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Blog Archives
Poem – C K Stead
Unusual Obsequies for Nicholas Tarling who died swimming In Shallowsleep, that life-of-the-mind that comes at three or four a.m., hearing big rain beat on the roof and spill from broken gutter to concrete path, and quoting to myself (faultlessly) a…
Poem – Tom Weston
An art historian explains
how time began What seemed to be her effortless best. Speaking was her art, the silk purse she grafted from the sow’s ear of discontent, what she found congenial. It’s all about me, she knew, artist…
Poem – Nicola Slee
Return There is an ocean I am always returning to travelling halfway round the world to come home to its long bay I walk along the edges of surf searching for greenstone and pāua shell feel the grit under my…
Poem – David Eggleton
Moa in the Matukituki Valley: A Cento Mountains crouch like tigers, resentful, and Moa’s seeking eyes grow blind, upstream, wading towards the taniwha. Moa’s a strange bird, old and out of time, driven from the bush by the Main Trunk…
Poem – Nina Powles
Collisions On her last visit to New Zealand her father took her picture at Makara Beach. She’s smiling, and her hair is being tossed by the wind. I went there once just after a storm had passed. The waves were…
Poem – Peter Olds
‘The Clear’: Prospect Park to Charles Brasch Here, I can own you. Here, on this seat they’ve placed in your honour, there’s nobody to move me on. There’s nobody to tell me my poems are good or bad. There’s only…
Poem – Allen Curnow
A Raised Voice Let it be Sunday and the alp-high summer gale gusting to fifty miles. Windmills groan in disbelief, the giant in the pulpit enjoys his own credible scale, stands twelve feet ‘clothed in fine linen’ visibly white from…
Poem – Harold Jones
In Autumn or in Spring Nothing remains, and yet everything Does – and this is the truth Of all the constant vanishing And continuance. Both are And are not. The finished leaves That moulder under the rain Are fresh on…
Poem – Harry Ricketts
Anzac Day,
Fields of Remembrance, Wellington, 2017 Harry Ricketts (more…)…
Posted in Poem
Poem – Mark Pirie
Goodnight It can end like this, you know, your arms round her waist filling the void you’d thought was destined for someone else … but perhaps a coffee will do, you think, or another kiss, another hug, or just a…
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