The young blade dreams his days will pass
In mexican waves of wind and sun,
Light rain night-falling. This is grass.
Life is a Meadow? Hope soon gone.
The taxing mower descends, demands;
In severing swathes are dreams undone.
Truth is desire low mown, close shorn.
Harsh years confirm the cynical view:
That Life, regrettably, is a Lawn.
- new westie
cleansing
We spent the day in solemn meditation,
Herb water was our only medication.
Body and soul were one in mediation,
Seeking for healing and remediation.
After much contest, angst and agitation,
The outcome of our corporate cogitation
Was this resolve, proclaimed with animation;
To censure all past sins in commination.
Now we are clean and pure and whole, and wholesome.
As paragons of health, we are the whole sum;
Our life at close of day is full and fulsome-
After a week of lapse, we still may fool some.
- new westie
(inspired by "bang bang")
Last night you tried to pot the moon
But hit the sky instead.
A bird fell stuttering, spluttering, down,
And smacked the daisies, dead.
Mow over it, mow over it,
Don't wait for it to move;
Here is a target you can get,
A hit that you can prove!
I will not draw on distant moons
Nor sight upon the sun,
But wield unstayed the swift red blade
Until the lawn is done.
- new westie
A frozen point in infinity
The lifeless flower’s vanity
And the ever-smiling faces’
Arrested moments fading.
Left behind to stand, constant
Many left the scene, hesitant
Pointless images, Irrelevant
Showcase of absurd life, transient
Strange faces near stained vases
Stagnant shadows and rigid gazes
The eyes forever waiting
Wistfully anticipating
Black distorting the white
Like the night the day
The child’s innocence, sweet
Like an eternal pretense’s sheet.
Shashi Dhar
The speckled snake is slain
a legion of rats roared like the raging sea,
the cat kept licking the milk, I looked at the ghost.
Fish-reeking twists began to furl
The moonlight smiled,
but the rope did not budge,
and the post stood erect. Bearded fakirs thronged the ether to prepare a midnight cascade,
the blades of the blind ceiling fan
failed to cut to pieces the dodging bat.
Time ran away from now
to here, where reason
trod on a thin fence of being.
- Shashi Dar
The alarm goes at seven same time every morning
I do the Sesame Streets Mr Snufflelafagus to the shower
Detouring for the nicotine addiction on the way
I soap and wash the residue of yesterday
Then clothe and groom with a nostalgic fashion
Then its Mr Snufflelafagus shuffle to the car
Turn the lock, key the ignition and negotiate the driveway
Satisfying the nicotine addiction on the way
I join the trails of other worker ants
I weave in and out politely going my way
I park my car and walk the rest
Getting to work coffee is then best
I am then satisfied on achieving what’s best
Working my job somebody’s request
when you hit the dance floor
my heart skips a beat of two
when you start shaking
i felt like my world stop moving
it seems like theres just
you & me on the floor.
each time you move,each time you smile
my heart keeps on moving fast
and because of those graceful movements
you have caught everybody's attention
and start admiring you,
especially it caught the insensitive
heart of mine...
Im proud of you and ill always will
because of you my life is totally fulfilled.
- angelfelices
Aucklandpoetry.com has a lot of submissions to sort through. So, as this blog is working again and WordPress has become too finicky as an editing tool, this is a useful staging pre-edit place.
If you want to post poems - you can. This site is only for original poetry under your copyright that you are free to add and delete via a google.com gmail account.
The "main site" on aucklandpoetry.com accepts contributions which are then edited and a selection of contributions are then published in its home page current edition.
We invite those who want to publish poetry or to read it to go to
http://aucklandpoetry.com for the future and refer to this site for the extended archive that leads back to year dot about eight years ago.
The members of this blog site have mostly transferred to the main site, so as well as the "history" of AucklandPoetry - post to this site if your work is extremely experimental, avante guarde. Please note you do have the ability to post and remove your work by joining either site and controlling the posting and editing. If your work vanishes from the site you can simply update it with another post. We have always had the policy that users of the site are using our publishing banner to then expose their and other's work and charge nothing.
AucklandPoetry.com is back again. Anyone who wants to post on this site may also do so, though the main site is visited more often.
This blog format works very well for building an audience but it is not that great at building a community. The aim is to create a vibrant online publication methodology that provides poets with interaction on the web while providing a history of poems submitted. One is very humbled by the contributions of some truly great voices. But all things seem to exist in time and people just come and go if there is no sense of community. By creating a central portals we can reference or index millions of poems to millions of readers. Potentially.
The advent of Web 2.0 sites like myspace make all this far easier. Go to blogger and start your own blog with your own poetry and link it into our site. By using our site to log links to your myspace efforts you will naturally build links in a site that has a long history.
On the new site: the grey front page generated by the Wordpress system - people can now join at will. You can join too - but the idea is that lots of poets may start to post their work and by allowing moderated comments, some natural editing may occur. From this may extract a monthly publication (incorporating the content on this site) for the most viewed poems. Our server stats programmes weigh your audience.
The WordPress platform naturally lends itself to building a Poetry Community. You can join and discuss, post work that is moderated by an editor or become an author who can post at will, comments are moderated, people can graduate from contributor to author - its quite brilliantly appropriate.
What do you think?
Adopting the wrong pose at the frantic
momentum to tear the roof
from a child at a time
when blossoms seem at odds
with the humble existence
outside of sharp edges
and leaking worry
pleading with the icicles
leaping from waving tree
to wavering affection
dreaming of hot burnt tea
before the leaves have unfurled
placid in this intended infection
unruled by design no fault went blind
the wrong shoe is on the wrong foot
the steps are not in time
the blades that fall are not synchronised
they fall, so the heads that fall dig holes for themselves
under snow the money is so much like a river
it flows under the bridge and they cycle over
unaware of the swarm of bees erupting from both sides
of that large tree or its eyes that follow you
from birth until you are old enough to chop it down
or leave the cutting edge and its mark in the wood
Not
the vapour that leaves
the trees in the morning
that silent stream light fog
driven by limping memory
Not
the growth rings
natures spare tyre
marking age as though
it were an event in itself
No
more grain invested ceilings
or laughter at dawn
that moment before you smile
collapsed about my eyes
The COACH
By
Bernard V Kyle
[C] 2004
In all fields of human endeavour,
When we strive as we do, for perfection,
What greater the need, than to really take heed,
Of someone, who'll give us direction.
A guide, a friend, and a mentor,
A council, one can approach,
One who is there to assist us,
Who's known to all, as "The COACH."
An Instructor who guides all our efforts,
Who helps, when it comes to the test,
Who'll have to retrain, & renew the pain,
When we perform well short of our best.
But the fans are demanding successes,
And support falls away when we fail,
So few are doubtng the adage,
That 'To WIN', is the real Holy Grail,
And when there's success - or there's failure,
The Coach gets the cheers - or the jeers,
But he keeps on getting reminded,
It's being 'Top Team," which endears,
So there's really just two kinds of Coaches,
The one, who's been summoned - and fired,
And the other who's watching & waiting,
For the day, whe he's likewise retired.
*********
[ He = She ]
