Auckland Poetry.com

making things
the very place that
the mice run

cooling wells of trait

making things

great things
we sing to each other
on the cooing nights

those paper umbrella’ed cups
fixing music together like vines

clasping to the side of the building
fixing it to the wall with fever

(before the chicken and eggs
arrived to consider, they had already invented philosophers)

I want to sing, sing, sing, sing
making things

golden bright things that children can pick from trees
that float in the sky

elephants and geese attending weddings
fish and dancing

no bus
is all I want
instead
truck stop
engines loud
carbines up my nose
old lady
smokes her roll
drum, up my nose
rubbish truck
noise and stink
pungent up my nose
old mad man
kisses the air at me
dirty old truck
dirty old man
fumes, noise, people
all I want is
the 035 home

written 13 December 1994
by Vanessa Rare
copyright 1994

This open book without an ending
Is everything my life reminds of.
You, shallow souls, were just pretending -
You’re out of touch, I’m out of mind now.
I was a slave of my devotion,
A pillow for your worthless tears,
And you just played with my emotions,
Then in a moment disappeared.
I gave you all my heart to treasure -
You marked it with your footprints, dirty.
But it’s your loss that can’t be measured,
And nevermore your lies will hurt me!
The novel’s waiting for your ending,
Fresh rumors – what is more exciting?
I’ll laugh at you and keep pretending
I can’t make out your handwriting.

This open book without an ending
Is everything my life reminds of.
You, shallow souls, were just pretending -
You’re out of touch, I’m out of mind now.

I was a slave of my devotion,
A pillow for your worthless tears,
And you just played with my emotions,
Then in a moment disappeared.

I gave you all my heart to treasure -
You marked it with your footprints, dirty.
But it’s your loss that can’t be measured,
And nevermore your lies will hurt me!

The novel’s waiting for your ending,
Fresh rumors – what is more exciting?
I’ll laugh at you and keep pretending
I can’t make out your handwriting.

and so my destiny enlightens to me
padding thru the field of maze
catching glimpses of the blue and sparkle
small bubbles of air catch in my throat
panting giggles and laughter caress the air
for all the alls and who ever is who
greet into my golden rays
now I suspend
forecome to me brisk upon the heat
vibrato forward
into me
the golden gauntlet drink
pure laughter gleed from me
thank you

written 18 Febuary 1995©
by vanessa rare

Tonight the nightingale sings her song to those around,
I am a spec of dust forced to stare at her from below.
Her steps soft and cold as a corpse which has never loved,
And my embrace has been left violated by the rain which has pierced holes into my soul.
In the distance snakes, raccoons, squirrels and doves play with the moonlight.
They are all interested in her gentle song which echoes through the night.

Above her head stands a tree which she has fallen from,
This tree has stood tall in this very spot for billions of years for her to discover,
Life’s motions have shown she was destined to find her shelter in the arms of this formation.
It provides warmth, strength, freedom, happiness, and her ability to sing her once abandoned song.

Although she is chained to the quick sand of the wet ground,
She is free to spread her wings and sore through the night at an instant.
I can feel her for the first time sinking into my body,
First her feet followed by her beak,
She pulls out the only trace of life in my wet cold earth,
And soars away into the faded mist of June.

Presenting Jan Oskar Hansen reading his works on video. Jan Oskar has been posting his poetry on Auckland Poetry for years and now he has started his own YouTube poetry page.

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