Nicholas Alexander

Along the way things seemed to occur
but now when things happen they do so in silence

the long hand encroached upon the short hand
but never could it pass as the short hand was damaged
during the war of words

without time to measure themselves by
they were without memory

without memory all trace of familiarity was given to the wind
of course the wind died and the traces left draped over trees
did no good

the gardener tending to its growth
was well rewarded in the ensuing weeks
and then again, in the afterlife

From the Chambers

For You

Ten years since that dreaded, early
morning call, last night and long ago.
A nightmare I assured myself when
vividly dreaming of you, wrong name,
a misunderstanding. In the day too
I heard your voice. You let go slowly,
days drift by now when I don’t think of
you, when I do it’s with a melancholic
shrug, I shan’t see you again, our time
was yesterday.

Posted by jan oskar hansen

more of Jan Oskar Hansen

Whats Your Number

I need a date for the ball
Yes the Secret Policemans ball
Hang on policeman dont have balls
Honey where are you
Where are you
I am dying to talk to you
Dying to talk to you
Talk to you
Yes you!!!

Nicholas Alexander

Another addition to the Poetry Chamber - I have resurrected my Chaos Matters blog for daily updates. This is what was posted there today

Chaos / Matters / Introductory

Perhaps it is best to start at the start, and sometimes it is better to use it as a mythology.
Hating the fragile web that held him fast, he fathomed options that ran like a space race
if he stood on glass and looked down there was no horizon

fast he swept away all grief and spoke upon the naked doorstep like butterflies sheltered from the wind
that would otherwise carry them on the path to Bethlehem

Bruised as they fell and nobody wanted to look for weeks
the diplomacy failed so they brought in the shrink
his quivering eyes unfolded with that soggy megalomania
as he paused and turned

Right there at that site of mystery he felt undiscovered
the first humans felt their way around the rock
and discovered they could get off it

walk in the snow
and ride the horses

the breath of beginnings is slow
the start of the greatest storms ever start
during the gliding fall of a feather

Dr. Charles Frederickson

SAFE PASSAGE

Interminable mind-boggling voyage circumnavigating globe
Perusing travelogues embossed hardcover atlases
Whale of tale library classics
Avoiding nauseous seasickness distressing travail

Earthborn into secure landlocked circumstance
Lubbers faraway from oceans favoring
Freshwater lakes over great fishpond
Yellow-belly sunfish to killer sharks

Words cannot express wondrous vastitude
Fathomable depths craving subterranean exploration
Invaded privacy craving familiar comforts
Trailblazer adventures dusted off restacked

Nacreous pearly shells forced open
Exposing ordinary grain of sand
Inverted arc insipid drained rainbows
Windfall leaves reconnected to branches

Waterfall pouring in wrong direction
Figure 8 hourglass flipped downside-up
Counterclockwise about face running late
Compass pointing every which way

Stay-at-homestead safeguards never venturing beyond
Penthouse escaping through bookworm passages
Landlocked conscience surrounded by recalled
Ports National Geographic vain denials

Pristine illusions shattered glass shards
Plastic debris peeled bottle flotsam
Coastline swashed garbage patch discards
Dying coral kelp forest depleted

Dr. Charles Frederickson

Nicholas Alexander

Night To

Perplexing twas it
stalking moonlight
fallow shadow
pale insistence
making the distance
foot over gutter
land over shutter
willow eye
gest of yer
stir dae
laughing and crying
follocking the red burst
stale dying
along the werks
and valleys
she dug out
to hide under
neath the barn
door slide
effecting the gradual
perspectives in general

Nov 17th 2006, 12:50pm

Nicholas Alexander

Excess

as he walks past, he can see we are important
us trophy wives, branded metal steed and significant attire
the watch that says it all
See the Napoleonic resolve stir as he gets behind the wheel,
and we get out there and do things

It was words of course
Broken words that clashed over the right side of summer
Words that told them what to hope for
Out for the day like children they mount their iron steeds
and race into the intersection foot to metal
insipid wealth adorned with structure

The words were written all over their deeds
The smashing of sentences across the ceiling
woke the children from sleeping and dreaming
of days when families where supposed to sing together

These boys burn shining rubber and
don visors to keep them young through summer
Pay advisors and bankers to keep them in champers
Pick up mail order brides with picnic hampers
Spend nights drinking at the waterfront bar
The Late Great Holy Roman Empire

done weary of driving,
its been another four hours
spent in the passenger seat
being second fiddle to this
persistent as a mistress
there is no end to the road
music too loud as usual
the smell of oiled leather

another small town passes and nobody sees it

She is now sleeping so he turned down Aerosmith
it was time to to see what this baby can do
leather to metal rubber to road the feeling of speed building

