Poetry

E tū mai.
When death sheds my skin,
I will stand.
The cold has come.
I am shaken.
I let her soft thin lips
Kiss mine.
I am tired,
Tired of longing for longing,
And love that could never be.
To her I say my evening prayer,
Thank yous now only goodbye.
Ake ake ake.
Amen.

With ears borrowed
From my mother,
I can hear the rubbish truck
Removing the sins of another week.
But now, I have hearkened the tui,
Calling my name,
With ears only mine.
Outside of my mind,
Where is the tui?
In the sweet pollen,
And the crimson flowers.
In the warmth of the flax.
A song of my land.
The call of only this.

The wind is blowing from the South again.
Flax lined highways on the journey home.
Yellow flowers the passersby,
Protected by new lands of thorns.
Salty tears swell from the ocean’s eyes;
Bitter dreams of a race torn apart.
By spite and greed and fear.
Once art that painted lines on faces
Once words.
Long forgotten the war cry home.