Sewing Presents

Under Nana’s sewing desk
a pleasant sunny warmth
filled the arching space
for the seamstress’ knees
where Brownie luxuriated
her ageing bones in its
cheerful healing cosiness.

Until this Christmas giving
season approached when
Nana sat at her sewing
machine creating shopping
bags, dolls’ dresses, t-shirts
and other crafty presents.

Brownie could only wonder
what possessed her this
year – hourts sitting at
that machine, sewing.

she sat hopefully with
her head on Nana’s knee
waiting long hours, yearning
eyes fixed on Nana’s
every move, sighing loudly

….until she finally regained
her cosy warm space.


Previously posted February 2018.

Sewing Presents

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 with get well
cards on a nearby shelf.

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


Previously posted January 2018.

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 gravel particles
in my blood stream clogging
tiny veins in my furthest
extremities maybe to rip
and shred the tiniest veins.


Previously posted January 2018.

Feet

In The Dentist’s chair

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

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


Previously posted January 2018.

In The Dentist’s chair

A Feisty Child

An unborn child
thumbed it nose at
political convention after
its prime ministerial mother’s
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.

This feisty infant joined
two other tiny 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.

The iron willed mother and
child carried on regardless.

Footnote: Jacinda Ardern unexpectedly became the Labour party’s leader on 1st August 2017 and immediately stopped all efforts 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 doomsayers predicting problems but MP mothers have continued in our parliament. jacinda’s baby joined two other babies in parliament after her birth in 1918.


Previously posted January 2019.


A Feisty Child

Breaking The Drought

Many searing blazing weeks
roasted much of the country
blasted animal food crops
baked vegetable crops in
arid market gardens
beat down on thirsty orchards, lawns only
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.


Previously posted January 2018.

Breaking The Drought

Deluge

The deafening uproar of
a black skies solid deluge
explodes on our long low roof.

An opaque curtain of water
cascades from the guttering
over our narrow pathway
on to clotheslines in its
weighty uproar on to
the back path torrent.

the front driveway is
drowned in a vast lake
front street to back fence.

Several days rainfall
has arrived all at once.


Previously posted January 2018.

Deluge

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.


Previously posted January 2018

Drought

Changing Landscape

Green lawn and lush vegetable
gardens sprawled beyond Nana’s
windows and French doors.
surrounded by lush leafy trees.

The lawn sprouted daisies until
mowed, and a random spread
of dog toys ignored by their
elderly owner but still thrown
by hopeful grandchildren.

Silver beet packed densely into
a dark green mass, carrots sent
up a delicate feathery forest,
thick dense heads swelled
from cabbages and cauliflowers.
Strawberry plants covered their
own patch, covered themselves
by black stretchy bird netting.

Nana’s weak heart can no
longer nurture this garden.
The contractor mows grass
over the old back yard.


Previously posted December 2017.

Changing Landscape

He Is Gone

She rang me from her home
at the far end of the country.

“He is not here,” she said.

“Is he in hospital ?” I asked.

“They take me to see him
at the hospice every day.”

She said no more
did not answer me
hung up.

I wrote to her instead.

________________

She rang me from her home
at the far end of the country.

“He is …… he is ……” she said.

“I am so sorry he is gone,”
I replied.

I persuaded her to tell me
who stayed with her
who cared for her.

The small private funeral
he requested spared her
much distress.

They are helping her
supporting her at home.

But he is gone.


Previously posted November 2017.

He Is Gone