Into the beautiful Baobabs - Madagascar
These ancient trees are so beautiful, luckily many of them have survived throughout Africa as their pulp type wood has no value for charcoal traders. https://www.facebook.com/greenrenaissance
My days lately somewhat like this picture, even if we've been
living in a drought here in New Zealand. Trees dominate my
thinking nevertheless and they're the survivors, those trees
that have made it this far. I'm also dwarfed by economic and
political circumstances we're enduring.
Various people feel entitled to take as much as they can. This
greed and selfishness doesn't assist anyone, including them. I
feel like I'm preaching or moralising however so instead, I'll
post this poetry. It celebrates friendship.
'what happens when no new bookshelves are bought?'
make towers and arches and bridges.'
she's quick like he doesn't recall architecture
'a few editions pretend to fit kitchen
furnishings, between stacks of plates
mutter about appetites.
tomes slide under tables up to who knows what,
while others live in the car as if homeless.
determined volumes dwell outdoors
near the hammock or folding chairs
but rarely risk rain.'
some time stacked in cardboard boxes
books home in bags
or one in pocket
the other in hand the better bird.
he enters bookshops reverently
chin lifted but shoulders slightly rounded
to bow over pages
silent chanting blessed ink.
in glove with a paragraph
lines knit into scarves
spectacle-fog laughter and he daydreams.
suit tailored by superbly cut chapters.
fetish akin to slow food,
coloured covers picked
for paper leaves.
between lines invisible ingredients
opening pages at random,
instant or digging for meaning.
not coffee but darker than tea,
drinking to the health of carpenters,
toasting care and hold.
baked true to what's good for us,
this daily read and utter.
- - -
conversations in bed and the bath
'her sunshine stitch name
his a gong from a mountain
obvious to each other at a distance
but they may disappear
neither sees the the other entirely
held in landscape'
she speaks drunk with steamy air
to a solitary room
tells an invisible man the story of themselves
smiles to think he could hear afar while sleeping
a dream interrupted or caused.
car radio songs hint meanings,
but he's nocturnal hunter careful
his answers most often hammers and darts
romance a lone peak and lovely as snow.
'you're the best boyfriend ever'
'i make you whatever i wish
recalling voice and walk and glare
a few relics authentic.'
the danger of making him holy.
an imaginary lover arrives with tree tall stories
planted in each footstep
the density of leaves refusing a return home
'we could love marooned here by fine deeds'
she pours grey water into the drought garden
seedling figures reach towards the light,
shadow and wish unzipped.
- - -
Now I work lecturing Narrative Writing, (at lovely UNITEC),
also assisting a mentee with Page 2 Stage poetry and
performance so she can hopefully win a place at a festival
overseas, I find even less time for my blogging. I wish this
was not so, but there it is. Time's finite even if it's imaginary,
although I have the energy of some fantastic force of nature.
Tree seedlings still flourish true however and some are
ready for transplanting this April, kowhai trees. Anyone in
Auckland, New Zealand who would like a free kowhai tree,
please contact me through my facebook or other means.
|photo is from http://www.coast2coastnz.com/?p=492 my seedlings are small|
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