Simply fixing my world

Simply fixing my world

So much wrong

with my world...

war

because of people

We could try with no guns...

I wouldn't care if megalomaniacs 

and survivalists had to chase 

people with sticks.

poverty

because of people

We could try sharing more...

I wouldn't care if no one had any gold taps.

hunger

because of people

We could try sharing more...

I wouldn't care if I had to do without

my second helping.

greed

because of people

We could try living with what we have...

hard as that may be.

theft

because of people

We could try fixing the other problems...

I could be patient.

disease

that is too hard for me to fix

We could help others fix it though.

where to start

fixing

it all?

My own back yard

is still the best place

for me to begin

simply

fixing

my world.

Take a Closer Look

Take a Closer Look

Take a look,

the hair style,

the cuts are different.

The clothes are

older, two or three

generations back, perhaps

and the buildings in the background

wooden, rough, weatherboard.

Lots of boots

everywhere boots,

someone was a boot-maker!

and serious expressions,

all serious, eyebrows,

narrowed faces,

wrinkled searching brows,

eyes,

and all picked out in black and white

Take a closer look

that face has such a 

familiarity

about it...

these people

were hard living people.

This old photo

shows my

father's

family.

all used up

all used up

Thinking hard about poetry readers;

you all there,

eager to read,

waiting to pounce on the poem

devour it, savour the words,

hold it in your mind and 

churn through the twists and turns.

Maybe you are hoping 

for a simply worded cul de sac where you can 

ruminate and relax with a thought that

resonates with your own.

Maybe you like the express ways 

that reading though my new poem,

flash ideas and clever images,

brings to you.

If you do then I'd like to welcome you

seriously and personally...

Stop.

A new thought sneaks about 

amongst the tomato sticks of

my south pacific garden...

a few of you may be

shy,

readers who prefer

the quiet of a study,

or den,

maybe a hammock

in some private back garden

magazines tidy on a nearby table

what about you?

Here I am leaping over your literary back fence and shouting "Hi!"

and waving, too keen...

one of those creative types all

loud Saturday shirt and wild hair.

Well, it is me, so without apology

I present...the subject of this poem...

air

yes a little surprise all right.

But the magic of the stuff.

blowing about all mysterious and unseen

so... necessary and vital

lungs, blood and brain

waiting for transformation

and separation,

oxygen extracted,

surging towards brain cells

and powering the thoughts 

and imaginations of countless people

everywhere.

Sustaining perception and the several billion

realities we possess.

Sharing these and heading together towards some

super-mass of collective, productive, self perpetuating,

utopian, shangri-la...

sorry folks you'll have to take it from here

the oxygen in my room has been 

all used up.

spirits

Small Dark One

No ghost haunts this place, moaning or clanking chains.

No, tonight we have something from this side of the spiritual divide!

No mountain dew distilled through copper coil neither,

although the tell-tail wisp of wood-smoke does 

curl and drift skyward

now that the first rains of Autumn have fallen.

It is instead from expire and inspire,

the breath of life,

so important to us all,

in and out, to breathe, to be alive

so, yes,

life is the spark for this infant poem.

Keeping alive is our grail

having fun, sharing the craic, a laugh, a song, a birth,

all involve the unfettered surge of air to and from the lungs.

To be in good spirits 

requires a communion with other minds,

sharing a smile or a laugh;

or a mind that perceives

beauty, perceived already;

the flower, mountain peak, river bend or

new born baby, held  for the first time.

This piece is for you, son of mine.

Gloom; a lack of mirth

and hell, that dark, foreboding place, 

can both be shaken off

with time spent

in the company of friends.

So, by all means, get together and share...

even in the sharing of anger and grief

the heave of air transforms us

out of gloom

and into the light of

humanity.

..catch the horse..

Catch the Horse

We think.

We think we like the status quo,

the way it is seems fine.

The effort to change

seems large from the start.

That first step out the door

or off the couch,

out of bed.

