He is laying on his back
in a mown field of grass
he is looking up at a drone
looking down on him back
he has this urge to laugh
he thinks he is alone.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
He is laying on his back
in a mown field of grass
he is looking up at a drone
looking down on him back
he has this urge to laugh
he thinks he is alone.
They sang and shouted
songs of adoration and declaration,
lifted their voices in proclamation
and danced to Larry Norman’s
sweet, sweet song of salvation,
all of which caused the enemies of God
quite some vexation.
High in the pohutukawa tree,
the kereru, the fat wood pigeon,
perches above the old forest remnant
that once stretched as far as the eyes could see,
and hums a sad song.
Transient is this moment
of our whole life –
on one hand
it stretches forever;
on the other
it is over
before it has even started.
The hour is getting late
The screen flickers inside my eyes
Time will soon be taken
These hours come at some price.
“Hard work and tears,”
she said,
“are you ready for that?
It’s hard to get above the crowd
with 300 shows on show.
The applause is faint,
the money small,
the festival queens
rule them all.”
A sparrow in the city,
a confident sparrow
assured that he is known
of all the sparrows
crowding the sidewalks here;
a sparrow not yet fallen
but sure he hears his name.
Red wolf moon
prowling over the horizon
dwarfs the whole ocean,
casts a shadow on my door,
drills a hole in my deepest dream.
On my way home
over a gravel road,
the weight on my shoulder
is not a heavy load;
I’m heading for the river,
the green bush,
the mountain
and that place
I’ll call my own.
Under the hazy light of the full moon
he mows down the long grass,
creates a smooth pasture
surrounding the house
above the harbour,
while the neighbours try to sleep.