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.

An ancient moon lay warped, fluttering,
In the moss-reeking fishy pond, flickering.
The cool night air raking archaic sentiments,
Stale, evoked only hollow consequences,
And it looked as though my mind was reflecting
In the rippling glassy darkness,
As I searched for the two,
the mind and the moon.
A frog-like thought leaped in on to the surface,
Deranging and scattering the images.
The water seemed uneasy and nervous,
Incompetent to deflect radiance and
The darkened glitter basked in the gloominess.
Up in the heavens the clouds shrouded the glow,
The firmament a black blanket of holes.
Reality of life, the sheaths, the five domains
Prohibited love to enter the remains
Of old age’s distrustful psyche, to which, a breeze,
Now tried to respond in vain, to mellow.
The facade of the make believe, made no efforts
To defend and delude with its time worn enticements
Lasting only the life span of the trembling moths.
Looking up and down, there was no trace,
Inside the blanket or under the rippling glass,
The dismal haze, of a round, scarred face.

The static is great
The edgy horizon looks like a dozen beers
I creep into folding bed linen
Wishing I was dead 20 times
She is snoring
I’m growing a beard
The teeth are decaying
The limbs are shortening
I lift the book to read
And see I can’t see so
I put on the $2 glasses and
Glimpse lines that finally make sense

Keith Nunes

Pictures…

Of sunsets on the dawn,

Birds serenading the moon,

Wind sweeping the stars,

Of liquid blue ice,

Of footprints on water   

                 Sketches on the mind canvas…   

                  Words…   

                                    That are tripping down a sound 

                                      Forsaken by Father Time, 

                                      Or drifting above the sand   

                                    Frozen in white light,  

                                     Like handprints on the wind…   

                  With random thought,  

                                                        And manipulated words…   

                 The pictures of poetry are written! 

                   Samantha Braum

Slow time may quickly pass into waiting arms

But sometimes what has been left stays fresh

And we come to find it has been meted no harm

Which I had expected I must confess.

There is change in each of us; we’re different, less free

Which happens and isn’t to be good or bad

Thankfully we still speak the same tongue eternally

We cherish our past and still we add

To the legend of us unravelling over time.

While we disappear to parts we also last

We both know that neither us, nor life, is sublime

But why remember mistakes when slow time moves fast?

Unravel tongue thankfully

“Life sublime happens eternally” but

Make mistakes in the same speech.

Time’s waiting arms meted harm. No!

Legend mistakes slow time for what is preserved-

There IS cherished change.

And more- a confession; we both know.

We both know what stays quickly fresh

Good or bad expectation; less free life

Still some slowly sublime change

And now we are suddenly told by children we are old

And referred to as ‘that man’ or ‘that woman’

By people we don’t know.

As a retort I have decided to age gracelessly

With humour, and exaggerate my deafness

Laughing when people who don’t know me shout at me

So I can reply “easy, I’m not that deaf”.

Those who do know me will roll their eyes and

Expect me to remember something I really didn’t hear.

But I am still pink and squishy on the inside.

In short- pretty much the same, maybe a bit dirty from the poisons

Our society enjoys. And I feel the same as I always have.

What is it to feel older? At most I realise I can handle

The shit things that happen in life

Which I might not have thought I could deal with.

But for all that one gets educated by life

Some people have more living to do in the same period of time.

Age is experience.

And I feel the same as I always have.

Our society expects me to remember something

I realise I can handle. But I am still on the inside.

Pretty much the same, maybe from the poisons

a bit gracelessly I exaggerate dirty humour

Educated by life I might not have thought

I really didn’t hear ‘that man’ or ‘that woman’ but

I’m that deaf.

As a retort I have decided to age

And now we are suddenly told by children we are old

my deafness laughing and What is it to feel older?

to experience Age is At most The shit things that happen in life

So I can reply “easy,”

when people who don’t know me shout at me

Those who do know me will roll their eyes and

I have been referred to as pink and squishy

By people we don’t know.

Which I could deal with but for all that time one gets.

And In Some people living With short of enjoys

do in the period more same.

And and Our old older legend living less: I as I. But But I am all woman and children and always man

why when We reply We quickly find Some Educated eyes

who know (dirty unravelling know gracelessly poisons people I Thankfully don’t know).

be good or experience much bad society

may I not hear or remember Those There things. time period to time harm

To to the the I have the tongue. is it been? it happens

I have had humour. I exaggerate life So realise

deafness mistakes neither the now nor the eternally squishy.

shout is As shit is easy sometimes; will we know,? no us decided different.

my meted sublime maybe and (add) And And mistakes

who we’re with when we laughing life Which I gets one of.

and still The same time And still the same us

that time the same Pretty people Which are we

Which enjoys expected life and feel
’ at a are are short Slow Age age arms a At been by  But be By both bit but but I have handle has have I on., I do deal deaf didn’t do don’t by I ‘must most moves me me more me made might me ‘I’m. happen have in “,”.into In. in. is feel fresh fast free from for to I. in each;, of our of over. us same as is inside slow isn’t still speak stays some something suddenly remember really retort roll referred pass pink past passed preserved people to that that that thought  told to that their to to that to There can can cherish change come confess could expects? we we What With waiting what we

Livorno Mon Amour

Livorno this dreary harbour port, not Rome and now in

winter a ghost town, every window shuttered telling not

of life inside. Into the bar came a young woman, long legs

like a colt, she was frozen warmed her hand and fanny by

the fire. I thought she looked like the American I had once

seen the shadow of in Trieste, I offered her a drink, she

had a coke, then she left to resume her lonely profession.