The hotel room awaits
Like a chapel, like a womb

October 29th 10:40am

Is This Real

I guess it could be me,
I think it has to be,
Could it be me?
Oh my God!!!
It is Me
Therefore
I am
What could I be?
And you two up there
Watching over me
I look at the moon each night & think of thee
In all the dreams, visions, hallucinations
You’ve given me
Leads to believe she is for me,

How beautiful she can be
How beautiful she be!
Please make me believe
How beautiful she can be

Nicholas Alexander

The Instruction

Cold feet paddle down street
The weight of rain tires muscles
yesterday's scorn washed away
down and out discord
words dropped out
they fell from songs
that stopped short of pulling
guns and knives but takes lives
by cosmetic force that seeping twisted sort
that thwarting jab in the ribs
that distorted lip
that sneer - trust tumbles
time is too short
the tide is leaving
the waters are rising
the drains are about to burst
the water main screams
the city will drown

- 1:59am
- 26 October 2006

Nicholas Alexander

Be

Look underneath the ground
see how it began
the twisting embers of life
in the rush of laughter
is, being taken seriously
we watch as you escape your life
of a humble leaf, not
the storm that shakes the tree
but, the firm grip
the earth has as it holds
it, cast aside like old toes
left behind, useless foot
nuisance leg, rejected
crippled mass of bones and skin
left behind to cope with
rebuilding of a world



composed on the weblog
aucklandpoetry.com
12:21 on Friday, 13th October 2006

Bernard Kyle

TEENS
by
Bernard V. Kyle
[C] 2005


Its not too late, just rising eight,
And tonight's the night it's on,
The end of year and party up,
The night of the Senior Prom.

They've got together 'fore the ball
All dressed up in their best,
There's finger food, a joyous mood,
And a drink or two, you guessed.

The music drums, a guitar strums,
There's sneaky Alcopop,
The voices rise above the din
And the deafening Bebop.

A good time's being had by all,
As the time arrives to go,
To the much awaited old school ball,
For young lasses and their beaux.

So its down the path and into cars,
With engines revved to roar,
There's no seat belts worn that's for sure,
When the pedals hits the floor.

The young bucks strive to beat their mates,
To hit the front at pace,
And though it wasn't scripted,
They're in The Great Car Race.

There's fearful screams and joyous shrieks,
From scared and whooped up kids,
For a chance to halt it, looking back,
We'd now pay quids and quids .

But the speed that thrills is the speed that kills,
And a car can't take the bend,
Six young folk have come to grief,
Young lives have reached their end.....


EPITAPH


The VIGIL.


They stand each day by the Motorway,
They make no strident cry,
They remain a fleeting vision,
To those who speed on by.

They watch in mute observance,
And wave no hand on high,
Yet their misery is plain to see,
By all who've yet to die,

For the message clear, for all to hear,
In this Life of Gains & Losses,
Is one & all, please hark the call,
From these small, White Wooden Crosses.

******************

Gemma Millar

Hidden Scars

This is life,
You have to play this game,
You don’t have a choice anyway,
Your life, your part - has no mercy,
It doesn’t matter who you are, or what you do,
Life will find you.
Do your best, act your nicest, be at your brightest.
Go home everyday, and pray to the lord that it’s enough.
Hide the pain, no one really wants to know about it, or really know you.
Hold it all inside, put a smile back on that face.
Take off those rose coloured glasses, and stare it all in the face.
Play the game that is life, play along with your friends.
Pretend until it feels real.
Perhaps the pain shall subside if it is ignored.
Perhaps you will be the ignored if you don’t keep the pain appropriately hidden.
Do not break the barrier.
Others will tell you the pain is comfortable, as long as nothing has to change.
Especially themselves.

Choose your path; be a silent warrior, or the hero that stood against the rest.


Gemma Millar © 27.07.2006

Bernard V Kyle

CALLING ''TIME OUT''

by

Bernard V Kyle
[c] 2006


Things are reflective and hence the invective,
With the bad mouthing & plenty of smut,
The great innuendo needs diminuendo,
In response to the peoples ''TUTT TUTT !!'

For the Country is in need of attention,
And we don't need any one finger wave,
But the whole of the mob should get on with the job,
And the Beehive should learn to Behave.

