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Poodles
01-28-2008, 08:53 PM
http://www.honetuwhare.co.nz/poems.php

Poodles
01-28-2008, 08:55 PM
A selection of Honeís poems



No Ordinary Sun



Tree let your arms fall:
raise them not sharply in supplication
to the bright enhaloed cloud.
Let your arms lack toughness and
resilience for this is no mere axe
to blunt nor fire to smother.

Your sap shall not rise again
to the moonís pull.
No more incline a deferential head
to the windís talk, or stir
to the tickle of coursing rain.

Your former shagginess shall not be
wreathed with the delightful flight
of birds nor shield
nor cool the ardour of unheeding
lovers from the monstrous sun.

Tree let your naked arms fall
nor extend vain entreaties to the radiant ball.
This is no gallant monsoonís flash,
no dashing trade windís blast.
The fading green of your magic
emanations shall not make pure again
these polluted skies . . . for this
is no ordinary sun.

O tree
in the shadowless mountains
the white plains and
the drab sea floor
your end at last is written.





To a Mšori figure cast in bronze

outside the Chief Post Office, Auckland
I hate being stuck up here, glaciated, hard all over
and with my guts removed: my old lady is not going
to like it

Iíve seen more efficient scarecrows in seedbed
nurseries. Hell, I canít even shoo the pigeons off

Me: all hollow inside with longing for the marae on
the cliff at Kohimarama, where you can watch the ships
come in curling their white moustaches

Why didnít they stick me next to Mickey Savage?
ĎNow then,í he was a good bloke
Maybe it was a Tory City Council that put me here

They never consulted me about naming the square
Itís a wonder they never called it: Hori-in-gorge-atbottom-
of-hill. Because it is like that: a gorge,
with the sun blocked out, the wind whistling around
your balls (your balls mate) And at night, how I
feel for the beatle-girls with their long-haired
boyfriends licking their frozen finger-chippy lips
hopefully. And me again beetling

my tent eyebrows forever, like a brass monkey with
real worries: I mean, how the hell can you welcome
the Overseas Dollar, if you canít open your mouth
to poke your tongue out, eh?

If I could only move from this bloody pedestal Iíd
show the long-hairs how to knock out a tune on the
souped-up guitar, my mere quivering, my taiaha held
at the high port. And Iíd fix the ripe kotiro too
with their mini-piupiu-ed bums twinkling: yeah!

Somebody give me a drink: I canít stand it

Poodles
01-28-2008, 08:56 PM
Toroa ~ Albatross
Day and night endlessly you have flown effortless of wing
over chest-expanding oceans far from land.
Do you switch on an automatic pilot, close your eyes
in sleep, Toroa?

On your way to your homeground at Otakou Heads
you tried to rest briefly on the Wai-te-mata
but were shot at by ignorant people. Crippled.
You found a resting place at Whanga-nui-a-Tara;
found space at last to recompose yourself.

Now, without skin and flesh to hold you together
the division of your aerodynamic parts lies whitening,
licked clean by sun and air and water. Children will
discover narrow corridors of airiness between,
the suddenness of bulk. Naked, laugh in the gush
and ripple ó the play of light on water.

You are not alone, Toroa. A taniwha once tried
to break out of the harbour for the open sea. He failed.
He is lonely. From the top of the mountain nearby he
calls to you: Haeremai, haeremai, welcome home, traveller.

Your head tilts, your eyes open to the world.





Hotere
When you offer only three
vertical lines precisely drawn
and set into a dark pool of lacquer
it is a visual kind of starvation:

and even though my eyeballs
roll up and over to peer inside
myself, when I reach the beginning
of your eternity I say instead: hell
letís have another feed of mussels

Like, I have to think about it, man.

When you stack horizontal lines
into vertical columns which appear
to advance, recede, shimmer and wave
like exploding packs of cards
I merely grunt and say: well, if it
is not a famine, itís a feast

I have to roll another smoke, man

But when you score a superb orange
circle on a purple thought-base
I shake my head and say: hell, what
is this thing called aroha

Like, Iím euchred, man. Iím eclipsed?

Bard
01-29-2008, 01:03 AM
:tiphat

Poodles
01-29-2008, 03:52 AM
I wept when I heard he died last week Bard--I Love this mans work--hes won major awards ALL over the world and he was so down 2 earth and loving-A rare beauty he held



http://www.daylife.com/article/013Ye6w8qD5tT




http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v78/poodlehappy/Hone160.jpg