Don't change anything.

I like it just the way it is.

Sometimes I'd like to have nothing change,

but it seems that everything 

is in a state of flux

right now.

All change!

and when we come back tomorrow 

the mysterious 'they' have changed it again,

or made a new one

(my parents iron (a wedding gift) went for 40 years).

We seem to have to replace ours every two years.

No! Wait, that book "I wish that I had Duck Feet"!

If I wanted no change

what would happen then?

I'd have to get up earlier in the morning

and catch the horse...

and hitch it to the wagon...

and boil the porridge on the fire...

"The only constant is change".

 Heraclitus of Ephesus, a Greek philosopher (c.535 BC - 475 BC)

said something similar 2500 years ago.

Freedom

Freedom

A National holiday

is freedom of a type,

although nations rich

and nations poor have these.

I'm not up at dawn.

The service is at 10:00am 

where I live.

So freedom of a kind again.

I have breakfast in bed,

 served this morning

by a generous son.

10:00am draws near but

no one will go with me,

so I must go alone.

Another type of freedom,

although this double edged sword

leaves its cuts in a random manner.

Alone, yes, and free to walk

to the village hall but

also, alone with no company

but the trees and houses, birds and sky

they all free too.

Alone and no one to look after, 

my attention can wander freely;

to the flags,

to the poppies,

the servicemen in uniform and

the medals of the old warriors.

Free to attend to the speech

by a soldier in uniform

"this day remembers no battle,

only the men who went

and did not return",

pride in our people,

remembering the grief;

not 'the glory'.

The hymns, prayers, poppies,

wreaths, and then

the bugler lets The Last Post

dance through our ears

amongst the autumn leaves.

A solemn sound as winter

sneaks unnoticed into the village.

We all free to talk now,

mingle with friends

wander on home;

not knowing all of our freedoms,

knowing some of our bonds,

knowing some freedoms,

not knowing all of our bonds.

Injustice

More Questions than Answers

I feel angry

when I see injustice.

Something here is just not right.

Three children

affected, 

not protected.

Who will look after them?

This is not about who takes them after school,

but who will explain

the whys and the decisions?

To the children.

Maybe someone did something wrong,

but why are they punishing the children

A baby, taken from it's mother

for months?

Who makes these decisions?

Is this a procedure?

Or is it guesswork?

Why not have an observer in the home?

It would be cheaper,

and less intrusive than this

split up

mess.

Who will fix it?

How will they fix it?

What will they fix it with?

Why don't they talk to us?

The view is not Just

from here.

My granny said she felt like she was 18!

 Have you got time for this?

Drove home from work today

with the radio on in the car.

I heard the time pips

and made it from the car

to the kitchen before

they finished.

"I'm home before 5!" 

I said proudly to anyone who was listening.

They all gave me one of those

"Andrew, you are such a fool!" looks

and carried on with what they were doing.

"Listen" I said

I heard Jim Croce singing "...time in a bottle..."

Just then Mary had dinner on the table.

Mary and  our 3 sons (and one sons friend)

gathered round,

eating.

We forgot Jim and the bottle for a moment.

Stop! It's News time!

We all stopped

heard the news.

Homework time is next.

"What is for homework?" says I

"Theories about time." says Finn.

As if you could figure this out like 27 times 4.

Look Dad! Stephen Hawking has a theory.

"Imagine a hill..."

I imagine a hill.

"...with a hole in it..."

I imagine a hill with a hole in it.

"...if you run around the hill..."

I imagine running around the hill.

Me, fit, young, fast....

"Dad! (a little exasperation from Finn)

...now if you went through the hole..."

"yes"

"and time went around the hill..."

"...?"

"You'd beat time!" says Finn...laughing.

He's 13.

I'm not.

Just like that.

Quick as a flash.

I'd never understood wormholes till then.

Poem time now.

Family tucked up.

Goodnight kissed

and teeth brushed.

What'll I write?

