haiku
no longer the sound
of a cat’s cry; no longer
the chill of the wind
Broken
It’s broken now.
The iron roof once torn
By bullets lets the rain in.
On the concrete floor lie
Puddles of oil and water
And a homeless man
Wrapped in newspapers
The new sound of seagulls
Is broken by a single car.
Then silence returns
To the warehouse,
Sheltering broken dreams
And the right to be poor.
Leaves rustle on a window sill,
And the sea,
Which never used to come here
Licks the walls,
Tasting the salt it left here
Yesterday.
The old man opens his eyes,
Rubs them
From the blur of broken sleep,
And remembers that this
Is now his only home.
Kiwis not Welcome Here
He came from Australia
With a gun
And the hatred of men
Who rounded up abos
And shot them.
A hundred men and women
Of faith were already
Rounded up.
Easy targets
For a white supremist with a gun
Who didn’t believe in
Their god or their rights,
Only the colour of his skin.
And then
Their senator
Blames us for letting muslims in.
How dare he.
How dare they come and
Destroy our faith,
Our lives,
Our home.
haiku
across the street, a
night light awaits the sunrise –
sounds of dripping rain
This Passenger Has No Name
The wind has swung the plane too far.
Screams and the smell of vomit waft across the aisles.
Still we can’t land.
The pilot undeterred pulls away,
Promising touchdown next time.
The passengers stuff their faces,
Feeding each other
With false reassurance,
Emptying their souls
Into the wind.
Earth has banished them
Forever.
haiku
under the lotus,
the dark green catches the light –
a carp disappears