The murmurings of his own contentment
could be heard above the clamour,
the adulation of the crowd
gushing at the emperors new clothes
as he sat somewhat removed
humming his own tune.
Words from the Jagged Edge of Truth
The murmurings of his own contentment
could be heard above the clamour,
the adulation of the crowd
gushing at the emperors new clothes
as he sat somewhat removed
humming his own tune.
The murmurings of his own contentment
could be heard above the clamour,
the adulation of the crowd
gushing at the emperor’s new clothes
as he sat somewhat removed
humming his own tune.
He hung his head in some shame
for the rape and assault,
for the cocaine and obscene
and loutish behaviour
but it was decreed
his contract shall remain;
he quoted from his religious book
and all hell broke loose
and his contract was torn asunder.
Realising on the approach
of seventy years of age
that the podium was now
out of reach, he chose rather
to pen words without expectation
and for no other reason than to
exercise his weakening lungs.
We build fences
between us
without gates
to facilitate
neighbourly
interaction;
we remain cloistered
in our own
ever decreasing
space.
He struggles now
to see the road ahead,
its twists and turns
lost in a blur of fog;
he always believed
in the promise
of the next corner
but he thinks now
that the promise
may have been false.
We throw words around
and at each other
like they were
magic potions
with the ability
to change your
way of thinking
to mine.
This evening
the streetlight was out,
someone cut the cable,
and from my front deck
I saw the the moon
and the autumn stars
dancing cheek to cheek.
Take the long road
through the valley
over the mountain
across the plain
along the coast,
take the time
to take in the view
pause on the journey
taste the morning dew.
The Thursday Poem
2 May 2019
Kaka Point
On the South Otago Coast, Kaka Point is most famously known as the place where Tom and Dorrie Gold had their cribs and crafted there together family memories that have become priceless anchors in the lives of their children and grandchildren. Hone Tuwhare, NZ poet also spent his latter days here. Filmed by Dorothy Jean. Set decorated by Heather Maxwell with her painting of the famed beach and lighthouse. For Tom Gold. Words below.
Kaka Point
I love this place
where the curve of the coast
skirts the rocky outcrops
that slide down to the southern ocean,
where the heaving, swelling, pumping
line upon line of white water
strikes shorewards
with an urgency that
has always mattered.
And always the roaring rush
of churning waves
carries on the air
and breaks the silence of solitude
where a hundred or more cribs stand,
drawing their masters
from the hinterland.
One can easily bury here
all thought of going back
to the burning heat
of the crowded streets
of the suburbs that have no end.
But for only one day more
I’ll caress this shore
where one before me walked
and in this moment
I’ll lend my ears to the swirling surf
and I’ll listen to it talk.
Mark Raffills