Poems

Matariki

When she walked –
small bells were heard

Trees smiled

Seven sisters accompanied her
their names have been forgotten
    it was a long time ago

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The harvest is nearly done
They are returning soon

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Preparations have begun
Cameron and Kayleigh are making
a kiwifruit tree, balancing small, hard
fruit on twigs, dropping butterfly seeds

Down by the River

Down by the river
Dragonflies skim the silk
And the trout sing of sunny days
And the dog leaps and chases bubbles
Swimming out into the current to cruise the fronds of scent
Enjoying the moment with the Boss
And I let my head go where it wants to,
Chasing fronds of its own
Instead of keeping order
 
And the trout sing
And I sing
And the Boss sings

by Judy Nicholas
shared by the author

A Sonnet For Sir Ernest

Reality

Reality is a slippery Devil at the best,
But of this concept I do not detest,
Measured by distance and time to go,
This is the belief we all know,
Our own reference frame is what we feel and see,
This is life to you and me,
As we grow older it doth seem to change,
A worry at mid life we sometimes need to rearrange,
Of value and price we need to make,
Time rolls quicker whilst always at stake,
Too short and sweet like a glass of wine,
Toward the end we see a sign,

A Sonnet for Eyjafjallajokull

An unpronounceable little volcano
Shut down airports all over Europe.
For six whole days... Ash-plumes soared.
That little Icelandic volcano:-
Eyafjallajokull:- it really roared!

Wow!  You’re world famous now:-
Eyjafjallajokull...
(What an awesome little chap).
W’ere all impressed by your “show”.
You’ve gone and really put Iceland
Firmly on the global map!

Volcanologists visit from afar…
Your images flood “cyberspace:-
Eyafjallajokull… you’re a superstar!

by Graham Wolf

At the first gleaming sparkle of light,
the summer streamed-open delight.
For the summer air we’d reach,
drawn to warm sand on the beach.
We’d take in the late summer glow,
and be left for the twilight's shadow.
Your face shines as bright as the bays,
I cannot forget you in those hot summer days.

by S. McQuaid
shared by the author
 

A Winter Day

Trudging through the icicles of grass beneath my numb foot,
The park was like a lake of pure grey
You could see the flowers withering down
As they lay with their delicate petals
Silent as the night,
Waiting to return to their gay and happy poses
The sky looked down in the same mood
With its dark cloudy eyes
It spread itself over the park
The kids walked by with woollen scarves
As they kept the warm  thoughts
To survive the cold day
Every step was followed by the mud