Throughout her three year contract
the young teacher in 1950’s Fiji
prepared young Fijians at high school
for university and skilled employment
as Fiji grew into the post war world.
Born to young English immigrants
struggling to start married life
far from Mother England’s poverty
she put herself through university
in New Zealand as her parents
supported their children in education
to higher employment.
A young Englishman taught beside her,
having put himself through university
supported by low income parents through
education to higher employment.
The young couple’s three years together
blossomed richly. Yet each craved the
return home to family and homeland
to support their generous parents.
In great anger they separated to
their far distant homelands never
to meet or communicate again.
In her hospital bed twenty years later
she had met no one else who fulfilled
her. As cancer devoured her last days
…… she wondered …… what if ……
she had gone home with him ……
Previously posted February 2017
Designated poets, esteemed writers
at a national poetry magazine
scrutinised my submitted poems
among a vast heap of others.
From his faraway megacity office
the editor telephoned me to mentor me.
Excited that an eminent literary figure
should call me I jotted down his words.
My mood flattened as he spoke of
writing sounds and words in patterns
and juxtapositions, auditory and visual,
of deftness with obscure metaphors.
What about the people ? The story ?
I wondered. What about everyday lives
of everyday people in an everyday world ?
Awed by his stature I said nothing.
He told of his writing’s rejection here
seventy years ago, his joy as his style
then his poems were accepted, published
overseas then in our own country.
Now he was highly regarded by the
highly regarded literati of the west.
today his style is esteemed, but not mine.
Yet the internet releases me from
the need to find publication in
local and overseas print runs.
The world wide web
brings worldwide forums
in a worldwide range.
Previously posted February 2017
One of our family members who was the main caregiver of their young children has sustained severe injuries which will keep her on crutches or possibly in a wheel chair for some weeks. Her self employed partner needs to keep working to support their family financially. The rest of us, especially the oldies, will have to assist where possible.
This may restrict my available time to follow blogs, to comment on or like them, during this time. If time permits I will post on my usual three days a week, but the posts will be poems I posted a while back. I do hope to keep up with you all.
A bold black email subject line
” …… is turning 70 …… ” !?!
A shock greeting in my inbox.
I had become accustomed privately
within myself to yet another decade.
But this sudden blaring forth quite
dismantled my equilibrium.
Yet I could not object to such happy
good intentions by energetic younger
relatives planning this celebration.
Turning 20 was exciting
then each successive decade was
an uneasy milestone …. 30, 40, 50, 60.
Father passed in his nineties.
Mother’s unhealthy family genes
lasted into her eighties. I may have
two more decade milestones yet.
Public opinion deems us old by 50.
A clear demarcation sets us apart
half my life will be old age.
Employers ignore us after 50.
Unknown young people object if we
join their conversations. How dare we !
But a bright light has risen
above the horizon.
After years of paying taxes
I am paid a retirement pension.
I am enjoying my old age
with family and friends.
Previously posted February 2017.