TAKING ON WATER AS I TACK HOME
I have moored my yawl on reclaimed land
And set my money down for an IPA
Here at our oldest pub, The Thistle.
Showing the building’s sepia history,
Circumnavigating a table of bright young things -
And a dark lady in the corner.
She brings her drink and then her hand bag over
And we sit and share a conversation
At first about the Wearable Arts Show.
Used to drag his waka up the muddy beach
And order a whiskey or two, while chatting to the whalers,
Yarning stories about his kids and his massacres.
Don’t say Maloney - don’t say baloney.
You say you are a writer, let’s do rounds of poems”.
This more or less was one of mine.
She responds - dreamily, insistently
"My whakapapa: for I am wāhine atua
From te whare tangata (the doorway of life).
The only country in the world founded
By Real Estate Agents, who divided before they grew -
Still speculating on a housing or a dairy boom.
Or if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;
But now is black beauty’s successive heir,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
The heart breasts waves that ebb and die
Swimming deep it falters by and by
And those who grieve are oft bereft alone
My young sons were overwrought from
The school production and set to watch a Pokemon film
And there is a 20:20 later tonight from India.
Here at the bar, the timber looks new
Shiny, stripped back and light in colour.I have moored my yawl on reclaimed land
And set my money down for an IPA
Here at our oldest pub, The Thistle.
As I enter, a sign claims ‘Founded 1840’
And I browse between the prints and photosShowing the building’s sepia history,
Circumnavigating a table of bright young things -
And a dark lady in the corner.
She notices my trawling and asks
Are you interested in the past?She brings her drink and then her hand bag over
And we sit and share a conversation
At first about the Wearable Arts Show.
Soon, we share common ground at the shore
And I remind her that the great Chief Te RauparahaUsed to drag his waka up the muddy beach
And order a whiskey or two, while chatting to the whalers,
Yarning stories about his kids and his massacres.
Then we exchange names at which she is playfully precise:
"Hine Mahoney but you can call me Jenny -Don’t say Maloney - don’t say baloney.
You say you are a writer, let’s do rounds of poems”.
This more or less was one of mine.
When it has come to my advantage, I call
‘The Love of My Life’ to tie the rondeau.She responds - dreamily, insistently
"My whakapapa: for I am wāhine atua
From te whare tangata (the doorway of life).
They took our language not just our land”.
...
I chide them for her, the Founding Fathers:...
The only country in the world founded
By Real Estate Agents, who divided before they grew -
Still speculating on a housing or a dairy boom.
Therefore my mistress’ eyes are raven black.
In the old age black was not counted fairOr if it were, it bore not beauty’s name;
But now is black beauty’s successive heir,
That every tongue says beauty should look so.
The fisherman has tide and fish to catch
The sea has beach and cliff to ownThe heart breasts waves that ebb and die
Swimming deep it falters by and by
And those who grieve are oft bereft alone
Two is my limit, I’m afraid -
I don’t want to wrap the car round a lamp post.My young sons were overwrought from
The school production and set to watch a Pokemon film
And there is a 20:20 later tonight from India.
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