Nicholas Alexander

On Line

The bits are flying into the furnace
The bright sparks float in the air
And briefly incandescent
Before they depart the desk top world
and hide on the hard disk until December

The phone line is free
The computer is being fed without it
and the lines on his face are becoming
less pronounced
each minute a megabyte
flys past

The world that was once out there
is now in here. Safe and registered.
Locked behind walls of flame.

Nicholas Alexander

Heritage Buildings

Solid foot stamped hard into rock
walls will not fall as braced by bolts
tightened by twisted steel rope
jack hammer fenced in force
bricks placed with surgical precision
masonry honed stone permanance
four columns is all
the ancient bankers saved
the facade of the old house
stood able to be built upon
history may be important
but these cardboard offices can be easily replaced with
modernity, glass walls that accountants can fall through
reflections that, when you walk past, move with you
and make the transparent towers appear to lurch
upward

EVENTS

Event postings welcome by email - use our Contact us page for details on how to send stuff to info@aucklandpoetry.com.

Event posted:

---

Poetry Live

Tuesdays, from 8pm

upstairs at

The Classic

Queen Street

Auckland Central

If you have a poetry event to post here email info@aucklandpoetry.com

Dr Charles Frederickson

Casino

No clocks shades of addiction
Drawn day indistinguishable from night
Rotating mirrored ball twinkling stars
Crystal sconce fixtures teardrop prisms

The setting sun flipped like
Tossed coin suspended in midair
Calling heads landing tails clinked
Into Lady Luck slut machine

Winsome charmer on the prowl
Fixated on evening score for
Last time’s losses re-vowing commitment
To never again in vain

Spinning roulette wheel beyond control
Snake eyes crapshoot no dice
Ace of hearts in hole
One-eyed jack about-face drawing card

Deep pockets turned inside out
Embossed last chance silk linings
Bloodshot eyes saggy hangover lids
Yawning one for the road

Time to call it quits
Pick up chips can’t afford
To still have plastic justifications
Credit limit not yet spent

Bernard Vance Kyle

Infamy Revisited

By
Bernard Vance Kyle
Copyright, 2002

Some tales will Thrill & some will chill,
With Schemes of Daring Do,
And some can Sicken to the Heart,
The likes of me and you.

And Fiction palls in Earthly Halls,
When Truth with Courage stands,
And Heroes rise with smoke dimmed Eyes,
To help with eager Hands.

For Infamy did rise again,
When Planes with massive Powers,
Pierced the Sky to let all Die,
And Collapse the Great Twin Towers.

So Forget ye not, this Heinous Plot,
Come Raise a prayer to Heaven,
For History will mark that Day,
That Day of Nine eleven...

Dr. Charles Frederickson

MUD SLIDE

Whole villages slither by downhearted
Desperate needy souls without recourse
Abandoned huts cling to hillsides
Knee deep red clay slicks

Stray dogs buried under rubble
Cherished family heirlooms grime infested
Pet songbird trapped behind bars
Gold cage exposing blackened ribs

Picking up bits and pieces
Of beloved lives devastatingly lost
Decomposed bodies clear tarpaulin mummies
Unceremoniously dumped in mass graves

Rancid stench permeating burial mounds
Grief-stricken anxiously trying to cope
Calloused hands digging through debris
Tragic avalanche reeking sorrowful guilt

Flooding heavy rains preceded disaster
Sheer bluff came crashing down
Shaky grip gritty cliff hangers-on
Struggling to rebuild eroded future

Kim Randell

MAUNGAKEIKEI

A singing axe made naked Maungakeikei,
Some settler men a sacred Totara killed.
The grief of Tane Mahuta was vented,
And Rongo wept upon that naked hill.

Those Pakeha then realized their error
Of desecrating Maungakeikei's crown.
To ease the grief of Tangata Whenua,
A pine from Monterey was bedded down.

It grew to massive size, that sacred pine tree,
And shaded Maungakeikei from the sun.
Tane Mahuta had smiled upon it
And made sure that his curse was well undone.

Then came a man of very twisted vision,
Who saw himself a warrior of the past.
Imagined all the warpaint and the feathers,
Attacked poor Maungakeikei in the dark.

The shadow of his moku echoes visions
Of imaginary battles with his foes.
Their juices stain his chin in feasts of conquest,
It's how, in his skewed mind, his mana grows.

He grunts and wields his mere with conviction.
It roars and spins its hungry metal teeth.
Chewing through the whiteness of the tree-flesh,
Carpeting the ground like snow beneath.

That pine tree through its stature had grown tapu.
A child of Tane Mahuta indeed!
The twisted one could not cut through at that time,
But struck a mortal blow that would succeed.

