Category: Twitter Poems

This lockdown
has come to an end
for now,
and so too
the joy of your
company, your
conversation
and chatter;
I shall miss you
in the great silence
that now hovers
over the valley.

This Milky Way,
with its stars
uncountable,
ambles slowly
across our
sparkling eyes
towards the
dawn.

How many words are spoken
By the edge of an iron sword
How many hearts lie broken
In the houses of the lonely
Lined along the water shore

Morning sun comes flashing
Lies upon the floor
Shines like a sharpened blade
Scrapes away the bleeding
Speaks the words to be prayed

Welcome to our police state
No crocked cross insight
But here it is, ushered in
Before our open eyes

This is now New Zealand
Land of the long iron rod
For freedom we must stand
For our neighbour and for God

Bushman cuts clear
the old tracks,
reveals the truth
hidden there and
makes sure
the footing of
those who follow.

I could be a poor fisherman
or a collector of the taxes,
a dear friend dead in the grave
or a loving woman
so Courageous and brave,
a gold coin or a copper penny,
a king, a queen or a knave
but never will I go unseen.

The years grew wild roses
On a creeping vine
There has been a harvest
On the gleaners line
A highway have we walked
Our hearts they entwine.

I’m just a wayfaring stranger
Treading a long and dirty road
Looking for a city of gold
Somewhere in the shadow
Or on a hill I am told.

I am no lamb for the slaughter
No wolf in the clothing of sheep
I have no desire to be
A whitened sepulchre
Or a dark robed Pharisee

With his chainsaw
he cut into vine and
branch and trunk and
laid them low
as with the broad stroke
of an artist’s brush.
“It was fun,” he said
of the view he created.
“We just cleaned
the fingerprints
off a work of art.”