Pose

Gone my love

I know not where

but for a season

to sleep

when you return

know you this

whilst vine

does yield its grape

whilst fig tree

shows its bloom

without my God

who carries me thus

our arrows

and quiver strewn

But! strike

a gallant pose

I will

for you

my love have come

restored but

for a season thus

 love never forlorn

Antique Pink

I looked
the glass
shimmering
brightly
a maze
full of pattern
increasing exciting
life
full of hope
anticipation
thumbprints
of glass
specter’s
drops
incased
coffin
without death
an explosion
of dreams
complicated
mass
lights flickering
words
unspoken
optic
illusions
intrusions
slipping
fading
cascading
moments
sheer beauty
memoirs
delicate
frenzy
petals
pink
dahlia
daughters
slippers
princess
streams
Waiweka
white heron
crisp
clean
nostalgic
whispers
enchanting
violins
Wairua
rapture
capturing
production
scepters
fulfilling

Pashi

We had nothing for our daughter

when she turned the big four

but the second hand old jersey

that she left upon the floor.

She danced around the table

with a smile that lit the room

That’s when we realised

life was not despair or gloom.

We dug a mould of clay and dirt

in which she liked to play

then giggled as we all pretended

to enjoy our cake of clay.

Years have gone and children grow

of that we all conclude

but remembering the cake of mud

is our joy of interlude.

Pashi’s Daughter

Nana

Many long years I cried deep within

and did not make a sound

Many long years I cried deep within

sorrow was my prison compound

Many long years I cried deep within

causing loneliness heartache and pain

Many long years my Nan has gone

my screams were all in vain

Many long years grief squashed my joy

happiness is now my reign