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Updated: Nov 10

The yin and yang

of silver and black

play on the liquid

inlet at dawn

reflection

sliding over tides of thought


a rippling

through ears and eyes

the soft slap and dip

of prow and paddle

finding rhythm

in water and mind

and an easing

but not to make easy

as I work the current

holding a line

past some royal spoonbills

that change legs like a child


needing to pee

glancing to the left

then right

feigning nonchalance

restless for me to pass

in peace

Updated: Nov 10

She said, you’re the only

grandfather I know

who climbs trees without being asked.


I blessed her brown skinny limbs

and her brother’s sandy scraped fearless feet

as they followed my slow shod ascent.


While the three of us clung and straddled

the low reaches of that grand old tree

sprawled over sand and stream,


I was mindful of bifocal lenses,

an arthritic right shoulder

and a prosthetic hip, yet my heart


sang with the whispering waves

and the whistle of the sea breeze

in my hearing aids.

Updated: Nov 10


I walk to the end of the road

taking more time than time before

when a rough bearded pōhutukawa

stops me as if to share a tale.

Emotions migrate like birds

in a confusion of seasons,

but the cracked concrete path takes me

for what I have become

and accepts my present,

so I go along with it.

I won’t pass this way again

so take it in with a wary eye

but at the steep end

a stiff turnstile

yields into a wide yellowing

paddock bounded by rock walls

with a spreading evergreen

at its centre, and the end of the road

may have been a gift.