I thought I was going to have to bypass this week's Poetry Thursday post, but I managed to start something this afternoon. It's in first draft and very rough, but I thought it was worth putting out there. I've been on the phone to my mother this evening. A series of tornadoes has hit the Taranaki area. One went right through Mum and Dad's street, hitting houses all around them but missing their place. They apparently have pieces of their neighbour's garage in their back yard and are missing part of their fence. Poor Mum is pretty shaken up, but they will be ok. It seems fitting therefore that today's poem was about the outdoors.
I’ve been sitting here
all week fulfilling some
politician’s desire to seek out
a non-existent whiff of scandal,
hitting print and killing trees,
cultivating repetitive strain injury.
Outside the sky has hardened
and is pressing on the pine
trees in the Botanical Gardens.
It must have flattened some as
a helicopter is spiriting them away.
Tomorrow you and I should
go seeking entertainment carried
on the steel edges of a breeze
sharpened by the Kaikouras.
We will insulate our brittle bones,
wrap them in merino and
sheath them with polarfleece.
I want to collect päua and seaweed,
gather the discards of passing ships.
We can tramp coarse sand back
to our house where it will settle
into the cracks in our floorboards,
bringing the sea to whisper
under our feet where waves will
sing lullabies with the wind.