Sound and Light Show
Rain stops hissing.
Sheepishly, sheets
of water slide off
pier's edge.
I see the moon
for the first time
and three-quarters of it
is enough to compete.
White wharf lights
too-bright sensors
on city walls - I'm
stage-lit, surviving
within a setting
where sound and light
seem purposeless
overdone to fight The Dark.
A Day in the Surfers' Paradise
(Piha, Sunday 29th August)
Yes, your bush-lined winding road
is like a wave, a tall roller past
Titirangi. The view confirms
wildness, a certain basic necessity.
We dine in the one cafe next door
to The Store. Everything
that doesn't work is "so Piha".
The beach is gluey, grey; even
the seaweed ropes and tubes
stick to it. Our lodge is mired
in art works, broken canvas chairs
a pohutukawa like an octopus.
We walk in the rain, umbrellas
contorted by wind's revenge.
Championships are won here.
No Ships
After so many days of various
craft, I wonder what has sunk
en route, what has bypassed.
The wharves pinch the bottoms
of portainers, which spring to
attention, to life, to duty, to lift.
Moving things just to keep in
practice? The wheels oiled?
All action reasonless, random.
Glimpse of Other Worlds
Taking the Viaduct way, because
of bright sunshine and no need
to scurry, I am gobsmacked
by the size of the thing - as tall as
the hotel on the pier, of larger girth
and tied by thick hawsers to bollards.
I read the name: Something Princess.
I forget the first word moments after
reading it. This ship ignores waves,
the destabilisation of swell, wild
parties, tropical storm, desire. It serves
only the need for a good anecdote.
Next day, taking the Viaduct way
because of bright sunshine and
no need to scurry, I feel nostrils
filling with the odour of waste -
the vast tanks of shit must have been
emptied somewhere. The sea oily.
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