Time springs to mind.

The time of a childhood memory

as long as my brain allows.

Me by a river 40 years ago.

A laugh in my head. 

I tell 5 year old

students at work

that waiting

is the hardest thing!!!

Then it hits me.

A memory

My granny said she felt like she was 18!

She must have been 85.

I emerge from a hole in the side of a hill.

How come you're not here...

yet?

My Place

My Place

My place has trees that you can look at or climb.

such a big sky, really huge, all over. 

You can see half of space from here.

Phenomenal light and it can hurt your eyes, but beautiful.

Beaches where you can sit or swim or play.

Mountains big tall ones for climbing and for snow.

Warm summers, cold winters, four seasons.

We won!

Winning in Wakefield

Saturday afternoon.

The domain is a picture.

The pitch looks perfect;

green and well mown.

White lines give us all some structure!

New nets strung up like

two opposing trampolines.

The team warming up;

belting practice shots

at the goal mouth.

Stretching, running, drills.

The referee's

whistle blows.

Match time.

Back and forward,

football bouncing,

rolling, shot back, forwards.

Thump as a head 

connects 

with the ball.

Out! throw, touch, pass.

Stringing them together now.

Pass, pass, fumble,

foot to ball.

Goal.    It's ours!

Keep the pressure on.

We score our second.

No time to catch breath,

opposition have the ball,

he goes by me,

their goal.

Dejection.

Focus.

Foot to ball.

Whistle goes.

We won!

People love winning.

Be enticed!!!!

Give it a go!

First glimpse.
 Do I want to?
   My first time.
       Of course I want to!
           Never been brave enough before.
             Looks so exciting,
                enticing and inviting
                     shown off in the best light.
                       Middle of a sunny day,
                        bright and colourful.
                           Sunday best.

                        Second view,
                     little scary.
              What would it be like?
                    The thrill increases...others have tried.
                                                              They look happy.

                 Decision time.
                     Yes I will!
                           What will be the cost?
                                Hell! I'll pay, whatever the cost.
                                                                 This will be excellent.

At first I am enveloped...
             comfortable, promise of a thrill...
                                                              but what? a safety bar? Never mind.
                                    You've come this far.
                         We're off ...gentle start,
slowly uphill... what a view!

Moment of anticipation
                              hurtling down
                                             stomach
                                                         lurching
                                              twists and turns
                                                                     stop it now!!!!
                                                                                          ...
   another climb
              another thrill
                             oh no another drop is up ahead
                                                                      Scared this
                                                                                    is a microcosm
                                                                                                    of my
                                                                                                            lifeeeee
                                                                                                                      eee
                                                                                                                         ee

    a swoop, dips and sways
               bucks and turns
                        slowing now
                                             no not yet!!
                                                            I want more...

and line up for the next roller-coaster ride.

Creation

Thinking Possitively

create make do Ghandi 

think Dalai lama write mother

 paint cook build 

Mother Teresa act dance

 father meditate sing produce

 nurture share teach stitch love

 sculpt care play grow

 plant Martin Luther King counsel

 listen see hear talk 

compassion

destroy ruin argue fight

war shoot kill harm 

waste cheat pollute lie

 deceive bomb embezzle

 defraud maim hide 

imprison shout

kidnap

contain

No names

they do not deserve

to be mentioned.

I am in both.

It is shameful

for me.

How is it for those who dwell in that second group?

Now I have compassion for them.

Not for the faint hearted.

Scary treasure.

Reader be warned.

I'm writing intimate tonight.

Not the poem of joy

of excitement

or newness, beauty

or vast colourful vista.

Tonight is just me.

I'll share my thoughts, my emotions and my feelings.

I'm often scared.

But not of things

not distance, not height, not dark nor moths (used to fear them once).

I'm into the Zen of things now.

No, I'm scared when I wonder what you think

about me and these words.

I'm a man poet teacher husband father

but I don't know what it is that you think.

And that scares me.

