September 2016

September marks for me the time of year I was born - the beginning of spring in Aotearoa / New Zealand.
 

 

 

 

 

 


An Ancestral Silence
 
deep winter
without the weave of words
within shelter
 
still birds
offspring of silence
after words
 
the presence
of ancient hand prints
deepen their absence
 
mere hints
of mammoths and bears
left long since
 
the words that are the heirs
of the lives once theirs
 
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An Ancestral Silence

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darkening wind –
my mind comes to stop
at nothing
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September wind –
a terror unheard of
since unspoken
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the morning murmurs
"m’illumino d’immenso" –
September light
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fantail
in the flutter 
of her
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I score
I know not what 
with words
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all around
the impression of self
where light falls
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a -
dna or morse
to a t
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light of spring –
this longing to become
a buttercup
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spring tide
words somersault
in the wind
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a grain of salt
Lot's wife looks back
to the twin cities
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lost for words
fallen rimu dragged
through the mill
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spring
as it is called
out of step
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all about spring release

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setting sun
my vowels lengthen
with my words
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coffin thuds –
the sound of forgetting
beginning
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dead calm
before the beginning
and after . . .
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night of nights
a smoldering wick
voices the prayer
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unbidden bird
the name for it 
births itself
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in the beginning
a lack of words
for nothing
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as you read
an old silence becomes
audible once more
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filling in the gaps
left after words
haiku
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theory of everything
the grand design
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even here
a cheshire cat
of words
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this endless hunt for meanings,
finally a kind of curious greed
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and still
leaden words sink me 
ever deeper
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in-between
breath-wide moments
nothing but
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this prosthesis
re-membered
word by word

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leaves break down a death sentence
 
 
 
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wind whorls fingerprint man-dust
 
 

 

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when you were
when meaning was worded
with relics
 
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a grief ago almost borne
 
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in winter wind
all that’s left of me
escapes me

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finger-felt
what the pine
had to teach

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there and there
so near still
a mayfly’s was

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