Exposition on a theme of Christchurch
some time ago long it was between
but who can dwell with the passing of time
unless clock face and bells interrupt the service
and people leave gloves left lying on the chair
this was Christchurch not the dome but Abbey
well into Druit park green man and canvas
the grass slicked back like hair into the soil
wood chips from carvings done with axe
and steam driver rips at concrete this is how
the town becomes
here the cinema an arts centre for the others
the poets sing and writers dance across pages
what are you doing in the summer sunlight
it is winter and spring follows before the autumn
leaves fall from the writers grasp and left lying
in the pram a baby silent as the graveyard
its bench chair stretching across the millennium
roads black with tyres the world bent into a curve
towards the car park mattered with people rushing
each with their eyes set inward their mouths set
to their distant friends ear a brush blur of movement
the water distorting the reflections as it always did
and never for this is flow from where the sky
bleeds into a distant stream one last time
entertainers come go pass this way that
leave laughter hanging in unremembered jokes
“did you see” “do you recall” “remember when”
no not really only eyes to record now the rest
a flickering screen with black white forgotten
wars recalled on a cenotaph a shop selling flowers
across a pavement to encourage death
and mothers who wait for their day to see if they are
remembered with each passing year
the face of town
***
PAGE1
a cabinet of curiosities
the glass cabinet was in
a small room off the kitchen
it stood in shadow against a wall
its contents hidden until you were close
enough to see a skull a stuffed bird
a rock cracked open to show crystals
like a miniature red grotto
there were other things
a native American headdress a Zulu shield
a gun
PAGE 2
from the mountain top
the footpath is clear
cut into the soil to expose the rock
like the broken crust on a pie
a stress line broken chipped away
along the ridge
PAGE 3
at the funeral the priest
called on everyone to think
about the big questions
life death God
he said it over several times until
the desperation to save a soul
crackled in the air like lightening
waiting to discharge
in any soul perhaps even his own
PAGE 4
the glass picks out the strands of light
braids it into coloured stripes
in the window it is Saint George
fighting a dragon with its fiery breath
across the chapel floor it falls like rain
in coloured pools
and like in the cinema I once knew
smoke this time from incense not cigarettes
reveals itself twisting in living shapes
trapped within the light beams
PAGE 5
the trip to Liverpool to meet with friends
hear their poems read some of mine
is short for me but
I see how far I wandered off the path
and now look to the stars
to guide me home
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