Six years it took before that pine tree's passing,
A time to stand in awe and say farewell.
Tane Mahuta's new child will grow there,
And once again we'll see our One Tree Hill.

© Kim Randell 2005

Nicholas Alexander

Danger Signs

That droning sound can only be one thing
It is time to go down and be amoung
our family

Discuss the tedium of hours
away from the privacy of our rooms

What we call individuality
Sacrificed lest yet for our safety
Mutual respect for our spaces
Ahead of the dignity of graces

we call on the memory
of our heroes instead
as our neighbors die
explosions above their
heads and stones

buildings can be rebuilt
innocence
cannot.

5:10 Aug 19th

Bernie Kyle

THE SPORTING LIFE.
By
Bernard V Kyle
[C] 2005


Now Rugby will never Bug me,
While the Ticket for Some, is the Cricket,
If you're Seven Feet Tall, there's Basketball,
And Soccer, if you Just want to Kick it !

That Tennis is Surely a Menace,
For those who Remain Overweight,
And a Fast Game of Squash, Oh Golly Gosh,
Needs Coronaries that can Dilate !

Cards are attractive, if you are Inactive,
And Darts, will minimize Strain,
Weight lifting of course, Needs the strength of a Horse,
And Chess needs a Brain - in the Main..

There's many a Sporting Attraction,
And Games with no Effort, I'm Told,
But surely your Health and Maybe your Wealth,
Will improve, if you'll just get Involved !

Now Gambling on Sport is a Problem,
It's even less Certain than Shares,
One day you'll be making a Fortune,
While next, you'll be selling your Wares..

This Watching the Sport on the Telly,
With a "Tinny" or two in the Hand,
Will Bring you No Bruising and maybe some Snoozing,
So Appeals to an Increasing Band.

But don't be a damned Couch Potato,
Get out and Give it a Go,
You don't have to be a John Walker,
Or even a Florence Flo Jo !!

There's good Reason for being a Player,
And Getting involved in some Sport,
The Effort involved, you need to be Told,
Could Delay the Day of "La Mort. "

Now you may be as old as a Grandpa,
Yet Sport, can be One of your Goals,
You can Ruin the Walk, by Playing some Golf,
Or get on with Playing some Bowls,

But Whatever your Age it's Important,
To Function as Well as you Can,
So give it a Go and ere long you Know,
You'll be more than an old Also Ran..

Yet Athletes need to Remember,
And it's True, for All who will See,
One day you'll rank as the 'Top Dog,'
While Next, The Fire Hydrant You'll be !!

********

Gemma Millar

Among the apples


Among the apples sat a fresh young leaf,
Through the branches,
To the ocean she could see,
The fruit pickers came,
Time and again,
Over the years, stealing her friends.
The young leaf wallowed, as she began to age,
And spent all her time thinking about that day…
That day, when she nearly left home,
The day she decided it was time to go,
The ocean was calling,
Begging her to come and play,
She had been too scared, and decided to stay.
Now all her friends had gone,
And on her own she stayed.
The ocean didn’t call anymore,
And the pickers didn’t come,
The apples were not plentiful,
As to the years, the tree had succumbed.
So the leaf sat each day on her branch,
Wishing she had left, when she had the chance.
Knowing her thoughts would get her nowhere,
She broke her own twig, and fell through the air.
She assumed she was to fall to her death,
When suddenly she realised, she hadn’t hit the ground yet.
With slight hesitation, she looked around,
The ground beneath, was far to be found.
She let her veins relax, as the wind held her tight,
She felt safe and secure, and let go of her fright.
The salty breeze, engulfed her at once,
She enjoyed this feeling, as in the wind she spun.
Her friend the wind carried her to the ocean, where she had never gone.
When she asked is this the end?
He replied, no, you’ve only just begun.

Late 2005.

The news between lands

Did you know the entire South Island was quaranteened for didymo?

I had to carefully consider if I had any to declare, but nobody seemed to be listening anyway and I did not like it on my salad. Seaweed is infinitely better, and you do not really have to declare it as you tend to get it on the way, not from another land, per se, but from the misty aft, the places in between where it is neither day nor night, living or dying, black or light.