Later that night I saw her by a corner and as cold rain hung

In the air; I took her to an hotel, got heating going, she

jumped into bed ready to do her duty, but I was pensive

waiting to write a poem about Trieste. 

When I awoke tired morning light seeped through holed

curtains, the girl had put a blanket around me in the night

I was grateful for that. We breakfasted; she had fried eggs

and ham, I drank coffee and a little brandy. Saw her dance

down the street, yes she looked like an eager colt. Hoped

she would meet a rich man, marry him and become his

respectable whore instead of ending up an old diseased 

slag begging drinks from men who are ready to debase her.

Two days later I took the train to Trieste, I asked around

but no one had seen the American girl and the poem was

never written. 

The Sea

Silent sea dark and deep, on your surface I skimmed
for years, feared you too sleepless nights, mountainous
waves when my only defence was luck; romantically
thought that you had secrets to divulge when hearing
whispers in the tropical night. Now I know it isn’t so
and that makes life sadder than it ought to be, endlessly
wet you are Saragossa weed, fog and terrifying sharks;
like everything else, you suffer from advanced pollution
but when I hear the melancholic fog horn sing, late in
the night, I wish I were skimming your surface again.

Planets aligned, stars shine
When I see your face
It brightens mine
The lights burn
Out in the distance
I never knew a love like this is

All my worries seemingly disappear
When ever I can feel you near
Just a clichéd rhyme
Without reason
For you my darling
I’d commit treason

As the waves crash into the sand
I think of you and smile
Down by the sea
Something I haven’t done for a while

Waters shimmer, lights flicker
Suns rise and set
I can’t see you right now
But that feeling I won’t forget

You make me happy
You set me free
No matter how hard things get
No matter how tough
Knowing you still love me
Is more then enough

I sit in the car
Writing this poetic reflection
If I could only put music to this
It’d be perfection

If this is as good as it gets
Then honey why are you not you here?
If this is it why have you gone away?
I would leave flowers on your grave if I knew where you died
May god save your soul and for all who know?

Love leaves the man blind, he is of our kind
Hungry to be more than one
More than one this time
He can’t take back what’s taken from him
Now she has gone away there is no red left in the blood
The blood that flows full through his veins,
Into his mind the land of dreams
But a song comes from the heart
The heart that’s burnt a thousand times every time he mentions her name.

There you are
At the foot of my bed
You’re so beautiful
My lady in red

The shape of your body
And beautiful curves
You’ve never let me down
If memory serves

Your voice
Sounds like an angels harp
You are my guiding light
Leading me through the dark

The colour of your skin
Never fades away
I know you are there for me
Any time
Night or day

You’re faithful and sincere
You wont cheat
Or betray
You’ll never lie to me
No matter what I say

The way my hands
Glide gently
Down your body
And up your neck
There’s a connection there
That has nothing to do with sex

I feel dehydrated
You’ll always be my first
I need to hold you again
Just to quench my thirst

You’ve been here all along
While I’ve been running
Around the world
If I find true love or not
You’ll always be my girl

You waited
Patiently
For my return

There you are my lady in red
Sitting pretty
At the foot of my bed

A Trolls Poem

The Smooth, flat stone I threw, skimmed the lake
seven times before sinking into the lake, where it
will be safe till the lake is drained.

Child of the black berg which was so lovely that
men with bulldozers came…and no more said;
now it is almost just another big hole.

You can call it an eye socket, watery, misty not
unlike the eye of an old troll re-reading a poem he
remembers from his youth.

Senryu

October’s dawn
Sorrowful as a bedroom
Reeking of booze

Senryu

Dark hotel room
Lit up by blinking neon light
Paid sex and silence

Senryu

Echo of Terns’ shrieks
Empty row-boat in a fjord
Spooked is silence

Deadly sex

I knew she was seeing other men but pretended
I didn’t know didn’t risk confront her,
It pleased her ego to have sex with many men.
She wanted me to know about her infidelity it
made her lusty. She hinted she teased, bloody
games she played and our love got more intense,
anger was involved, left scars on our mind and
our bodies. It was love that kills, I didn’t play
that game, her next lover strangulated her… how
easily it could have been me. Desperate to win
her love I nearly killed her twice