Category: Twitter Poems

There is hunger
in the belly of the child,
bullets in the flesh
of the soldier,
the homeless
shiver in the cold;
we have not arrived

Today, like every other day,
passed in the necessary things
that gave no time
to the horizon
or to a quiet thought
on the edge of a winter sea.

As they honoured him
for his fine work
on the eve of Matariki,
he said it felt like
it was just the beginning;
like all things
were just the beginning.

Let the harbour
at the bottom
of my garden
speak joy
in the safe refuge
it brings to my dreams.

Takes the sunlight
keeps it for itself
throws it in long shadows
that don’t quite reach my door.

We are working the wood
through machine and hand,
we are talking the dream
and ploughing the land,
we are crafting the joy
we have made our stand.

These old perfume bottles
and jars and vials,
long emptied of their
fragrant oils and balms,
still hold the times
that gave themselves to us
in those heady days
when the roses were in bloom.

In the light of the wax candle
the shadow of the quill
scratches its way across the page
forming each word slowly,
deliberately,
then crossed out
and reformed
until it sits comfortably
in the company it keeps.

He would smooth
the rough way for her,
fill the valley,
lower the height
of the mountain
and straighten
the crooked road;
all this he would do
and hold her heart
all the way through.

Today, like any day,
passed in the necessary things
that gave no time
to the horizon
or to a quiet thought
on the edge of a winter sea.