Dr Charles Frederickson

Seashells

Sand pebbles stretched azure tiderip
Vacant shells winding staircase evacuations
Homeless crawling into glazed carapace
Disoriented strangers forwarding address unknown

Black oyster pearl scooped out
Carried away by abandoned echo
Accompanied by bivalve mussel castanets
Break dancing surf’s humdrum beat

Fossiliferous beaches embedding piscine spirals
Seascape riddled with sedimentary boredom
Fabulist enigmatic true grit mercreatures
Cerulean wrapped in fetal seaweed

Composite dolphin equine sea mini-monster
Tiny hippocampus saddled bony plates
Cyan white caps Neptune ridden
Grasping prehensile comet tail reins

Bone dry skeletons craving tans
Burnishing driftwood into petrified agate
Barefoot print traces wiped out
Sluggish frothy wake waving goodbye

Bernie Kyle

TERRORISM,
By
Bernard V Kyle.
[C]2002


They Walk, They Stalk, There's Covert Talk,
They Hide, they Sneak . They Drive,
They Board the Bus, without a Fuss
And amongst themselves, Connive.

What Hatred fuels their Evil Deeds,
No Religion Preaches Thus !
For Children Die or Injured lie,
When a Bomb destroys a Bus.

Their Targets know no Earthly Bounds,
A Train, A Plane ! A Tower !
Such Heinous Deeds against men's Creeds,
The Peaceful must Empower.

For Peoples are Irate, Incensed,
And Countries Mobilise,
But the Fear must be that, Uncontrolled,
The World could Vaporise !.

For the World now has, both Neutron Power,
And Destructive forms so Vast,
That set upon the World at Large,
Each Day could be our Last.

So Terror must De- escalate,
And The Drums of War must Deaden,
Or Terror in this World of Ours
Will lead to Armageddon

Charles Frederickson

Past Present

1
Scurrying crabs reclaim shell-shocked sandscape
Before faltering light burns out
Heritage shucked lustrous pearls looted
Snapping turtle eggs burial crypts

Unhealed scars heroic pulsating veins
Sliding down ribcage bunker cave-ins
Combat fatigue mindful of revenge
Sweaty sniper bullet casing souvenirs

Claptrap pincers fill check-out vacancies
Empty conches staring hunger down
Tubular organs grinding to halt
Siphoned off lifeblood drained dry

2
Ziggurat temple honored god Marduk
Beyond reach towers spiraling heavenward
Straw-mud bricks slimy bitumen mortar
Gates to afterlife garland festooned

Once fertile Mesopotamian Shinar plain
Etemennanki furlong square Hanging Gardens
Ancient world’s wondrous terraced flora
Babylonia yearning to breathe free

Eons of devastating warfare later
Foundation rubblework bed left unmade
Idle chatter gobbledygook wise cracks
Slow fixes doomed to anarchy

3
Fabulous Assyrian lapis lazuli inlay
Nine heads eleven horns scarlet
Scaly wings swishy serpentine tail
Beast ascended from bottomless pit

Glorified visions faded revelations blindsided
Monster slain by double-edged sword
Decadent hedonistic orgies lustful revelry
Parched lips kismet fatal kiss-offs

Final conflict lamb ultimately victorious
Universal God’s prophetic covenant restored
Hell-bent on winning lost cause
Retributive martyrdom lying in wait

Jan Oscar Hansen

Disturbed Sleep

police sirens tore into the night and
darkness undulated,

flooded shop
entrances and yards before settling
back to black mirror;

stars snowed
in the outer galaxy, a few fell into
streets, glowed, like malignly ember,
on asphalt;

a widow looked out into
the street below with total disinterest,
drew curtains and went back to sleep;

silence dripped from old roof tiles,
kept the lonely awake.

Nicholas Alexander

Time Ends

Time ends for everybody
At the end we hear the kind words
of Family and Friends

at the end

Before we fall we may suffer
but afterward, we lie in peace

Keeping ourselves
in daylight

Leaving our skin under skylight
our brittle bones no longer matter
our exposures and sins no longer
count against us

Our diseases now dormant
our selves liberated

no longer home
no longer there
lying there still and silent

Bernie Kyle

Supplementation.
by
Bernard V Kyle © 2004


Now worldly wealth, is naught without health,
So I'm researching supplementation,
It appears there's a pill for nigh ev'ry ill,
That afflict the folk of this nation.

There's vitamins A B & C, along with mixed E,
And the help of the sun to make D,
But please heed the need, of a frequent fish feed,
To provide your Omega 3!


Now I really should state the need for folate,
The minerals, iron, & protein,
But feel free with green tea, and if you agree,
Limit the carbs & caffeine.

I need glutathione, then calcium for bone,
With antioxidants being discussed,
And I've given a pledge to increase fruit and veg.,
So I think that I'm getting things sussed !

But I really should say, that we need A.L.A,,
And probiotics are being applauded,
But where'er I look, in many a book,
There are so many things being lauded.

