Month: August 2019

Beside the grave
a mound of earth
a rose,
a thorn,
a child unborn,
by such guile
we are entombed
in the emptiness
of that lost smile.

In Monte Cecilia Park,
across this broad sweep of lawn,
under this tree, beside this stone,
the ashes of your spirit remain.
And although I do not come here often,
I carry those ashes with me,
in my back pocket,
where ever I go.

Sweet peace to the child
soft in the womb
safe in the arms of love
secure in the knowledge
that even a sparrow
is a bird like a dove.

A white moon in a blue sky
recognised in an innocent eye,
one takes the life of another
fall to the fire, fall to the rain
who be the child and who be the mother?

They took you away today
saying your death was not a crime,
merely a procedure
that removed you in your prime.

Still it breaks
And breaks again
This heart in
Weary pieces
Fitting them together
A task for delicate time.

In her broken eyes
A question formed,
He didn’t have the heart to answer.
Prone on the roadway
Of cold bitumen,
He scooped her to the warmth of his arms.

Down west on Sumner Main Road
the mountains blocked our way,
a fortress as white as bone,
as strong as the voice of God
echoing in the hidden valleys,
calling us to kneel in the snow.

PINE
Tonight the band bent chords and rhythms
and voices into all the shapes we ever knew,
anthems to another time, a kiwi tune
that sung above the noise; tonight we opened
the window and we let joy sing to the city.