Reflection

Reflection

I know who you are

without the veil 

standing alone 

the subterfuge 

uncovered 

the demons have

come home

to the right address.

Now this is a 

conversation 

you need to have

with God.

Avie.

BRINGING IT HOME

BRINGING IT HOME

Would it make 

a difference if I

told you 

I was one

of the ninety 

innocent people 

murdered

in the car bomb 

in Baghdad 

last week.

Or

have you 

already 

forgotten

about it?

Avie.

TOWN HOUSE

TOWN HOUSE

Through my window

I see a south facing wall

of a town house.

When once I

watched the 

seagulls fly 

over the green hills 

the blood line 

of the sun would 

fall behind a 

coloured sky

on the black hill

at the day's end.

The eye lids of houses

would open beneath the starry night

I would listen to

the cabbage tree 

witness the burnt scars on the battled leaves

the defiant green evidence of rage against the brutal southerly winds

blowing across

the dark expanse

of the Cook Straits.

Now In the town

I close the curtains

for a less 

disturbed silence.

Avie.

SIBLING LOVE

SIBLING LOVE

She's got it 

on her 

this morning 

that girl.

The aggressor splits

her sides with laughter as

she trapezes off the high tension.

I'll guarantee you

before the hour ends

It'll end in tears.

Avie.

DOUBLE DECKER BUS

DOUBLE DECKER BUS

We used to run up 

the spiral stairs 

from the bus stop 

catch ourselves

 bizarrely distorted 

like fair ground freaks

in the circle 

convex mirror.

It was a race 

who would be the first to sit at the front window seat

mimicking steering wheels in the air

turning corners 

sliding across

the bench seat

whipping under 

the high tree branches.

We could see 

for miles

over garden fences

and houses

the same height as

seagulls resting on lamp posts

the whole world was 

in front of us.

Once the ticket collector 

told us off 

for ringing the bell 

stopped the bus 

and marched us 

down the stairs.

That day after school

he made us walk 

all the way home 

in the rain.

Avie.

The Court Of Hierarchy

THE COURT OF HIERARCHY 

The royal entourage 

are seated comfortably

in the front row

who are

ranked in the 

pecking order

according to

the importance of status.

The jesters look on

from the back stalls

and smile for 

the ring master

behind the lens.

The Joker who

takes centre stage

cracks the whip and

commands the show.

Avie.

In the clock work hour

      

IN THE CLOCK WORK HOUR.

The girl with 

the bouncy black hair is oblivious to the 

unnerving plumage 

she is always in a hurry

 runs down the hill

to catch the bus.

The whistling dog

is playing a Beatles tune 

raises a leg against the same lamp post to 

'Here comes the sun'

while the old man

with a Panama hat 

smokes a cigar and is

careful not to tread on

a praying mantis

In a time of foreboding territory

the Magpies say

quardle

oodle

ardle

wardle

doodle.

Avie.

THE HUT

THE HUT

When the tree  

was cut down

it became a waterproof shelter in the corner 

of the playground.

A place of secret invention 

a safe place to be

a hide away

from dangerous monsters

a fortress or a castle

made from 

leaves and branches

and dry twigs to sit on

for a tea party

out of the wind.

It reminded me of

stepping back 

into my own

childhood.

Stories told inside

the hide out 

innocent hearts and friendship

escaping into

imaginative worlds

of child play.

Avie.

He Wouldn't Kill A Fly

He Wouldn't kill A Fly 

For a man that does 

not tolerate a single

fly in the house

a single fly 

torments him.

It knows it is 

being hunted 

the red wine 

is fruit

half cut 

next to the green couch 

the squashed slap 

wrapped from the Sunday news

a lightening strike 

against the mahogany 

is a sweeter taste

than the wine.

Avie.