But what's this I see, the right one for me ?
This resveratrol stuff, sounds fine,
I may sound morose, but I could overdose,
For it's here, in my glass of red wine !!

So I'll abandon my quest. For that which is best,
And the search for this, that, and the other,
For with great self denial, I'll run a 'resveratrol trial'
And bequeath all those books to another.

**********

Winds of Tremor

Sacred Eyes
Known only to one
is a Gift bestowed,

Wondering if this is the right stage
where I should be,
A display for all to see,

Here I am
take me now
A ticket to the show is the deed
So please one of you,
send it to me.

Richard Taylor

the machine music moves mechanically as it must because it is
beautiful and is based on a legal system of repeats but nothing is
yet for sure why should it be after all the law of torts and the
thinking Thinking Thing is there, and we are part of it despite
seclusion like a sheep’s or a boffin’s head, in a vision of perfect
symmetry held in a white drop as if we could know’it all, and there’s
need for change, but who looks on, and who is who who he looks at who
he looks is who — but we need all these people who don’t agree because
of the machine, which, despite its penetential and inevitable
inefficiency, is heard to cry out at deep of night to the Great One
who is probably dead and ensconced in a dream of lubricated, or
lubricious cavortings toward spittle. and flesh, words that send
shudders up my spire wire’s spine loom; one would naturally much
prefer to be the vision inside a technical robot, whose doom scenes
see wire mass everywhere, and, how does the spider know, because he,
too, is a constructor - or is it because the music nags us back down
the drain pipe into a parallel universe of incomprehensible equations,
or a crazed jumble of electronic, electrical, and machine parts
pushed into an elected enclave, whose triumph is its denseness, or the
enormous significance of an endlessly looping musical track which your
great great grandmother could well have enjoyed: some post—
Stochausian, post- Varese etc, not something tame like.the Songs for a
Mad King: but it all passes, even the wind machines, and the ape-
shaped eyes, thoughts of death, leaves, corpse valleys, memories,
inscriptions.. .you turn back to The Romantics, for there is something
about you, something nobody can see: as if you were the one in the
centre of a gigantic sound-shriek, and batting up all hell, and no one
gives a fuck, especially with everything turning into grey
gold. . .something like a cat looking into your face.

'machine music' by Richard Taylor

Heather Haley

Whore In The Eddy

Gazes up at ballooning clouds as if imagining
frogs, giraffes, Corvettes and barns, as if
Neptune's head has heard her pleas, sent me.

She looks like a mannequin. As if by law of nature,
a stripped woman's body looks like a mannequin
after it floats to the surface in a rainforest
denuded by timber sales. All matter from the depths
is netted by log jams.

She stares at me, cannot see
the pebbles embedded in my knees,
or my face, not so sweet.
No bubbles, just the flatness
of still water. No trace DNA
or hard earned cash, only cool airstreams
of aspen leaves. My grasping hand
takes hers, skin gliding onto my fingers
like a glove. A device. We share features
any porno masticating, regular working stiff
joe wants in his garage
between the red pickup and the Crestliner.

We watch the rim of night, a spiral
arm of stars, their slow light two million
years too late. Naked eyes detect
Orion the hunter, Cassiopeia, the bright knots
of the Double Cluster. Mars appears.
I look the other way, to the North Star.

HEATHER HALEY

Bill Nelson

Lack Of Passion

How do you keep your fingernails so clean?
I don't, the dirt simply falls away;
I guess it gets disinterested and disintegrates;

How did you come by such an impressive vechicle?
I only drive it on Sundays, the seats are very uncomfortable;
I have a white van for driving to and from work;

Where else do you go in your van?
To the supermarket, to the dairy, to the fish and chip shop;
Places like that, easily locatable places;

Why so many pockets in your trousers?
That is where I keep my tools, every pocket holds a specific tool;
I can reach them easily in an emergency;

How did you get that scar on you cheek?
A long time ago I thought about something for too long;
That was a mistake;

Why is that timing device analogue?
Digital things require batteries, batteries fail;
My tools can not fail;

On your CV you put your name and phone at the top;
Underneath, only the words 'Lack of Passion';
I am confused?

In this business that is all I need.



Bill Nelson is a guest AucklandPoet who wants to know if the Tuesday night readings at Grand Central are still happening? Perhaps a google search will find out.

Jan Oskar Hansen

As we slept

the sea was endless and shone, in moonlight, heaven mirrored the sea; this was the moment, time ceased, they became one and there was stillness;

when the lovers parted no time had passed, land appeared and as the sea rippled on pebbled shores a reflective sigh echoed through the world.

