Rev Andy

Homeless

No place to call my own, no where to have a home
I live in the streets, dirt and filth beneath my feet
Occasionally into the shelters I can stay
Where if I kiss their Asses they let me stay
                     I AM HOMELESS

There is no trust in the dark and dreary streets
For over my shoulder I am always looking
Ever afraid of what danger might be lurking
Just living is not an option for me, only survival is the key
                     I AM HOMELESS

Into the streets come the fakes and the phonies
Social, religious and do goodiers too, all shower me with false love
Forcing me to give in to all their causes
Never hearing or understanding my anguished pleas
                     I AM HOMELESS

Those who are in the know, say I don't want to have a home
They say I like to roam and be free
That is not true, I do want a home and to be clean
To make a difference in a world so mean
                     I DO NOT WANT TO BE HOMELESS

But society is cruel, non-caring and elite
The world they have created, just can not be
Unless they make sure, they have people like me
In order to keep the world the way that it is, I cannot be freed
                     I MUST BE HOMELESS


Without Love, human society is in a very difficult state;
without Love, in the future we will face tremendous problems.
Love is the center of human life.


Rev Andy 4/5/05

Nicholas Alexander

The Lost Charm

We talk of lots and yet nothing comes to us
We walk a ways and come back and prays
it's gone to us
we talk in ways that make us stray but
its too long before her song lets him in
taste mocks the air that burdens a breath
make it sound heavy like crying when you sigh
and the loss of independence is soft
and unless you go to the post and empty envelopes
you are lost in falling stocks
your belief system
under shock, stops

Charles Frederickson

                               RED BAMBOO

Dense hard-walled thickets skyward bent
       Steadfast upright soldiers at attention
               Resolutely erect vertebrate spinal taproot
                       Hollow tubular echo bleeding green

       Plotting coordinates parallel lines merge
               Kindred soul mates clumped together
                       Reedy woodwinds shrill high-pitched flutes
                               Breezy swayback resounding moonlight serenade

               Exposed naked truths laid bare
                       Stalking lonely ghosts play hide-and-seek
                               Edible segmented worms timid creatures
                                       Peekaboo offshoots night crawler striptease

                                               Cylindrical ringed joints culm flexed
                                       Clenched fist brass knuckling underground
                               Entire grove singular tunnel plant
                       Antsy burrowers dig express subway

                                       Towering fronds holding up firmament
                               Interwoven fringe casting shadowy webs
                       Atlantean columns shrug shoulder blades
               Droopy nature terminal blossoms wilt

                               Elusive talc flowers flaccid cheeks
                       Six anthers fraying threadbare nap
               Seedy pollination sowing butterfly dismay
       Ephemeral fleetly existence spiritual regeneration

Dr. Charles Frederickson

Kiwi Writer in China

New Zealand-born writer Tzeming Mok says she is part of the "post-Amy Tan generation." For Tan, China was the faraway homeland, a memory. But for writers like Mok, "China is the reality, which no one can avoid."

Out of town guest: Tony Lewis-Jones

Drivetime


A day of not quite making connections.
An accident on the dual carriageway
And much attention given to the details.

On the radio at rush-hour
My automatic words spill out
Which simply mean ‘I need you. Call.’

Tony Lewis-Jones
January 2007

Bernard Kyle

WHAT'S POETRY
By
Bernard V. Kyle.
[C] 2007


One should review and never eschew,
The genre of poems that please,
Blank verse you may curse, or even worse,
Vers libre, gets you down on your knees.

But 'joy to the soul', is the ultimate goal,
With no need for any dilemma,
But through high and low, one really should know
Si metrum non habet -- non est poema

Jason J Page

Dusk Shadow

And the penny dropped
is there really something
for dinner tonight
No said the man
He had already been
served tapestry from
the table cloth
Pungent purple shimmered
into sight

The man stared into
the moon unable to
share his sight
hunger his weapon
a belly full tonight

Jan Oskar Hansen

Bikini.


Nice to know Britain’s upgrading
Trident, to be nuclear armed will
protect us against those who hasn’t
built the bomb yet, that’s ok then?


The world is a different from yore
the Chinese drive Ferraris, I have
scooter made outside Beijing (turn
left, on the main road to India.)


Used to take girls granted before;
critical, couldn’t make up my mind,
now, are oblivious of my charms,
they are beautiful and I’m alone.


As time knocks on my window,
dreams are meek, nothing about
climbing mountains, but still hope
to inherit brother’s Armani suit

The Cherry Lake (alternative 2, amended)

Still, silent water
Crystal Depth
awash with leaves
(of cherry trees)
lying on a sheet of glass

The Cherry Lake calls
and out of sight as quick as that

the strands of music fall
and spring arrives without delay

The silent morning breaks
into birdsong and ripples

The light comes to invade the senses
with a vibrant colour spray
that tickles

the eyes of morning

The Queens Violin

Erin was the one from the bus
Not that guy called Gus
Mum scolded me in disgust
The way I treated her once
When she was gone it all turned to dust
For thats when people started treating me rough
But now I am ready in this stance
A fallen "Angel" with a Glance
Broken wings a dire dance
For her I will die a thousand times
Before the day turns to dusk

"Happy Birthday Babe for later this month dont think I can make it on the day"

Jan Oskar Hansen

The Sage.

Train explosion in India, many dead and
wounded, black smoke, chaos and people
milling about; it was there on the news,
yet India, far from here, it looked unreal.
in the crowd I saw my brother, had been
dreaming of him all night, he didn’t look
like me, small white teeth glued to red
gums, in no special order; delicate hands.

A learned man who lives on the flesh of
calves, and drink goat milk for breakfast.
He looked straight at the camera willing
me to recognize his existence, I looked
down, put two teaspoon full of sugar in
my coffee and when I looked up he had
disappeared into the noisy crowd, and it
was time for the weekend’s football results.

Jason Page

Some More Graffiti

If we were supposed to talk
More than we were to listen
We would have one ear
And two Mouths!

I am
What I be today
Without you
Feels lousy
To only to start to say

This undying lust is hard to maintain
The choice of reality or innuendo
Passing us day by day
How am I going to play?

Transfixed between two points
When does this end?
This state of flux
It’s getting hard to gage

Something is missing in my life
Where do I belong?
Why is this taking so long?
Honey, please help me get home.

NEW Posting Method

Poets!

You may have received a link from the site updating the posting interface (blogger.com) to a new version. The new version seems the same as the old one, except that posts are instantly updated, the interface is much faster. You can also edit a post immediately after posting it.

A new feature is that you can now add labels for your post. These tags are for search engines.

Any questions - please contact me

Cheers
Nicholas
info@aucklandpoetry.com

Jason Page

Internal Lusts

Two Poles
and I am dangling
inbetween

I cant see you
and on goes the war
I forget your smile
Demure at best

I love you honey
your the best
All the others
Mean nothing let it rest
Without you
Means nothing
to say the less

Yes Honey
Your my hope and love
Without you I dont know
how I am going to get on

Please help me get back home.