ashore has moved on. My teacher lady

had an acting job, when I rang her voice was arctic

and, yes, she had also gone and married a doctor.

Never Look Back

The track I walk on, to the top of the hill
where I can see the sea, is falling into
neglect, overgrown, dry weeds crinkle
underfoot, made smooth and slippery by
the unforgiven August sun.

The sea afar is blue with glitter on, just
as a postcard: “come sail on me,” it says.
I did once, long time ago. I used to stand
on iron deck, look towards shore, dream
of mountains, streams and lakes.

Clouds sail across the sky, sea darkens
gets restless frothy waves, are gored by
dagger sharp cliffs; endless war the sea
will win. Farewell, I shall walk on this
path again, the bygone is another dream.

Last night I tried to shoot the moon.

I missed.

Instead of vanquishing darkness I left a big gaping hole in the sky, but at night you can’t see it anyway.

A bird fell out of the sky that same night. Now it is lying dead on my lawn.

I wish it would move, I need to cut the grass.

The Girl Who Loved Me.

At a house that posed as a posh bar I saw her,
very tall, thin and gangling she smiled shyly
and the young men in the throng thought her
weird, so I befriended her, she was grateful;
yes, for I too know how it is to be neglected.

Afterward we went out for meal she insisted
I must meet her parents, who were proud of
her. And life was sweet for a few days till
I had to leave, she cried, I promised to write
and callously didn’t.

When the moon shone on the Caribbean Sea
and I stood on a hot iron deck alone I regretted
my self-serving empathy, playing on other
people’s emotion, just to tie another knot on
the hangman’s noose .

The Notion

A thought, a beautiful bird, sat on a tree
tried to grab it, but it flew away and was
liquefied, now I can’t even remember its
colour.

The thought is a river, as I put my hands
into it to stop its flow, it turns into a useless
seam of gold.

Gold diggers came, rich now they will
be interviewed, say weighty thing to
newspapers, we will nod in accord, surely
they must sages, as surely as I must find
another stream

I wait for a new thought to drift along,
without great fanfare, one that will change
itself into a beautiful bird that, in time,
will transform into a poem

Haiku

Lucid is the sky
Cool and translucent is day
Wonderful is fall

Haiku

Unambiguous
Is the cold northerly wind
The master of frost

Haiku

It was a short fall
The sun shone and it was warm
Indian summer

Haiku

Morning’s snow crystals
Downed on lawns too early
Sun is still in charge.

Haiku

Aquatic time
Relentless rain harshly fall
Time to read a book.

Haiku

Rain on the mountain
River runs with fiercely rage
To meet its maker.

Birthday Greeting

The darkness gives way for light, joins

Up quickly behind me, I drive home,

When morning breaks I’ll be seventy.

I think of a black, shiny coffin; silver

Handles and flowers too, my grief is

Immense nothing much to celebrate

I sail close to shore carful now under-

Water reefs, seek shelter from old age

While contemplating my sunset.

“Do you want to know a secret?” he said
As he laid upon his bed
His frail old bones so tired now
His hair all but gone from his head

I smiled at him with his weathered face
His hand reaching mine with such tender grace
My heart wrapped in his as I searched his eyes
Words interrupted by breathless sighs

“I’ve lived my life with an open eye
And have been so inspired as the days have gone by.
I made a promise when I was your age
That I’d never be kept within a locked cage”

This man whom I’d loved my entire life through
Was about to teach me something new
So I squeezed his hand a little tighter
Knowing him as my “Heroic Fighter”

“Each day of your life, each moment you live
Keep finding your Inspiration”. He said
His face came alive as he smiled at me
Laying upon his sun drenched bed

“You’ll know in your heart for you’ll be lifted higher
And warmth will surround your Soul”
“Remember to let Inspiration be free
For then you will reach your goal”

His words meant a lot when he spoke that day
And it seemed my life changed in some kind of way
This man in my mind, who inspired me so
Did well to help me learn and grow

A quiet world –
Where the music is the shimmering light that ripples across the coral reef.
A magical dance crackles below its surface –
The tail, the fins and the Angels’ all know the tune.

I rock like a baby in the wind –
A lullaby hammock to quiet the storm that rages within my soul.
My forgotten quest –
For Peace and Happiness.

Numbness only remains –
Washed away by the warm waters and the tears from heaven.
His skin is moist and glistens in the sunlight –
A bronze God a whisper away but lifetimes apart.

Desiccated by monstrous winds –
The husk remains, the shell of life that clings to the fount.
I must return to the dance – 
The magic that crackles below the surface.

Find the light that ripples –
Even in the depths of despair.
A secret world – 
Where the quiet music embraces even the deaf.

May I hear the Angels’ chorus once more –
Touch me. Ecstasy.
Let the joy embrace –
And overwhelm your senses.

My Love

By Vaughan Shepherd © 2007

Take a wooden stick and hit a pole with it
Listing to the sound it makes as you fly
into rage the detail and shortness of breath
as the wood breaks against iron its age outnumbering
its flex 3 to one and tearing its fibres now dried and unconnected

the eye moves in the socket with ease but broken
by a lack of control the scholar’s ear that opened
like a butterfly wing and raced into skylight

Tortured ribbons silk threads dragged into patterns
could not recover quality nobody to reorganise them
until you started trying to undo the mistakes
unpick the threads and put them back into order
something I thought would not do without you

on the spinning world, unconfessed thieves chased the wheels
and plotted to collect insurances on the world coming to its end
there they queue up to collect their sacred dividend

Copyright © 2008 by Nicholas Alexander

Tanka

Moths play outdoors,
Street light and a summer night,
Not in the wardrobe
Where they are safe and cozy
Eating Uncle Fred’s old suit

Tanka

I sit in the yard
The soft night rests on my lap
String photos of you
On a necklace of memories
And I think of dawn and love

Tanka

The moon cannot fly
It asks of you to be its wings
Imagination;
Not so very difficult,
Recall the buzz of first love.