Bernard Kyle

THE STAG

BY

Bernard V Kyle
[c] 2002

Oh Mighty Stag on yonder Crag,
Thy stately form Elates,
And shows the World and All Therein,
What He above Creates.

For the Silhouette, that there Unfolds,
Is a sight from Times Primeval,
Against a moon that's waxes Full,
And Shines on things Coeval.

That Haughty head with Antlers Poised,
A'reaching for the Sky,
Enables that most Noble Stance,
The Dangers to Defy.



Yet be Aware and take good Care,
For Terrors lurk in Hiding,
For both Man and Beast and none the Least,
In ev'ry place abiding.

But Stag and Hind and all your Kind,
Have Graced us down the Ages,
So Pray continue on your Way,
As the World with Terror Rages.

*************

Jason Page

AucklandPoetry:poems

Piggle de biggle who gives snot
Tongue tied tongue tried
Leaves me to believe! Not?
All this for “Charlie brown shoes”
That better be a disguised top
Make do to Pluto we go
What colour is your pot?

Lynn McPherson

Small Hooves

Slowly – carefully

So as not to disturb things

hidden in the dark

the shadows moved

dried leaves crumbled

beneath small hooves

weary green eyes peered

into the blackness

searching for signs

of danger – dynamite

a riffle shot echoed

through the valley

one shadow became still

dried leaves crumbled

beneath small hooves

a second shot rang out

she lay on top of her fawn

cherishing their closeness

one last time.

Lynn MacPherson

Bernie Kyle

To the Trees - FAREWELL.

By

Bernard Vance Kyle

.

They were trees of more than a hundred years, on a central city plot,

A legacy from days gone by, but not really worth a lot,

And now they ' hindered progress,' or so some tried to say ,

By growing on a building site, & being in the way.

Yet despite the protestations, of caring city folk,

The wish to save those ancient trees was rated as a joke,

The chain saw hummed, the trees succumbed,

In a rabid fierce onslaught,

And the retention of a heritage, then simply came to naught.

So on this butchered city site, yet another tower will rise,

Apartments soaring upwards, sixteen stories to the skies

No leafy bough will be there now, no bird song as before,

Just the concrete jungle, engulfing more & more.

[C] Bernard Vance Kyle 2006

jerryb

[All your words]

The day you had died, I found
An open door

To your sanctuary.

All your words…
Those inestimably brilliant portraits
Your rooms, deep in wood smoke and oiled leather
Those books, dusty windows onto other people’s worlds.
Even the worn carpet where your feet would wait anxiously,
fidgetty as mice, fretfully exploring other outcomes.

Your world was formed, as you were, by what others wanted to
say.

You feasted upon their experiences…

I once left my fingerprint in soft dust on a smoothly painted sill,
Hoping you would summon me, demand my simple explanation.

Outside rain hung like winter-sleepy bees, visiting the elder
and tiny courageous apple one last time.

They have out-waited you, who were not my friend.
And all your words,
Not of encouragement or even love.
But of condemnation, the way impatient storms
brush aside empty dinghies,
hungry for larger shores.

We never danced in syncopation, you and I.
Instead we stepped within each other
And grew separate…

[The crows upon my tongue]

It’s a cold place inside
a discarded man
Do you remember the first morning?
You brought me juice and a flower
I lay across your thighs
and counted your smiles
Your eyes warmed my skin
Your hands led me across
the adventure of your body
We were children for a day a week
Was it that long?
And now those same eyes
are broken windows
as barred and forbidden as caves
beneath the waterline
Last night we fought again
Two insects leaping at the glass
Bruising splitting with every blow
Today we limp uneasily
My tears puddle uselessly inside
A silent haemorrhage
Whilst yours are greedily drunk
By your sisters
What will you tell them?
How much have we forgotten?
There are two ends to every journey
Two threads unraveled
Two lives pecked apart
by the crows that live upon our tongues

[Whimsy number 1]

There are morning when a man awakes
to find that he has lived the wrong life.

All his friends are fenceposts
or have lost themselves among queues
of willow.

The soldiers came last night, they say.

They smelt our fear and made a soup of it.
Still the sparrow visits each tree, stopping to
compose a poem upon the barbed wire.

The oranges hang gladly in the orchard
behind the moss and bricks.

the rotten, rusty bucket

dreaming...

Jason Page

Does Home Exist

Honey! Ignore what I once said.

Suicide lies in this bed.

They show themselves,

from time to time.

Its a symbolic thread,

darting in between my mind.

Honey! I see them,

them the dead.

They choose the colours to display,

its part of this gift I sway.

