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.

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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.

In Aotearoa

In Aotearoa
Our cloud is lower.
This long free land
Threatened again.
Still we are
In Aotearoa,
Held in hand
By aroha.

: : : : :

In Aotearoa
We’re proud of how our
Ties to this land
Strengthen our stand.
Still we are
In Aotearoa.
Still we stand.
Still, empowered.

: : : : :

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Jacinda…

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

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

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

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

jacinda-ardern-2020

Anzac 2

At the bay
Of manuka and pohutukawa
There is above, the park
Of linden, maple, oak and gum.

In autumn colours
Today, stands a tree.
Several silver branches lean fallen
From the recent storm.

Into the sky are
Arrayed, expanding flights of
Green and yellow, warm pink and orange
Amid dying claws of brown.

But look down –
Among the fallen, the graves
Of dark leaves hanging on silver, the one
Bright heart red, trembling.

Anzac 1

The loose metal road climbs
up from the bay.
A walk in the park was a
walk through the past today.

Memory, as a whole, is a
warm capacity for feeling.
But every episode remembered
leaves me yet, in their multitude,
reeling.

A trusty stick sweeps away the
wreckage before me, the single
feeling returns, as a warmth
in the air I’m breathing.

Across my shoulders it goes.
The posture, if a pose, still
expresses and slows into depth
this feeling, with hands,
like bridge supports, holding both ends.

The rocking of my spine, the
sure grip of both arms, and
pressing on uphill, a sudden sense
shifts the scene, as it feels
like it’s a rifle I’m shouldering.

A soldier returning, a cup of tea
when I’m home, if not company then
some toast with tomato and pepper.
My mind drops into a grave
and sombre respect for the brave.

As I trudge up said hill, the past
no burden but the warmth of the
present, all homes, built on the warmth
of those who protected, yet were
subject to trouble, neglect, dejection.