Auckland Poetry.com

The muted light that slept
in the shack of the Electricity Department
in the distance
shed the color of silence.
A single moth threw itself to make things sparkling
at this moment of squander.
The zoomed- in visions carried wraiths
yearning to exist yet another night of hidden plots.
The rusted iron gate, the old electric lines,
the two stars hung in between
looked like suspended hopes
even the darkness couldn’t light up.
Pieces of ashen thoughts camouflaged as vapor
tried to cover up the pointless flicker above,
none to behold.
At this hour of black futility,
the glimmer in the ether seemed superfluous
which the moon generously frittered away.
A breeze over passed me, knowing my thoughts well,
touching a few insignificant leaves
up on the tamarind tree,
unsolicited.
This wakeful night was appropriate,
for dreams - of old generators
and broad high tension wires,
cold and powerless and filled with cowardice.
Up in the room in the attic I was smeared
by the dust on the windowsill,
spreading in me a sense of refuge;
in the stuffy enclosure,
the smell of burned leather and old paint
sheltered me from the senseless redundancy
that lay outside.

Fair is Fair
It belongs to her
Does she have hunger for the meal
The rent has to be paid some how
Will he make it in time
In time for the feast
A meal of a thousand sins
A meal fit for a King
A meal defined by a country that holds the secret
A secret encrypted by a lifetime of stones
Why does he eat the forbidden fruit from the forbidden tree
The fruit is a crux
Its nectar a satisfied thirst
Or is it simply the oil of the machine
Something needed to be complete
He ponders yesterdays slashed memories
Beaten to a river stones smoothness
He delivers what is needed

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