Month: February 2026

A place to meet

Standard 
There’s clay on my walking shoe tread
I’ve thread my way down the zig zag
to the local café after the storm, dodging
manuka overhang, dollops of clay clods
on the path

Of birdsong I hear little, just motor cars
tyres whizzing through water, a motorist
toots and I wave thinking it is my
granddaughter, who I never see now
but turns out not to be

The café is full of storm stories, one
man securing his chimney at midnight
a woman bemoans the branches 
while pointing out the sad widow man
whose dog died today

my poached eggs, solo each on sough
dough, lightly buttered, sit safely
cooked perfectly, a soy latte too
newspaper for the cryptic crossword
pen at the ready

the weather, the weather, our
summer, the road, the tide, the
sea, the road, the puddles, the
bush covered hillsides, slips
most of us lucky

someone speaks of insurance
two women huddle joyfully
out of earshot, chattering
the coffee maker thwacks
a glass tinkles

people come and go from
car to path to café, to chat
to shed their coats, shake
umbrellas, glance, greet
drink and eat

a place to meet, after the
storm







So Hwak Haeng

Standard

(Small but certain happiness)

Between the Feijoa and the Plum is a fledgling Kowhai

and two Rotary clotheslines like totems from the fifties

from one of which hangs her blue school woven knit shirt

firmly pegged, the water pooling at neck and shoulders

sparrows hunt worms in the dark mud patches beneath

the recently culled feijoas on the fenceline, unshaded

Riwaka hops hang fruitful against a stark concrete wall

while a once laden lemon tree tangles with a Bird of Paradise

plant that was almost smothered by a fig tree they dug out

In the asbestos riddled shed, he brews designer beers

has two fridges found on the Community Facebook page

as well as a honkytonk piano a neighbour delivered

she’s learned to mow the dandelion heads in summer

and there’s a bird nest in the garage Perspex overhang

where on their first Kiwi Christmas fairy lights were strung

after midnight, after a few ales, solar powered, hoping

to light up the surprise sandpit, buckets and hammock

they’ve planted swan plants and watched their first

ever chrysalis turn green, go black, seen a Monarch

emerge and flutter from plant to hair to air in wonder

a sunflower bends to drop its progeny, past splendour

the Christmas bikes are abandoned on the path

small planes fly low overhead like shark spotters

from the sixties when summers were endless

the BBQ is covered, tethered on a windless evening

while the rice cooker talks to itself on the bench

near the upright stove in the kitchen full of cupboards

recyclables climb up a wall close to the back door

which has a lockable fly screen and two keys leading

to a small porch with sloping paths either side

around the house they lead either way back and forth

past the garden hose, the perilla plants spreading

weeds, abandoned crocs, drink bottles, a fly swat,

several dinosaurs, multi-coloured faded chalks

grass clippings, honeybees hovering, bare feet

a quintessential Kiwi backyard including a spa