MATTERS OF LAND

At this point -
here, at Te Ahupatiki ,
figures would come out of the mist
along the edge of a volcano
& down to the bays
to debate & desist in matters of land;

men from Waihora -
that glassy, triangular slice of water
where they caught blank-eyed eels in trenches;

men from the spit Kaitorete,
that troubled & haunted wedge of land
between lake and ocean;

& along the edge
of the long harbour Whangaraupo
where deep water currents lie
tattooed across the surface,
& where the winds of good fortune
kept Cook's swivel guns
out of the harbour entrance;

then to the bush Motuhikarehu
over Purau Bay -
that fine selection of native flora
that would slip easily into a back pocket
for a few hundred guineas
and some sharp talk;

& to return under the dark hills
walking empty-handed
out of the clouds.

Glossary
Te Ahupatiki is Mount Herbert on Banks Peninsula.
Waihora is Lake Ellesmere.
Whangaraupo is Lyttelton Harbour.

NOT MY KIND OF PAINTING

I've been to The Ice
& I've been in The Hut -
Though I'll say
I thought I saw Scott
Looking through The Window at me,
But it was my reflection -
You could have knocked me over
With a feather -
He had me there for a second or two,
Well, you've got to laugh;

I've been to The Ice
More times than you've had
Hot Dinners -
And we had a few
While The Wind sniffed & struggled
Around on his knees,
Shaking The Hut
And slipping threats under The Door
And down The Flue:

At night, yes, through the cracking of Ice,
We thought we could hear the bodies
Of Large Animals moving against The Door
& the air most certainly howled
Like a lost dog
Yes - not my kind of painting.

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