Poetry Spotlight #1

We have some wonderful poets at our creative writing group. They've come and gone over the years and some people lead busy lives which means they can't attend every week. But it's wonderful to get to know and appreciate someone's personal style and so we are going to spotlight some of our poets over the next few months. Today we feature MJD who has a story telling vibe and often speaks to a connection with nature. 

I AM THINKING

I am thinking of you my old friend the wind
You howl and bite
But you're not such a bad fella
You bring the breeze
You sing with ease
You speak to me
Ring ring!
Upon beginning my day

I am thinking
I'm thinking of droplets of rain now evaporating
Should I call up before calling in?
I wonder what's worse
Showing up at any given moment
Or never showing up at all

The oaks, the old oaks
They are proud
They're certainly tall
I wonder what they'd think of all my questioning
Probably nothing at all

TAIERI MOUTH MULTI-SPORT

Over the beach
up the river
through the forest
along the coast

Contestants of the race
are spread like butter
over a vast landscape

Once upon a time
it was eels and lamprey
who flocked to the awa
racing upstream

Today bright coloured bibs
line the scenery
like fairy lights
through mud, bush, sand,
gravel, roadside

Racers oozing like blood vessels
over undulating terrain
like a heartrate graph
peaks and troughs
the sky is the limit

Waves crash
sweat beads
seagulls soar
gears grind

If the landscape could talk
it would applaud the people and say;

Well done on returning to your roots,
showing what it means to be alive
free like manu
varied like the ngahere
with the power of Tangaroa

Blessed is the motu
blessed is the awa
blessed is moana
blessed is the maunga

May a gentle breeze
flow over the land
Haumi e, hui e, tāiki e!

 - MJD

Invisible Poetry

Poetry is often a solo affair so it's good to collaborate for a change! This week we took the theme of "invisibility". We all had a piece of paper with a different take on the theme and were then asked to write one line and then pass the paper to the next person to add a line. Each writer was only allowed to see the last line. This can lead to some delightfully random results but also wonderful synergies and a few laughs!

A CLOAK OF SILENCE

Wrapped in stitches of stillness

The stars went out, coffee cold

As the sun rose and the dew set

Everything looking so still

Deadly waters look shallow but run deep

What lies beneath?

A stern look on an empty street

The cold copper sprayed the blurry night light

And lit my face with a soft glow

Hidden in plain sight

Like a treat for sore eyes on a moonlit night

The moon itself stares back

The moon knows me.

I THINK THEREFORE...

I can evaluate

A situation with weight

I loosened my tie

And let out a soft cry

Relaxing through my body

Wellbeing courses lifeblood to my soul

I miss some things

Others were a delightful departure 

But I sank like the moon in no-man's land

Without a ripple in the surface of my mind

Going straight away, very faithful

And truthful, feeling blessed.

TOO SMALL TO SEE

Too quiet for people to take notice of me

I hide behind my fences

Polka dot defences

Ran all over her dress

And seeped into the earth

Looking like a hidden pin

Sharp tack solitude seeping

Downwards toward

The depths of morning

Revealing the truth hidden in the sky

Too big to comprehend, too far to see

Like it's a mile away

I AM INVISIBLE

No one sees me in the room

My feelings tell me gloom and doom

This place feels like I am surrounded by stone

My hands frozen, movements too slow

I caught the feeling like a chill in the rain

It crept up my spine like a spider

Feels like you're closing in on yourself

A prisoner of its own making

Of my own making

The weight on shoulders

Lifted my weightless eyes like a bird in the night

And breathed a sigh of relief.

A DARK NIGHT

The moon lost his way to heaven in the curtain of the night

His thoughts dark, his mind clouded

Can't find his way around

Directionless, stumbling in the dark

Engulfed it seems

In blackness, he seeks

The girl in the white dress with raven tress

Sung to the invisible moon

Hearing howls and growls in the silence

Are they werewolves, or only swearwolves?

Howling, so lonely

But a generous scream.

THE WIND

Breathe, breathe on me

Blow me around

Typhoon, whirlwind, all over town

Swirling up fallen leaves and scattering

Making the day dance

My tapping shoes skipped the gravelly path

Gleeful, grateful 

Feeling free, high in the sky

Pie-eyed dreams and misty eyes

Make my eyes tired

My eyes dance too

Flowing rivers strumming the street

Poetry on Display

 At Artsenta we are lucky to have several opportunities to share our creative writing - at events, on our radio show, in our street front windows, and also in our frames at the Dunedin Hospital. Here's some of the poems on display by our fabulous Writers Group poets.

Zen & the Art of Lawn Mowing

'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' was a hallowed book in the 1970's counter-culture scene. Perhaps not the easiest book to read but it did inspire this week's writing session. Well we couldn't resist once we heard an account from one of our writers about their experience mowing the lawns at their croquet club and the challenges of their ancient ride on mower which sounded more like a cross between a chainsaw and a bucking bronco than a mindful Zen-like experience! So we started with lawns and quickly moved to blossoms which was much more... ahh... Zen. 

SWEET CUT GRASS

Up and down

            round about

Thrust here

            push there

Over and about

            Oh the smell

Of sweet cut grass

Mum did it

Dad did it

            sometimes

At Cherry Farm

            they did it too

And at Shetland Street 

            round and under the trees

Oh how I love listening

            to the loud mower 

            in bed

And it will be back

            again

- by June

SPRING

Cherry blossom

Like clouds passing

In the sky

Fluffy too

And pink 

Marshmallow-yummy

Lightly moving

Individually

How I like to be

Under the dappled shade

Always welcoming me

Heartily Spring

- by June

Writing with handcuffs

This week we imposed restrictions (the handcuffs) on our writing. Known in writing circles as a lipogram, this is where a letter is ruled out of use and to make things challenging ours was the letter 'e'. The last two sentences had 17 e's so you can imagine some trepidation within our group. It's incredible to think that in 1939 Ernest Wright wrote a 50,000 word novel without a single e! How hard can it be? Our second lipogram-like challenge was to 'flatten the dictionary', in other words write a poem with no tall letters - that's b, d, f, h, k, l, t. None of this was easy but we did it and some great work ensued. The first poem below is the no-e number and the next two are the flattened poems.

