pieces of the road

pieces of the road
7 pieces from a journey winding north to south


thinking on it

i saw thirty years
further down
the track
mount pirongia
looking out
on the waikato
still thinking hard
on those things it
did then no closer
either of us to
a conclusion
drawing only
cloud in winds
of day stars
secret to us
in the breaks
of night.

waikato – wellington
december 2011

keeping the dark

the macrocarpa
keeps the dark
to itself however
strong the sun
blue the sky
green or yellow
the hay below
or loud the road
that turns
the dark tight
in its branches
a dusting of light
on top to fool
the day.

december 2011

the fashion of it

the purple
    the blond
       the brown
summer hay
like well-worn corduroy

shining in folds on the hills

the hawk’s
slow loop
sky to earth

wairau valley
february 17, 2012

youngest son

youngest son
born not to
take after you
no, not even that
just to follow
your tracks in
shadow on
dry summer
hills glimpses
of forest-laden
streams in the
river valley
you came
a man
who never
knew of Laozi*
you could
have been
him riding in
silence reins
like simple rope**
in hand.

wairau valley
february 17, 2012

** Laozi is the Chinese philosopher credited with authorship of the Taoist canon ‘Daodejing’ (Taoteh Ching) though little concrete information on him exists. One of his precepts described in that text is that the simpler life is the better and for that reason villagers needed little more intellectual gadgetry than rope to mark with knots as a form of measure. He viewed with great suspicion the machinations of scholars and artists who tried to find for themselves wealth and position by cultivating relationships with their rulers and acting as their advisors.

grey surprise

the long
grey rock
above the slump
back of breakers
and foam
scribbled through
fissure and kelp
down there
lifted and
lunged forward
a sea lion
baked the
shade of
stone in

westport, queenstown
december 2011

married to him
   to his wife

you might have
wished for more,
much more
a love brimming
like a spring tide
that would have
lifted the shoreline
inland by miles
brought dawn’s
ocean to your
door with galleon
moon to west
yet had to take
exactly what
he gave no
more on top
just that
sitting at the
table with him
swirling the cold
coffee left at the
bottom of the mug
together looking
for a window
in that room
with balcony
doors that
anyone can
open cool
to each
other the
other you
hardly see

january 2012


the pines
this morning
wet, dark
down the
drops and
ridges to
the lake
some fool
with matches
trying to do
the impossible
mountain upon
mountain really
just cloud lifting
up those gullies
a patter again
of rain.

january 2012

Copyright © 2012 Peter Le Baige.  All Rights Reserved

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