Driving Past The Blueberry Gardens.



Crouching shrouded figures 
Knelt in prayer

Mosquito netted children 
Tucked in with care

Misty white hillocks lined up in 
Snowy rows

Gauze covered bushes, green in the sun,
Birds shut out and fruit shut in






        ****************






  Garden Noises



Listen In.

Half the fun of being in the garden is to listen to what is going on, birds
singing, bees buzzing in the cat mint, flax blades clattering against each
other, but the other day I was sitting having tea in the morning sun, as
I watched, a breeze stirred the cream rose a couple of feet away from me
and some loose petals dropped onto gray river pebbles beneath it, what
amazed me was I could hear the large cream petals as they hit the stones, 
they made a small soft thud. How deafening life must be for garden insects






        ****************






       Winter Scene



How funny that children should be swimming there,
The water leapt and turned silver in the sun,
but no childish shrieks were heard,
The trees hung leafless and the river steamed in the cold winter air,
Suddenly a quack rang out, who but a
duck could be waterproof enough to enjoy that icy game.






                ****************





      Summer School at Waikato Polytech



      Do you know what they are doing in Natural Fibres, 
      they're sitting on the floor laughing 
      and eating apple short-cake
      that Royce has brought to the class
      surrounded by stones and piles of flax, 
      feathers woven into strands
      held by their toes
      sheets of broken gray glass draped with
      gum-tree bark , they're happy and laughing
      surrounded by their treasures.  
      

          
     
     
         ****************






                  on writing poetry



      From the journal of Katherine Mansfield, l9O4-l922
      'A poem should not be something which the maker spins out of 
      himself, but something external which he renders in verse as 
      faithfully as possible.  When Tennyson , for instance wrote,
      A million emeralds break from the ruby-budded lime,
      he did not make it at all. The lime tree made it, he just saw 
      it' (From an anonymous review.} Henorme!







             ********************





  
          Roses on top of a wall

      
      Giant balls of  "Sally Holmes" 
           lying on the wall
       has some careless bridesmaid 
          left them there and 
           run away to dance







               ************







      The cattle rose to their feet as I passed
      leaving beds of flattened leaves and grass
      Warm to the touch







               *********







             Spiders Way

      
      I walked towards the setting sun
      A silver path across my track,
      moving sideways as the sun's rays lit each spider strand.
      And when I turned to take the homeward track
      the silken stream had gone,
      each filament wiped out by the changing light.







              ************







             Autumn Days

      The dried plane leaf came bowling down the road,
      clattering on the metal as it went,
      The breeze died down and the leaf lay spent
      waiting for winter to dissolve it.




      (ed's note: metal is the grey loose crushed stone on unsealed roads)





                *************







      Mushroom picking with an old felt  hat 
      white grass spattered domes 
      with chocolate pink gills,
      filling the hat and over the brim .







              ***********






      the mist rose 
      softly and steadily through 
      the emerald grass
      turning white like
      a child's breath
      as it met the cold
      night air.




        
             **************






          Poplar Leaves 

      I love to hear the
      poplar leaves
      slapping in the wind, 
      each leathery leaf as it hits the other 
      makes quite a rain-drop sound.







          ***************







     a lapful of stones, 
     which word shall I pick,
     is it curtain or knife, 
     or deliver or end.
     Is it empty or blue
     or rhythm or water? 
     What about tambourine 
     or shadow or listen.
     They're short and they're round 
     and have plenty of sound.
     I think  I'll stand up and they'll fall to the ground.




 

       ******************





  
        Family History
   


      They sailed from Nova Scotia in l853
      the Hazard family,
      Sick and tired of cold and ice
      They wanted to be free.

      My great grandparents were missionary,
      by the maori much revered,
      One night a phantom canoe appeared
      and brought a chilling fear.
    
      What could happen on this calm lake
      where fish and heron swim,
      is this a terrible warning sign 
      of tragedy to come?
         
      A distant rumble started then,
      the folk in Rotorua heard it, 
      and puffs of smoke came from the crown 
      of brooding Mt. Tarawera.
    
      My grandmother Maude and sister Betty. 
      had gone to stay in Auckland 
      the change of air would suit the girls 
      so weak from scarlet fever.
   
      Great grand-father Charles stood at the door
      the mountain was on fire,
      "Stay inside and hold the babe ,
      he is so very young."
  
      "Ruth take Charles , the air is thick,
      and to the hen-house run,
      God has wrought what he has wrought
      and all we can do is pray."
  
      The beam fell on my great grand-mother
      the babe she held was killed
      My great grand-fathers mouth was filled with ash 
      and the lava burnt like hell.
      
      Poor Uncle Charles and nurse maid Ruth,
      were killed by poisonous gases,
      the lava  flowed and flowed and flowed 
      and all was quiet and still.
    
      Poor old  Sophie  survived alone,
      buried in her small Whare, 
      The Maori came and fed her food,
      The Tapu had been lifted. 
       
   
     
copyright Gael Levin.  The Tarawera Eruption.