Believe! if you would,

it scares me worse than it should.

Honey! help me,

I need you now.

Nothing else matters,

but you, me,

tell me how.

Because soon it will be dead,

I am needing you,

enough said for now.

Christopher Mulrooney

Incidentalism

the progression features
a whole like this
host of characters
Armagnac the baker
of living goods
Beelzebub who manufactures
cakewalks in the rain
Cornhusker the world-beater
and his theatre of cruel ties

an Alpha Beta of assortments

Devlin the mongrel wear
of debonair defalcations hawks
Evangeline who sings in the shower
of golden mythology
Franz the pipe merchant
laid end to end to end
Graham of the dyspeptic crackers
mercifully really keening
Horatio wandering endlessly
in a forest of speculation
Iona with a room out back
and a hayrick bed
Joseph wandering aimlessly
and plumb tuckered out
Kevin who wants to know
whither you are bound from where too
Lyle the oceangoing sailor
and his travelogues so fair
Montgomery the placer-mining
company man upon his feet
Nils who never seems to know
what is expected of him anyway
Olivia the trade school mascot
barking up the wrong tree
Quentin always asking just when
no wrong questions are needed
Ronald who wants to know as well
what wonders world last where

size more than actuality
is a persistent claim to fame

Susanna would like to hold fast
to the adherents of malefactors
Tompkins wants to know still more
than daily bread and wine and water
Ursula has her cave and friends
who keep a time clock stamping

these are the professional elements

Veracity has her place keep clean
she says the memory of that
Waldemar has this to say
upon the rocks seals bark like dogs
Xenos has a friend in the business
wants to know if there are any connections
Yarby has a steeplechase to ride
around the track (was here to there)
Zeb has this to say at last
my friends there was a man here once

at the tradeware conference they sing
and submit their papers on the thing

How to post

If you have accepted an invitation to post* on this site - please follow this format:

Put your full name in the TITLE

Start you poem with a title, and use the B (BOLD) to make it a title. Also set its Size to LARGE

You can of course leave out the title if you wish. (But do not leave out the author).

Add a byline if you wish - use italics.

I also add a date and time I wrote the poem - you do not have to, but you may put your own copyright statement on the poem. Use compose mode, and make it small and use an ampersand followed by copy and a semicolon ( & copy ; © ) for the circled c.

For example:

(byline)
- Nicholas

Copyright © 2006 by AucklandPoetry.com

---

How to join the site and post

If you have received an email from me that says:

You have been invited by nicholas to join a blog called
AucklandPoetry:poems

You should be able click the supplied link once, and become a contributor to the website.

Blogger is a very popular weblog tool that is easy enough to use. You just type your poems in to the editing window in compose mode, and then Publish it. You can normally edit your own posts but to be sure, only post poems in their final form. It may be in your interests to not repost if you can avoid it, otherwise half your audience will see the wrong work! Or perhaps that is your post-modern agenda.

Once a poem a day is being posted to the site, outstanding invitations will be closed off, so if you are interested, get it set up and post your first poem. Break the ice.

Nicholas Alexander

For her song

to have never seen the bark protect the tree
or have neer seen the wood underlying it...

the difficulty is where we are
stranded here between one another
locked in doors that stay any breeze
adapting to new songs
between the weeks
passing by
ludicrous assumptions
turning back the steam
inverting the process
swaying the location
for the point of view
shaking the ground - in other words

turning heads as we pass
placing names in the new phone book
that arrived in the letterbox
as we pass through this time booth
and laugh at our mistakes
we face the future
with our eyes

7:36am
1 April 2006

Michael Oakley-Browne

Epiphytic Rangitoto

By the black dirty road
That convicts moulded,
Broad, green, epiphytic,
Kawa-puka leaves
Sprouted and took
Hold on folded
Old cold lava
And sintered boulders

The island’s coarse black rock,
Had flowed blistering down
To its hissing, heavenly habitat,
To form a mould on a lens
Of an artesian water clock
Where a busy echo-system
Ticked down time,
Layer on layer of epiphytic grime

In the absence of trees and
The presence of life, laden air
The black, bleak, blazed rock
Bled and buckled no more
And unique flora cross bred there
Forming hybrid trees of
Rata-pohutukawa on
Rangitoto’s gnarled floors.

Blogsite

After months of inactivity, AucklandPoetry is reborn as a user contributed site.

You can easily submit your poetry and events on this site - all you have to do is obtain a login. To do that, email me and I will set you up.

Then you can post whenever you feel the need. The catch? Comments can be left by anyone about your poems or events.

Have fun.