Category: Twitter Poems

Inside his room
lined with pictures
of songs and people
and words of life,
he is one withe music
and the moment,
the singer and the writer
unaware of the joy
made there.

He is looking a trim figure
these days, cuts a fine line,
shines like a polished
headlamp scattering
the shadows of doubt
that gather like clouds
above the roadway.

The highwayman robber her
at the point of time,
shot out her black eyes
with a frail light,
took her youth
and crucified it
inside a wooden house.

His sixty years were measured
by the number of times
he mowed his lawns;
once or twice his gaze
turned towards the horizon
but then he remembered
it was Tuesday
and the rubbish needed to be
taken to the kerb.

She speaks through warm eyes
and a fearless heart,
from her watch tower on the coast
she burns the fires
of driftwood and lace
and drinks of the thirst
that holds the embrace
of the moon.

It’s a long road
down the river flats
between the shrouded hills
but it’s a road free and easy
without end
it sings of that distant place,
not a house but a home.

young child
takes to the stage
and plays her part
with the sure knowledge
that nothing comes
without the call
and without the call
we are nothing at all.

I’m driving down the highway
through the King country
to Taumarunui,
the car stereo at full volume.
The sun is shining
but the tears are rolling down my face
as ‘Proud Mary” kindles his memory.

Still the words come,
crafted from a pure belief
that holds fast in the face
of unrelenting adversity,
it will sustain her
even if the river
should be crossed.

She takes joy in this day
day of all days
neither yesterday
or tomorrow
she does not bury it
or waste it
or despise it –
on this one day
she rests
and has her being.