Reader

should I keep wondering?

Questioning myself?

Questioning you.

Questioning worth.

This may be uncomfortable.

Rest easy 

it is not about you.

I like my poems and I'm proud that I write and publish,

but care that you don't like them.

Careful here, you may end up with nice words and poems.

So I prefer to hide behind the words and use them as a screen.

I can pump the words out fast, as I go.

A western quick-,draw crossing the street

hat down covering the eyes.

The words can take a shape, they can camoflage,

they are a cloaking device

as good as a hi-tech fighter jet

I think and then think again;

they shield nothing,

drip off my tongue but

they don't fool you.

They screen off time, questions and sometimes people.

You're in the circle tonight and lucky,

I don't step out from my screen very often.

Greetings from this

man old poem new.

I love my family

my wife

my boys. 

They are my treasure. You may not have my treasure.

You will have to seek them out yourself and ask them for that privilege.

I have shadow but I don't share that except face to face when my screen and yours are down

and you don't want to know.

I know.

Ancestry

Ned and Helen

Ned                            Helen
the man.                      the woman.

Leaving Newcastle in 1860.
Tears on the dock.
Leaving  home and all you know.
Going somewhere so far away.
Torn.
Sailing ship
tossing on the endless ocean.
Down through the Doldrums
into the Roaring Forties.
Dunedin and the promise of gold in Otago.
Walking or wagon or horse.
Tracks maybe but no roads then.
Big lakes, unforgiving rivers.
Mountains to climb.
Women give birth in a calico tent
in a Macetown Southern hemisphere winter.
House of rock or timber
but ... not much in the way of firewood.
Men working the quartz mines for the
elusive gold
mixing mercury.
Hard times
tough folk
resilient
stoic.
Ancestors

Harsh Old Coast

Harsh Old Coast

Decent to the Gates of Haast.

Boulders make ready to tumble,

precarious in this narrow ravine.

Mountains to left of us,

Mountains to right of us.

We make it through,

unlike the 600,

safe at the coast.

Tasman sailed by here much earlier,

this "land uplifted high".

It is uncluttered:

raw,

free,

natural,

harsh.

Little in the way of human interference,

vast in its natural abundance.

Trees bent, gnarled and sculpted by the wind,

vivid green 

with west coast palm fronds

poking about.

This coast gets a bashing;

wind, waves, glaciers, tumbling rock.

Weather lined rocky beaches

with

salt sea spray 

hanging about,

 drifting nonchalantly

amongst

ragged cliff silhouettes.

Pungent smell of coal fires

from the spewing chimneys

 of the sparse dwellings,

clogging Nelson noses.

Grey valley.

Sadness,

our hats off to you

in remembrance.

Brunner.

Pike River.

Lone miner walking home

in the evening.

Evocative.

We pass through and head for home.

Farewell coast.

The big blue drive.

Big Blue Sky

The big blue sky,

arching over all,

its driving weather

 for travelling south.

A caterpillar-back

winding grey road,

complete with white stripes,

leads us on.

Holiday vehicles on the march: An ant column of humanity.

Impressive, distant, steel-blue 

mountain peaks

 hold up the very edges of the sky.

Central Otago gold covers valley, plain and hill.

Oases of glacial ice-blue rivers and lakes

set like jewellery

 in the dry 

tussock-grass landscape.

This whole Island

seems

enveloped,

comforted

by the 

big blue sky

hemisphere.

Picture from

http://www.lotusexports.co.nz/visitnz.html

The Light and the Dark

Light and Darkness

Opposites.

Light and darkness.

One illuminates and allows

vision to operate.

There is colour, distance perception and depth.

All is revealed in light.

The other shades, covers

hides things.

We have heightened senses

of touch

and hearing.

A different perception takes over.

When in light we are at ease.

We can relax,

knowing all about us.

Beware, for in darkness

we must take care.

Fear can take it's grip...

unless you know that

the jewels and treasures that are to be found there,

can be hunted, mined

discovered.

