the 12 tribes of kingsland
reggae music blares from memories gone
long-haired dreadlocks swing by on every avenue
sittin on their balconies and smokin it mon
lava lavas billow from open windows next door
hibiscus flowers float along the haze feelin irie
till the old lady walks out with her salu and waves her fist
unimpressed by the impressive lion that looms large on its flag
undulating in that aukilani wind
like the bustling life in the rockpools of Lotoalofa
the old lady forgets being awoken at dawn
as she points her finger at the dreaded dreads
and accuses them of not washing their hair
they laugh and clap
because they feelin irie
and she holds her salu outstretched
her arm pumping in the air
and they are reminded
of one love
and they call out,
hey no woman no cry.
Fly on the Wall
they say he hitched a ride
on the wheels of a plane
he unfurled his frozen fingers
to touch the Manukau Heads
as he soared through the clouds
and drank his fill
he lived across from us
this guy called Fly
he wandered the streets
like a man
not a bird
he wore his coat
like a uniform
spreading his arms like a bat
perhaps that's how he got his name
this guy called Fly
no wall no fence
was spared
as he attacked them
with his colourful arsenal
hidden beneath those wings
he called himself an artist
the Polynesian Basquiat
venerated by his peers
sneered at by his elders
who called him vandal
streetkid
troublemaker
ugly
were those words
painted across his inner canvas
words he couldn't pronounce
his engrish
a by-product of detached relatives
and affronted shopkeepers
so he learnt to keep his mouth shut
and spoke with his hands
traversing through tunnels
and scaling bridges
trying to capture that feeling
of what he'd left behind
he found that feeling
packaged and wrapped
in a bag bursting with silver glittery stars
and he was transported to the heavens
strapped to the back of Ados
who bore his weight
through clouds of nebulae
and celestial dust storms
I hear the beating of wings
soar through the open sky
and I wonder what happened to my neighbour
of Yesteryear Avenue
wherever he be
wherever he lie
I wish him well
that guy called Fly
