OK so I’ve set this blog up pre-empting a possible non-fiction project that doesn’t involve poetry, so of course I’ll start with a recent poem.
Yesterday a Kereru crashed into our window and fell
into the flax below, fluttered
I picked it up, still warm of course and admired
Itâ€™s two-tone iridescence, its perfect beak and feet
I opened its ruby eyes with my finger, gently lowering
the cloud coloured eyelids that hinge from below.
This morning I peeled a mandarin that tasted like Christmas,
or was it the walnut I cracked with my teeth before
prising out the contents.
after the funeral I ran with the dog in the bush
in the green gold of a winter sunset that New Zealand does so well.
The friend that died too early was also a Pom who would have
understood the seasonal reference, though hers would have been
laced with god. To her credit, in my eyes, I never knew.
Sundays were our day though, she was noisy and fierce
and funny and competitive – at the tennis club
Just weeks ago when she was already fading and we feared
the worst, though she didnâ€™t. Her last game was with me
she chased a ball she shouldnâ€™t have, she lunged, she fell.
We picked her up and she slowly recomposed and had a glass
of her favourite tipple â€“ Lonely Bird
And she was
and yet she wasnâ€™t. Especially today.
A packed hall, many a nasty, mean streaked tennis player
wiping their eyes whilst brandishing a racquet
as her coffin was lifted gently into the hearse.
She would have liked that.