Auckland Poetry.com

YESTERDAY HAS GONE

Stillness
Where once there was beating
Thudding in the throat
Quivering delivery
Top lip stiff
Buried by silence
Forgotton moments
Seen in solar system dreams
Unburped and tight
Shredded pasts sitting muddled and shocked
Bent futures no others need know
Looking to cast way out
The shore, a haven no more
Looking back to a false yesterday
All forgotten cause no one saw
A breath in the breeze
Dispersed, invisible
The last of his thoughts
A non priority
I remember us
All of the attention gifted to me
Beauty and love the beholder
That was yesterday
The memorie not quite gone
Time to save myself from extinction

VANESSA 4 Feb 2008

The Girl in the Frame (revised)

Innocent stranger,
Indeed, you bloom around gills and fall
beneath the radar under a sky dripping with
illusion

the woman rocks her child to sleep
and a scarf drifts over the rubble of her features
her torn up life the ruins she now lives in
walls crumble as pepper dust drying out

the wheels grind away
the teeth she was left with
she invites her friends
in public but the chairs were
burnt by the soldiers for firewood

the night she lost her roof
the planes fly overhead
louder than before
the rain on mother’s big bed
and the lines down the walls
where the water runs

she lives thus in the public mind
takes dogs out for walks
leads them out of the trap
and into the summer

the illusion kept her between
four lines guarding the
boundary of her thought
the gates of reason
closed until the return
of the florists and the bell ringer

Nicholas Alexander
Copyright © 2009

ONCE

Leland James

garden shears
upon a low stone wall
where white roses grew

a toppled pedestal
the basin lying near
mouthful of rank water

an angelic stone child
stands still by the gate
keeping the watch

Senryu

Perfect rose shivers
Fears being picked at dawn
And fade in a vase

Senryu

Perfect attraction
Breathless, ravenous sex
Delightful madness

Senryu

Perfect marriage
One is fondly remembered
The other wears black

Vanishing Islands

Classic sea, almost antique, slow swinging oars
rowing towards a balmy island with lazy palm trees.
Everything could have been so perfect, hadn’t been
for the rising sea and the diminishing shoreline.
There is a smoking mountain in the middle of
the island, soon fishermen will sit on cliffs and be
anglers, sing songs remembering times when their
island had a sandy beach; but for now oscillating oar
blade dips into liquid happiness, disturbing briefly
the azure sky that preens itself on an ocean it regards
as a mere mirror.

Norwegian Poem

Stormy night lesser stars were torn off
their heavenly anchorage and splashed
into the ocean, spindrift, ships ran on to
reefs and in the Ragnarock human voices
went unheard and sailor died in silence.
Black sky stars retreated into the safety
of the galaxy, the moon and sun too and
the winter night is endless, and a hush
fell on an earth that looked like a snowball
on a slag heap till spring came and sheep
fearlessly grazed on steep hills fazing
western seas on grass fertilized by futile
cries from bodies slashed to fodder for crabs
that grew big that year.

Ragnarock. “Doomsday”

I am a child of air
My heart, my mind are everywhere.
That gusty stuff that blows your hair
Is me.

I am a child of air
My heart , my mind are everywhere.
When earth and fire are far below
My presence is around you.

I am a child of air
My heart, my mind are everywhere.
When you fall, all hope gone by
I am the wind that bears you.

I am a child of air
My heart, my mind are everywhere.
The very stuff of your nightmare
Encompasses my all and sets me free.

When, in my vantage point I sit
The skeins of life rise up and
pushing at the fringe of unknown worlds
do touch the edges of my realm

I am a child of air
My heart, my mind are everywhere.
A jealous thing, my special place
Would you think to join me, be with me, love me and drink your fill of life’s deep draught with me, there?

For here’s my fate, and here’s my hope.
should she, who reads these lines and finds in them
That thing of simple but eternal stuff
whereby two souls may meet and be as one

Should she but seek and find in me
the very slight but hopeful chance
of love before the lights go dim
then she, should she be brave, must make it known that one is here.

Else, let her not. Let all things continue as they are.

Melancholy

On an impulse I went to see my daughter, who lives in a hilly town
with bad roads. My ex girlfriend walked in, she is an unfinished love
story, sun tanned and beautiful, but she had been drinking, and
didn’t see me. She wanted to drink some more, people tried to stop,
her, she shrugged them off, unsteadily walked out to find a tavern or
two. Later that evening I booked into a hotel and could hear her tipsy
laughter in the bar. I didn’t join the set, but went up to my room.
It turned out she had a room next to mine and later I endured her
having sex with a man she had picked up somewhere. Met her in
the breakfast room next morning, her casual lover had long since gone
and she appeared glad to see me. We chatted about the old days,
held hands and her eyes were sea green. We made love in my bed,
she was warm and giving as always; tremor in her hands she had
a whisky and fell asleep in my arms.

Leavings

On the railway platform, trains leaving, white
steam, suitcases and a throng of thousand eyes.
Worried humanity and relieved ones too; to be
free of oppression he is leaving to seek work far
from here. Men in uniform looking important
carrying green and red little flag, waving one of
them and blowing a whistle: All onboard!”

I dislike departures there is a change, nothing
will ever be the same. People walking home in
silence, words have lost meanings. lies have
been told dignity and pride have been sacrificed
in the quest to look happy; the night is endless
full of unanswered questions that streaks through
the night avoiding answers

Snowman

I’m going to Sapporo next year to build a snowman
and win a prize, get my picture on the news and
be interviewed by David Frost.

I will not be arrogant and look down on ordinary
people, but everyone will notice that inner glow and
say: Truly there walks a famous, yet humble man.”

For I know, as you do, come spring my snowman will
melt, and only you admiration for the famous will
prevail, until someone builds a bigger snowman.

Summer Sea.

A blue rowboat lies on its side, as a beached,
weak whale, its bottom has just been tarred
the aroma mingles with the ozone of the sea,
but when the tide comes the boat will float
and look refreshed.

Seen from the wooden pier the sea is emerald
yet crystal clear, small crabs and tiny fish feed
in the shallow, and as the sea calmly inhale and
exhale pebbles softly fizz.

The sky is the sea’s lover, they are doomed to
never embrace; no one around this morning,
the sea pulls me closer, captivating, it is hard to
resist -not to be absorbed by its beauty- and
become its prey.