Hang with human
 
In a room

You saw a human

That is a girl

You walk up towards

To talk to this girl

It's amazing how the girl and you click so fast

You both got a lot in common

All day you hang out

At night

In your room

You think

What a fun day you had

Starting in that room

Spotting that human

 
- Julia Godfrey

exposure

privacy, none

open, exposure

anger    rage   pain

worse case scenario

so many nosey eyes

see me

exposure

privacy gone

- Jenn

a new way

a new way

viewing no anger

owning peace in you

a mirror in me

seeing a new overview

unseen in our now

a vigor as never

was in our scene

- S B P Davis

Dancing in the moonlight

 

Moths are the poor cousin of butterflies but they have their own beauty and a mysterious quality linked to their nocturnal natures. The challenge this week was to write an epic tale or poem about moths full of drama. Here's two quite different responses - a narrative poem and a poetic piece of prose! Thanks for reading.

CATCH ME IF YOU CAN

Batting wings briskly under a back porch light

Seemingly, a million moths appear out of nowhere each night

While some fly slow and others dart quicker

But watch your wings little moths near the door mat

For you're being eagerly eyeballed by a caramel coloured cat

He's stealth and quick, quicker than the spray of a sneeze

And he'll stalk and hunt you, with untold ease

He's mastered the art of catching many things, including you guys

As his senses heighten and he widens his eyes

Many moths dance teasingly around his head

But he's quick to swipe, leap, prance and swat them dead

With his claws out, sharp at the ready

He watches one intently, keeping his body stiff and steady

Then with one leap he bounds in the air

Sending the moths into a chaotic frenzy up there

He hops and bounces around the porch like a wild bunny

To witness all this commotion is actually rather funny

And just like that he's caught one, a magnificent prize

As it wriggles under his paw, he watches with deep black eyes

Then all of a sudden, the movement stops

He lifts his paw slowly and to his paw his nose drops

It's not moving.....is it deceased?

As he stands up from the floor and his inhaling is increased

Just like that, the game is over, it's no fun anymore

As he walks away, the moth lays still on the floor

Then out of nowhere, the moth flickers and flutters away

Smart little bugger, who gets to live another day!

By Jacinda Hurring

JUST NOT MY TYPE

The lights were everywhere. Dazzling, they glittered in the low-drifting mist, split into sintered glass fragments, dropped onto the lawn and glowed on blades of damp grass.

A wet macrocarpa leant slowly towards the dull full moon, which glared down, its light dispersed across the mist, stolen from its beaming face and scattered, to be lost on the haze. Flickering colours ran up and down the tree as carnival decorations switched on, and the soothing mist waited expectantly.

As the people walked in, quietly, hopeful, two moths awoke from their caterpillar-sleep and crawled from secret places burrowed in the macrocarpa, to sit watching, waking, stretching. Wings unfolded and lengthened and, as night drew darker their patterns and spots were revealed; to any who could see in the dark.

First flight was exhilarating, weaving around the tree, moving quickly from one light to another. They wove around each other, and away, and back.

“Ugh moths” roared a woman, as her swinging handbag sliced through the air, knocking one to the ground. Gathering wings in quickly it sat stunned on the planet as the Handbag moved on.

Reoriented, it lifted and fluttered quickly to a tree branch, blending its browns and greys. A rest, reinvigoration. More light now, the mist was blowing, slowly. The moth fluttered, again chasing the lights, checking for the right wavelengths. Above the moon shone through clearly, full-spectrum reflection. 

The two fluttered around each other eyeing the greys and browns, purples and yellows, iridescent in the moonlight, then split away, still searching.

- KJ

Bibliomancy

Bibliomancy is to use a book to make a prediction just by holding a question in your mind and opening the book at random and seeing what turns up. In our case we used a dictionary, opening it three times to find three words. We then used these as prompts for a poem or a short story. Writers were challenged to add an element of prediction to what they wrote. Here's a couple of pieces from what turned out to be a very enjoyable session!

THE STYLE OF THE HEART

Nestled within our hearts, lays the style of the mind; embedded within darkness of self beliefs that make us blind.

There is a light that shines, a diffract, cutting away the dark. Revealing ourselves from within, of who we were; to reveal to us who we can become.

The diffract embedded with the style of the soul and all the possibilities that lay before, in a glittering blaze of hope. 

Shattering the darkness of past days revealing in the hour of our need, what we ourselves require to see.

To reach beyond all that we held in belief that made us blind. Opening our eyes to the truth we hold and always did, setting us free.

- S. B. P. Davis

THREE WORDS ... SINCE 1975

Flood Slip

Inexperience was Master

the dull, distant rumble beneath

             the constant dropping of rain

Vibration, house-shaking, earth-sliding

            evoking queasy-danger

not quaking, not rolling, unlifted-unlowered

unlike a rolling earthquake through banked grass

Acres of retrospection don’t do justice to memory

A story told and retold doesn’t live the fear, the doubt

the anxiety driving thought to weird action

Events infrequent, rarefy and scatter emotions tied to aloneness

Again with the rain, the flood, the slip

not rare now are fear, doubt, experience

Again?

- Kate Jenkins