Auckland Poetry.com

As Days Get Shorter.

The sunny fall is now dry, hard winter
on the avenue trees stand denuded
while their offspring the leaves, rustles
up and down the street, filling up storm
drains and sighing as they dance with
a lackluster zephyr, not yet ready to
merge into dark soil; tawny and auburn,
I look at my hands, not there yet.

Few birds in trees they have gone to
Africa, which is not far from where
I live…for a bird, they spend nights in
the avenue’s trees, safer there than on
the country side; seen as vermin when
there are too many, too few and bird
lovers and other weird people, worry
if birds of prey will survive.

I look up to the sky it is cold and azure
but I see the shimmer, not a sharp eyed
sparrow hawk or an eagle, but of a much
bigger wing span, something is keeping
an eye on me, but I wag a finger, bravely
smile and say: “no thanks, my hands are
not like leaves yet. And as street- lights are
lit the day flawlessly glides into twilight.

Terror in Mumbai

The face of a young terrorist caught on
camera, flushed look and his eyes shine
with the ecstasy of total power, the one
who decides who’s to live or die.

This is his moment what he has been
dreaming of so long, the cause for his
war means nothing now that life surges
through every sinew of his body.

Should he survive, his days will be flat
and endlessly grey till he gets a change
again to easily kill and feel the ecstasy
of absolute supremacy.

Terror in Mumbai

The face of a young terrorist caught on
camera, his face is flushed and his eyes
shine with the ecstasy of total power,
the one who decides who’s to live or die.

This is his moment what he has been
dreaming of so long, the cause for his
war means nothing now that life surges
through every sinew of his body.

Should he survive, his days will be flat
and endlessly grey till he gets a change
again to easily kill and feel the ecstasy
of absolute power once again

Senryu

Israeli police
When not head butting women
Also play rugby.

Senryu

It’s weird to notice
How the unjust and powerful
Fear the frail masses.

Senryu

Viciousness
Is the typical reaction
Of a scared mob

Autumnal Sunday

Rain, it is October the month of melancholy
and you know that the blue sky and sun of
yesterday was just another foolish illusion
the cock didn’t crow this morning and dogs
ears didn’t move when a stranger’s voice
echoed in narrow streets, they knew it was
the voice of doom;

the harvester had arrived in coming month
the old would succumb to the damp breath
of death; not too many tears shed, faces in
a black frame, yes, that’s the way it is we
understand death if not our own. Dogs need
not be told, they snooze sure of their own
own immortality

The Awareness

As the days of light draw in I’m pulled
back to a mythical past, and I remember
a perfect moment, when time stood still
and we’re a contented family.

An alarm clock rang, a shift worker had
to get up, do his job, a summer evening
that would never return when nature
and humanity were as one

No one remember them now, traceless
but for a box of old photos in the drawer,
bones that rattle in the night; the expanse
between us is unbridgeable now

As the memory fades into a shadow
and faces are hidden in a miasma of time,
there is in the vanishing light a beacon
that still shines till my journeying ends.

A litre of wine

The wine in the glass is full the red liquid arches the slightest
movement and it will spill over and run down the stem like
a bleeding stomach wound trickling down a petrified leg.
I bent down and inhaled the wine no spillage and I wondered
why it is so many people, in fact more and more drink beer
that is no longer a natural brew is it because we are no longer
a part of nature and seek and feel more at ease with man made
products and we will soon have a diet that fits with the work
we are doing, say if you want a double cheeseburger with fries
you first have to work shuffling coal for twelve hours,

but if you only want to sit writing a simple poem about
the country side low fat yogurt for you; if you have written
the poem under the influence of a steak you will be censured,
made to walk in the park and tell everyone you’re a crock of
empty of gold empty of anything a modern society such as
networking banalities and get people to buy what they don’t
need; men get medals and titles for doing that. So what do
I care, but it annoys me that I end up buying a soap which
name I have seen on the television and smell like everybody
else, yeah…isn’t that just nice?

The Aide

The swimming pool’s wall was decked out with Swiss
flags making the scene solemn and legal, Charles, his
real name Herbert, but he thought Charles have him
an royal air, was leading an alabaster skinned, thin
woman into the pool, she was naked save from a pair
of heavy, leaded boots. They waded to the deep till
submerged, he had instructed her not to hold her
breath, but just let it happen it would be quicker that
way. But she held her breath till bubbles came out of
her mouth and nostrils and her struggle to reach to
the surface ended and she looked like a rare sea plant
swaying gently in the flow. Charles got out of
the pool his job done, elderly now, but with a body
that would make a suit or uniform look good, he had
the contented air of a man who had found his proper
vocation in life.

Blank Decency

The capital of Norway, Oslo, has well lit
clean streets swept clear of humanity;
you’ll see clusters of people here and there
sat inside plastic tents- pavement cafes-
smoking tobacco. And now that it’s illegal
to buy sex too, streets will be cleaner then
before. If a consumer of bought of sex
thinks he can go abroad and buy it he will,
if found out, be prosecuted.

There are still cars driving around these
empty streets, to get rid of them it might
be an idea to ban the purchase of petrol;
a car free city, something to boast about,
tourists come and puff virtuous Oslo air.
Those who miss driving can when in, say,
Bangkok on vacation, rent a coupé for
the duration, but remember credit card
purchases can be traced.

The whiteness within…me

Yesterday I saw an albino raven
it had just killed a sparrow and
had drops of blood on its chest.

Having had the privilege to be
white you would think it would
desist from killing sparrows.

But I must be wrong perhaps it
was an angel dressed as cardinal
they wear red and eat meat.

Or was it was a dove of peace
wearing a ruby necklace, or had
it been hurt by an Israeli sniper?

Perhaps it was a white cloud
I saw drifting along on blue
being lit up by a red eyed sun.

A white feather, cowardice is
pale as cold snow, so why does
a peace dove has to be white?

Haiku

Compass pointing south,
I migrate, follow the sun,
But my heart looks north.

Haiku

Chopping winter wood
The eye of a fire is blue
The colour of yours

Haiku

At twilight,
I shot a blackbird
Night fell down.