A Bumper Crop

A cool wet summer
expelled our usual drought
to the disgust of those
preferring baking
temperatures, bright blue
skies, blazing sunshine.

Now in icy winter
the neighbours’ mandarin
tree at our fence
surprises us with a
heavy crop of little
juicy orange citrus gems.

It used to sprout these
little fruits randomly under
its leafy canopy. Green leaves
would quiver, flip upside down
as silvereyes dived into
its orange clusters for a
succulent feast of insects
and irridescent ladybugs.

Now the silvereyes shelter
from icy winds and freezing
rain while we harvest this
bumper crop as best we can.

A Bumper Crop

Sorry (3)

For two hundred and twenty
years white settlers poured
off their ships, later their planes
on to the continent’s coastal
areas establishing towns trade
businesses industry, white culture
spreading inland to farm crops
livestockaround market towns.

For many millennia the continent’s
original inhabitants hunter gatherers
had roamed the continent’s deserts
grasslands, abundant coasts.
Now they faced an alien race
with an alien culture which
deemed them worthless.

So two cultures crossed paths,
crossed purposes, the new culture
prevailed. The continent’s original
race went under, struggled then
and now, gradually hauls itself
out of the dark murky morass.

After two hundred and twenty
years the white government
apologised to the brown race
which still has far to go to
rediscover themselves, find
their true identity and culture.

 

Sorry (3)

Sorry (2)

In 1881 in a tiny rural village
on fertile volcanic land
an indigenous community went
about their daily rounds, tended
fields, gardens, animals, baked
bread, children played outside
………… in 1881 …………

White settlers fleeing dire
poverty in their home country
craved this fertile land, told
their government it should be
theirs. So their army moved
on this village, claiming false
ownership boundary disputes.

This pacifist village and their
leaders in peaceful passive
resistance stayed still as this
army approached, attacked men
and children, raped women
arrested men, took them away
to prison, drove women and
children off their traditional land.

136 years later descendants of
villagers and soldiers met again
in ceremonial gathering at the
village. The government paid
reparations, apologised.

So late, after so many years.
We hope this helps them
along the paths they seek.

Sorry (2)

Sorry (1)

Twenty first century governments
aplolgise for failures to meet their
job descriptons which is a forward
step in democracy but will it change
their future attitudes and directions ?

Over fifty years ago our
government sent fit trained
soldiers from our regular
army to fight an unpopular
war far away, some to be
injured, some killed. As they
returned from tours of duty
they were quietly slipped out
airport back doors to evade
angry protesters against that
far away war, their injuries,
their dead never acknowledged.

Over thirty years later the
government apologised for
this lack of recognition and
support, held victory parades
for the servicemen who had
followed government orders.

In heavy irony the government
spokesperson had been active
in those long ago protests.

The apology was appreciated
but the lost thirty odd years
were not brought back.

Sorry (1)

Far Away

In her early fifties with
grown children flown, yet
no one in her life replacing
the long gone husband, while
her erratic workplace called
for voluntary redundancies,
her thoughts turned to the
family friend who had often
visited on business from
his distant home country.

After his next visit
they increased emails and
long distance phone calls.
Finally she was ready,
took redundancy on her
workplace’s next call,
sold up, moved far away
to his home for her
country would not allow
him to live with her there.

His country allowed her to
live there in a happy life and
marriage for over ten years.

Until her body betrayed her,
tiny blood vessels burst in
her brain letting go of her
memories so that she only
wanted to be in the land
she used to know for
over fifty years.

He could not live there
with her, to care for her.

She could no longer
live alone.

Far Away

Welfare Office Visit

As I approached the downtown
welfare office for an official
form for my latest phase of
the paid up pensioners’ club
two security guards stopped
me at the glass front door.

Name, appointment time, reasons
for visit, ID, they required.
I gawped at them, no appointment,
only requesting a form.  They accepted
my pensioner gold card for ID.

Welfare offices here have
recently had threatening visits,
knives flourished, staff shot.
I know they must stay safe.

I still feel little old ladies
are unlikely to shoot welfare
staff but maybe I am wrong.

Welfare Office Visit