Poetry Thursday: On Holiday

While on holiday
Outside the boatsheds
on Oriental Parade a
man is feeding bread
to seagulls.

They snatch crumbs from
his fingers, hovering
inches from his face.

I watch as he reaches
to stroke their backs,
crooning as though talking
to a favoured child.

In a park across the road from
Oriental Bay there is a swing
hanging from a Pohutukawa.

As I am taking a photo
of its open invitation there
is a noise behind me.

An old man stands
with arms outspread, a
comical scarecrow on this
millionaire's row.

"Take an interesting photo,
take a photo of me".

I laugh but he is gone
before I can raise
my camera and
the moment is lost.

And in celebration of tomorrow's Montana Poetry Day, here are some photos taken on Wellington's sculpture walk. I love a city that cares enough about its art to leave verses of poetry around its waterfront.

Each verse is supposed to say something about this city. The photo above is tucked away by the rowing club and I don't think I've ever noticed it before. This is how I feel about living here. There is another somewhere (I think by Frank Kitts) that starts off "you don't live here by chance". I feel that way about Wellington as well. Life here does indeed feel precarious, and you have to make a choice to lodge yourself in her hillsides.

I've never approached Wellington through the tunnel (I'm guessing this means a train tunnel), but coming down Ngauranga Gorge and driving past that understated little 'Wellington' sign feels like this. As if you could be anywhere else!

And my last discovery, in the park where the old man approached me, and where another man sat drying clothes on a nearby bush. He seemed harmless enough - just enjoying the warm winter sun I think. I hope this one can be read okay. You might need to open it in a larger window.

All in all a very pleasant way to spend a mid-winter holiday.

More Thursday poetry here.