To tread in the dark

takes courage, persistence and bravery.

Persephone was taken into the darkness,

unwillingly.

The dark beckons

and fools who love the light jump in,

thinking it is simply opposite,

but

it is knowing

that you need

there. 

Are you searching?

The Search

A circle.

 A fire with

family, friends.

Warmth and conversation.

We are seekers.

Seekers of the social.

Lovers of the group.

All searching for the smile.

A curving of lips upward.
Approval.

That crinkle about the eyes

the light that flickers there,

when humour and fun get together.

A song too, can hold people close.

A story, some history.

Someone throws back their head and laughs aloud.

This is home.

Sad day

Sad Day

It is a sad day in the poetry world.

The poet slows and does not write

this night.

Instead he must explain and excuse.

He coughs

and the readers see

he does not deliver this day.

No stanza for the gathered group to

peruse.

Instead this muddle of word and garbledness

"Where is the pentameter?"

he hears the cry

fear is on him now

the pack pursue him

don't say this is nought but a dream...

"nay tis real".

When no rhyme

nor 

clever wit

explode across the page

he feels

the 

scorn and derision 

of the 

people who follow...

the pressure it is too much!

but lo

he turns and sees

a poem has 

been 

strung

out

behind him

all

this 

time.

There,

that grin on his cheeky face.

What hides there?

The mob turns

walking away

they'll get him

on the morrow.

Goal!

Goal

The Wakefield domain is quiet at 6:30pm,

but 20 men,

some old, some young,

amble and shamble out from the clubhouse

onto the pitch.

The trees enclose the space.

It is ours.

We kick the ball about

on the lush green grass,

carefully re-sown since last season,

until it is time to gather together.

There are jokes and jibes,

then it is time for getting serious.

A warm up run;

 with sprints,

then stretches.

The two sides face each other 

and we start.

The ball is passed from one to the other,

intercepted,

headed,

trapped,

kicked

and chased

up and down the pitch.

It slips by

and someone gets it in the net.

Off we go again,

corner,

pass,

pass,

miss.

Attack,

defend,

attack,

The ball is passed to me and 

I flick it on

to a team mate.

He scores.

We start again.

Muscles strain,

we stretch,

and pass,

and kick and run

listen to the calls.

A pass,

I run,

chase

a touch

and...

Goal!

mine

The first of the season.

A good night at football practice.

The Weather Today

The Weather Today

It was clear this morning.

Crisp and clear.

Not strange at all,

for here.

Hills

standing out

in front of the mountains,

their crags and valleys

picked out in shadow

in the morning light.

Do we accept the shadow

or choose to ignore it

and focus 

only

on the light?

I went a different way

this morning.

Maybe it was the weather,

or the light.

I saw the sea

blue and calm,

unrippled,

waiting?

A portent?

Then in the early evening

I pointed out the same scene I had 

viewed this morning.

The light was vivid.

The forest,

the rock,

the colours.

Stunning.

A meteorite,

green

passed overhead

with a light 

of it's own.

Unseen by me 

but noticed nonetheless.

On such a light filled

and interesting

weather

day.

Gold

Gold

There is gold here.

People come to this place.

They like it.

Sunshine,

sand

sky.

The golden light mixes with the greens of the forest

and there is a transformation.

The light is no longer just the light

and the forest is no longer just the forest.

Beautiful

magic.

Long ago people came here for gold.

Digging in the earth and panning in the rivers.

I will head to Arrowtown soon.

With it's famous autumn colours.

Red, green and gold

in the trees.

The richest river in the world

is there

they said.

Miners flocked to the rush.

I go to remember my ancestors

who were part of that

goldrush and to 

celebrate with family.

And this winter 

I'll be on the Gold Coast.

A holiday,

a getaway.

Family time.

For me the gold

is family.

Not the bright yellow metal.

More 

the reflection 

of the 

light

in the faces of the 

people.