Beekeeper Jacinda

what’s currently at the forefront,
is the country’s ol’ guva’ment!

tellin’ us all in the country,
what we can do or what can’t we!

stirrin’ the hive is ol’ beekeeper jacinda,
seemingly tellin’ us all who’s the loser or winna!

not much honey’s bein’ made,
and such money’s bein’ paid

for this ‘oliday at ‘ome,
call ‘er ‘jacinda dry tinder’!

all ‘up in smoke’ they say,
can’t we call it a day!

not much more can we take!
they implore her to shake

that smoker just one last time:
we’re chokin’ ‘n’ busted up inside!

. . . . . .

but in this world are the wasps…
we’re hurled headlong into the grasp

of unseen viruses and maelstroms,
likes of past generations not seen.

other peoples’ countries laid low,
other economies ravaged by woe.

corrupt governments incompetent
at what tasks they were meant

to fulfill for the safety and
wellbeing of their people…

that inside the hive of Aotearoa’s pride:
its economy, its people, its land, its tried

and true forms of democracy, its history,
its advocations: of women’s leadership

and wisdom and integrity, kindness
and compassion, sits jacinda queen bee.



Lovin’ The Level Three Lockdown

to love this level three lockdown
the devil in me wants a showdown
‘level-three-lockdown’ to the right
‘devil-we-know’, down for a fight

cursin’ on the left for all its lost money
the holidays, the mortgage, ‘the business, Honey!’
its rights, its resistances, the physical distances
the inconvenience, ‘the obedience to authority’ in this instance

set them to battle and you’d agree
there’d be many people out there rootin’ for ‘three’
the science, the reasons, the gratitude for this season
of alignment to good leadership, in little ‘ol-tearoa
compared to the weird (not wonderful) show o’er-
seas in the US, the UK, the OZ

it’s not childish submission or indignant adolescence
there’s more than two positions, there’s voluntary acquiesence
a maturity of both sides, knowing ‘now’s not the time to divide’
but unite in voluntary 𝘨𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨 (giving up false pride)

for inside this may hide silver linings indeed
‘devil-we-don’t-know-deeds’ done for the other
the vulnerable, the needy (hell, also the greedy!)
seeding community unity & true forms of ‘immunity’:

the nation’s health, wellbeing, safety and freedom.


You’re kinda…
Than most of we
Who would believe
Politics has no integrity
Would believe…

You’re a winner…
Woman of politics
Holding steady at the helm
While we weather this storm
Upon us…

You’ve been the…
Prime Minister
Of New Zealand/Aotearoa
When we all needed to show a
Unity of strength and purpose
And aroha….

You’re won our…
And heart, as we harbour
Our vessel in safe Pacific waters
Thank you, for our sons, daughters
In safe hands…


The Resuscitation Garden

He feels like he hadn’t noticed he was dying.
All this bad news: a plague, a disease, a virus.
Hospitalized, quarantined, forced into hibernation.
Down to the ‘essentials’, bedded down, on life support.
Fixated on the cellphone, the laptop, the ‘news’.
How are the vital signs, the stats, the numbers?
Imprisoned in this prism, this hall of mirrors and lies.
There’s been flowers of course, new input into the garden.
Seeds become seedlings, pot-plants flowering, harvesting.
Surrounded by beauty, he dreams lazily on this deathbed.
He’s not really allowed to see anyone, but they come,
Keeping their distance, respectful silences and smalltalk.
His body aches, strains to hear the doctors in the hall.
Whispering, conspiring, working hard on his behalf.
He shouldn’t bother them, but he grows anxious listening.
‘Infection rate, chance of dying, no resuscitation order.’
Seems like there’s no coming back to life.
Friends at a distance, no hugs, no touch, a mask on.
Apparently there’s new orders and visit restrictions.
The roads are emptying, it’s every man for himself.
Some refute, they mock, drinking in the halls of their friends.
But at Calvary Hospital the chimney at the morgue is smoking.
He gasps for breath but his lungs heave and burn.
He calls for the doctor, why am I abandoned!
But the doctor is busy, the nurse comes, holds his hand.
In the distance the crows crowd and cackle on the hill.
He is pinned, machines beep, then there is no beeping.
The nurses take his body into the garden.
They wrap him in long cloths after his body is washed.
The light lingers over the body of Christ.
He is lifted and welcomed into the place
Where new seeds lay asleep in the garden.