I live in the little community of Te Kowhai, Waikato. I write poetry in between working as a physiotherapist, growing herbs and enjoying my children and grand children.
Red is for Danger
The Kaka hides red feathers
Underneath it’s wings;
Coveted
By chief and king.
Kaka cannot run.
The Takahe has a large
Red cutting beak.
He snips his grass,
Traps insects. Meek,
He mates for life.
There is a man
In a red museum office
Who keeps little dead birds
In a wooden drawer. Stiff,
Easy to lift out.
A thrush has made
A nest
In the red fingers
Of the honeysuckle.
Just try to walk quietly please.
Lewis Carroll at Lake Rotoroa (Hamilton, NZ)
There is a softing, wing breeze
And ruflette, rilly waves.
The tecal decal ducks
Awake from feathered caves.
The tall, tentalonned trees
Discuss the lifter weather.
Green, grevally twisting leaves
And plume-piked tufts endeavour
To steal your learned, lethand mind
And teach it grand, new things.
Be vigilant and vagrous now,
Before your heart grows wings.
