The Kerikeri Rooster

The Kerikeri rooster
prematurely announced the dawn at 4am
prompting foul thoughts
of paltry Xmas dinners

Cicada

Cicada
Roger Smith  March 2012

Let me hear to nightjay once more
its song over Queenstown
above the rush of the MRT

not the english chirp
of a carniverous sparrow
devouring the last cicada of summer

Roger Smith. 2012

In The Deepest Pools

Pool
Roger Smith 2012

In the deepest pools
lie the greatest reflections
Koi rising towards the light
a flash of gold amongst the reeds

Candy Floss

Like a man
spinning straw into gold
you stand

mutlicolour  sugar-sweet
and a hand
that stirs beneath the rim

under a sapping sun
umbrella overhead and
excited voices
next in line

Epiha Road

Black mussels spitting their juice
on corrugated iron
over the slow fire of time

Straight from the shell
plump pink
with tiny crabs entombed

Blackberries picked on the dusty road
rutted sand
rocking grey of the Morris laden down

Black sand of the wild beach
slow cooling and a Taranaki sky
bare reefs exposed to a quarter moon

Black armbands now
for memories of picnic bankets
rusty hooks and seaweed popping
slow to burn, slow to burn

The Rag-Picker's Daughter

I saw the rag-picker's daughter
in a dream
crossing the bridge near Mangere

it seemed
a graffitti gauntlet would envelop us
as the train sped onwards

carriages connected, shackled
a steel grey moon reflecting
the winter tracks ahead

Winter

in the season of hot oatmeal
the blackbirds outside
plough the bark for slugs

a grey fog lifts it clammy hand
and an inside dew clings to the
metal frame of windows

away in the valley the snort of horses
shivering with their canvas blankets
flaring nostrils
a huddle of equine locomotives

grey papa cliffs rise behind the weatherboard house
a smoking chimney greets the day

The Dry Season

The air was still and steamy
and my clothes were damp and dank
not a breath of wind was stirring
while the drains beside me stank

Just a plaintive throaty warbling
ahigh the pong pong tree
the dry season's come a'calling
for the bird as much for me

The fumy buses passing
by the shelter where I stand
I wave in desperation
with make shift fan in hand

The dry seasons come a'calling
to the Queenstown MRT
I stand upon the platform
just my plastic card
and me

Autumn Two Views

the white snow
of camelia petals
scattered after the storm

daylight dancing shadows
on a wet pavement reflecting
chilled to the bare bones that signal autumn

Roger Smith  April 2011