The static is great
The edgy horizon looks like a dozen beers
I creep into folding bed linen
Wishing I was dead 20 times
She is snoring
I’m growing a beard
The teeth are decaying
The limbs are shortening
I lift the book to read
And see I can’t see so
I put on the $2 glasses and
Glimpse lines that finally make sense
Keith Nunes
You watch the weather, don’t you?
From the kitchen window, the patio
Even the office as it climbs four storeys
You drape yourself in whatever works
For the conditions
The weather has a major say in what you say
To the employer; the wife; the neighbour
If I were you I would keep a close eye on the weather
It has ways and means of interrupting; catapulting
Thoughts of innocence across mountain tops
Down to fears of catastrophe and calamity
There are paid people who warn you about the weather
Maps and grids and watchwords
They are concerned you might miss it
As it comes rolling over the hills like storm-troopers
The Gestapo knocking at your door
Tearing at your gutters; your roses
Make no mistake – the weather needs soothing
We stopped offering sacrifices and now we have
Weather bombs dropped on us repeatedly
I wish the weather would just go away and
Leave us with a benign void
So we know
Nothing will ever happen
© 2008 Keith Nunes
Check out review and multimedia coverage of Winter Warmers – a very charming and vital event Saturday afternoons at the Auckland Art Gallery. And while we are looking at things – am trying out various new themes for the next cover page. Before we select one, we will check it here. So don’t worry – if the Golden Gate (palam11 theme) returns – am testing functionality, then will settle on one (I like the seaside one, but there is a functional problem with navigation…) – the site will work and accept your submissions or it will be tested, here. Comments – is this seaside template too much, do ya think?
http://aucklandpoetry.com
long shadow
One of Aotearoa’s finest voices Mahinarangi Tocker has died in hospital at the age of 52 from complications of an asthema attack.
It is a really sad moment. Here is the NZ Herald page of public tributes. You can also add your own as comments on this post, if you wish.
Hope you don’t mind
if I take the time
to say good bye to
my left foot
It not due to hatred
or foul language
or even odor
its not a bad
foot either
It is just it
never does what it
has been told
no matter now carefully
its said
No the left foot has to go,
its done its dash and so I throw
it out into the trash
and the sole escapes
as it flies through the air
a fusion of particles happens in the mirror
the image of here and now
is lost before it becomes
then and when
photographs were used to remember
visits by the grandparents no longer answering
the phone
visits by generations past long gone
now here and now and opening
the gate walking up the path
about to knock on the door
The reason for the switch is that the version of WordPress in use on the old servers stopped accepting posts. Suddenly. And I got a new job, and tried to fix it, repaired the database – but something else was wrong, but rather than spend the Summer break finding out what, I did what any computer wizard is supposed to be able to do, and rehosted the website and restored the database. That explains slight differences. But disconnection is terribly unkind to readership. We are reducing are advertising rates as a result, well we would if we charged for advertising.
If you can not login, just email me, info@aucklandpoetry.com
All current logins should work. If you would like to become a fresh contributor, well the invitation is out, if you have worked out how to submit a poem for consideration. You must join first. Then you can contribute work. We will consider it, and if we like it – it may appear on the site.
The “Front page” is the latest edition – and accessed via http://www.aucklandpoetry.com
The “Fresh” link on the front page takes you to the latest poetry posted.
Oh, and Edition 8 Breaks from here. Edition 7 is our new front page on http://Auckandpoetry.com
The Cloak Wears Thin
Under the Soaking Rain
Clings to the Skin
too Close no Comfort
just Cold Pain
walk over Concrete
the City won’t be washed off without
needful kinetics
sins without sadness
saints without pain
killer kisses on the
blood soaked vein
The Editor is back, after starting a new job. More on that later. The next edition starts here. Poems in the Fresh queue before this date are now being considered for inclusion in the next Auckland Poetry Edition (that is our Home page). Your comments are what makes this site fantastic – as well as the poetry of course. We have just detected and removed a number of spam comments. If you get a comment on one of your poems and you do not agree with it, then you have a right to ask me to simply remove it. Of course, I will. It would be helpful if anyone leaves comments on poems published before this posting while I edit the next edition. It is a surefire way of making a poet more interesting (to me). Real comments help me grow more editorial wings. Now that the site has proven to work (even if I become unavailable) and improve itself, I can safely start the next phase. For a start, editing will be a little more selective at the edition level, and perhaps quite permission on the Fresh queue. If comments become the default editorial method, then publishing great editions should be more democratic. Art and democracy – interesting mix or horrible idea? Your comments please.
No Fuss Grandad
(A Message from one of the harem – pleasured by beck and call)
No Fuss Grandad
He wanted no bother
He wanted no fuss
He wanted the harem
And the thoughts of lust –
Of nurses and teachers
.. of those he could trust
The grandchildren gathered
around the bedside
Tenderness and tears
were today’s exercise
A beer did follow with the boys he knew best
Final farewells were downed from the chest
Who’d have thought that tooth decay
Would lead to the play out of final days
The end of an era,
Led by a chapter of tears
We’ll wait for you to slip and disappear
Into your final resting place
So you go now No Fuss Grandad
With family, love and God’s grace.
Deana Platt 12/11/07
(Kenneth William Platt RIP 13/11/07 3.35 a.m.NZ time)
It’s the end of August and we are
Low on money
Like the last summer
And the summer before that
It never ends…
It’s always like this
It will be always like this
Not exactly poverty but
A chronic lack of money,
A need to economize,
To watch your spending,
Cutting down on smoke and some food; all booze is out
Forget about clothes,
Shoes,
Socks,
Movies,
Books,
Going out,
Picnics,
Bus rides.
Hand lotion.
Pizzas,
Phone calls,
You name it…
It gets you
Year after year:
Not exactly poverty–
Just a lack of money.
And here I am,
Writing poetry.
Who gives a damn about poetry?
Yet
I persevere,
While
We economize,
Watch our spending,
Plan carefully.
Well,
At least I
Don’t have to economize
On words:
There are plenty of them
Absolutely free of charge.
I’m glad that
Writing doesn’t require much
Neither special investments nor
Expensive supplies
Just something to write on:
A piece of paper,
An old notebook.
An empty cartoon pack,
A wall,
Your skin,
My own bare ass:
In short,
Anything to scribble on.
Plus
A lot of madness
To make it
A bit more INTERESTING.