no touch

no touch

no touch

night on the estuary
a wind thumping home
the rain thumping waves
into the steeper low-tide
shore heard and not seen
you know the sadness
of ghosts along this
esplanade nothing fearful
no fear that they
are with you in your
thoughts in the brush
of air through a still room
like a hand that
aches with gentleness
all you rightly fear of
ghosts is that no touch
of yours will ever
wake them into
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highway 22

highway 22

SH22

rolling up to
the wet grey
coming down on
the waikato hills
cloud grazing ridge
and fence line
a breadth of glow
along the west
to show where
the late afternoon
sun might have
sunk to
a magpie sheers
down the gulley
in rain
blocks of a
white cross on
back and wing
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a glass of christmas

a glass of christmas
               for Auntie Wanda

glassofX
Panmure’s summer snowman, snapped by two Weathercats

there’s been
good ones
these years
for sure
but years apart
it seems you can’t
pull it off at will
the ‘choice’ christmas
like a good wine
a good bitter
cannot be rolled
out to order
those
in older
younger times
who put
the tinsel on it
of voice
of laughter
wrapped it in
warmth and
brightness for you
Continue reading “a glass of christmas”