Auckland Poetry.com

it is here one again
the even and the odd
the square and the cube
offset by a hand
and disguised as a shoe
the wheels turn and grind
and they catch you again
making memories noting
the passage of time
in small dollops of
tears coursing down cheeks
the grandmother who holds her breath
under the dancing waters of the river
overhead the screaming in her eyes
as she looks up past you
she seeks your inspection
but you can not see her
from where you were
it is the passing of
the ripples that you see
the surfaces of things
as they creep up and
before you know it
it ends

May 7th

Killing Field .

The mass grave of ivory hued sandstones,
each one of the same size and just the thing
as headstones, has been filled in.

Chocolate brown soil covers them and that’s
a pity, not touched by a stonemason’s hand
they will forever be nameless and lack soul.

Grass and weed will cover the soil sheep
will graze rabbits frolic, as the shepherd
smokes a cigarette and look at the blue sky.