This used to be all
forest, not so long ago, and I could tell by the sorrow
that haunts the wide,
flat roads, that seeps out of the sense of openness,
something is missing,
something is wrenched askew, as the river runs.
The wind blows through,
in rolling gusts, baffled, and almost angry.
The wind is searching
for the Papaioea Forest. How beautiful it was.
Tonight, behind the
necklace of glittering lights below, is the darkness
which is the hills. Upon
them, when it is light, like many crucifixions,
the wind farm. Then the
long, ungainly arms swoop and seem to bless.
I will admit, to you,
that I have found Palmerston North disconcerting.
Abive is a taster of Jennifer Compton's
poem Palmy - the rest is on the
Tuesday Poem hub. Mary McCallum is the editor.
Mākaro Press makaropress@gmail.com
O Audacious Book www.mary-mccallum.blogspot.com
Tuesday Poem www.tuesdaypoem.blogspot.com
NZ Post Children's Book Awards www.nzpostbookawards.co.nz
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