Christmas Day

On Christmas Day
the ginger tabby fell off
the garage roof, lay on
the ground crying pitifully

…his back legs and tail
just would not move.

Aunty Jane and Uncle Bob
rushed him to the vet for
an expensive present of
three days Christmas
vet hospital treatment
all to the standard expected
by the ginger tabby cat.

Very severe bruising but
nothing broken he’s home
again reclining on his
comfortable bed receiving
suitable attentions from
passersby his get well
cards on a nearby shelf.

And three times a day
physiotherapy treatment
for back legs and tail
by Aunty Jane.

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Christmas Day

Feet

Changing landscapes on the
soles of my feet transform
from natural feeling to
tingling pins and needles
to all white numbness.

They function as they always
have but feel rather strange
when elevated on bed or
footstool even in hot weather.

For diabetes has left its
microscopic sugar particles
in my blood stream clogging
tiny veins in my furthest
extremities maybe to rip
and shred the tiniest veins.

Feet

In The Dentist’s Chair

The confined view from
my dentist’s chair stretches
only to the hooded lamp above,
to dentist and assistant close
by on either side peering
into my mouth, prodding
poking gums teeth with
tubes tweezers prong drills
clamps dental string tiny mirror.
A narrow tray with a long
row of fine delicate instruments
hovers over my chest
my teeth x-rays shine
forth beside the assistant.

An hour horizontal
in the dentist’s chair.

Why do I do it ?

I remember my mother’s
woes with teeth when
drills were slow, when pain
was long and strong causing
her to switch from a
polite pre-dinner sherry to
multiple pre-dinner gins.

I endure short term trauma
to bypass repetitious
crumbling amalgam
pain in the future.

In The Dentist’s Chair

A Feisty Child

An unborn child has already
thumbed its nose at
political convention after
its prime ministerial parents’
long struggle to conceive.

In the uproar of a
helter skelter election
campaign this child began
its existence, continuing
its mother’s severe morning
sickness through lengthy
coalition negotiations.

Soon this feisty infant will
join two other tiny Labour
party parliamentary infants
in parliament’s baby room
and debating chamber
when visiting Mum with
stay at home Dad.

All hearing eagle eyed
journalists saw nothing
of the severe morning
sickness from election
climax to Christmas.

Iron willed mother and,
child carry on regardless.

Footnote: In June 2018, all going well, our prime minister Jacinda Ardern, will give birth to her first child who was probably conceived sometime around the extraordinary build up to New Zealand’s extraordinary election on 20 September 2018. 


Ms Ardern unexpectedly became the Labour party’s leader on 1st August 2017 and at once ceased all attempts to become pregnant after a long time trying.  Her baby ignored this.


New Zealand has had parliamentary babies with their MP mothers since the 1980’s.  There were doom sayers predicting problems but babies have continued in our parliament.

When the current Labour government took office last October, two young babies entered parliament with their MP mothers. Soon a third will join them. 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

her

A Feisty Child

Breaking The Drought

Many blazing searing weeks
roasted much of the country
blasted animal food crops
baked vegetable crops in
arid market gardens
beat down on thirsty orchards
shrank sluggish rivers to
minimal muddy flows.

Town gardens, lawns only
permitted a little water
on alternate nights
no sprinklers, swimming
pools not refilled, unwashed
cars dusty and dirty.

Ten weeks late rains
pounded the country side
raising streams rivers with
water branches rubbish
to flood roads gardens
erode grassy hillsides
send down mudslides
flood coastal homes with
stormy white capped waves
in murky king high tides
huge super moon driven.

At great cost to many
we have rain again.

Breaking The Drought

Drought

Scorching heat from blazing
blue skies baked town and
countryside alike for two
months of late spring early
summer as the skies withheld
their usual vital rainfall.

Now spasmodic showers and
floods sometimes drench
parched earth far too hot
for grass and crops to grow.

Sheep and cattle stand under
shelter trees eating winter
feed that should have been
stored for several months yet.

Beyond the trees fields
of burnt brown stubble
stretch for miles
bake in searing sun.

This is the first of  my original poems for 2018.

Drought