I'll never walk Lagos's streets, for there I might not find German restaurant in which
To eat, or Russian grub? Or Maori food.? Or
Polo playing..Now dont think me rude.? But
If I arrived and they did not have
Chaucer plays or Tolstoy? I would
think them mad.? At least mono-cultural that most henious crime, in the west its been uncovered umpteen times
I hope some camera crew or even two do make a
Visit to see if such horrors are true.? No
Phantom of the opera in Eskimo.?
A real bad sign i'll have you to know,, yes they must be lectured if such is the case..Even berated! Right in their face.) And their
Land transformed, that they become much
More civilised.? Should that be the in
your place
Face.' Or faces of many? cause thats how its been for fifty pointless years on.' In the attacking of the
working western dream.)
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
From Patagonia to Portugal,
With its immaculate ice sheets,
Its purple sunsets,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
The mountains were so pink
And the rivers filled with salmon,
The sun made proud the Maori,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful,
From Tuscany to the vast Chile,
With its thousand-year-old forests,
Its pure rivers and its deserts,
AND yet, the earth was beautiful.
To see forever
I left the ship at the industrial part of the island
my tour of duty was over and took a taxi to the other side
to take a ferry to town.
At the café near the ferry landing, I drank a few beers glad
my work was done thought about what to do in the coming
days of freedom from the confinement of life at sea.
Since I had hours to wait, I bought a fishing line, hook and
a sinker, as bait, I used banana skin (it was all I had)
The water was so glass clear it appeared limitless I could
see the fishes swimming about and the seagrass slowly
waved with the mild current.
Bending forward, so fascinating looking down into a watery
world, with water so pure, it was as if the fish was swimming
in the clouds, thought of the Maori fable when the sky and
water was one, and life had yet to be born.
Somehow in my dreaming trance, I fell into the sea, people
came running, falsely commiserating over my mishap.
In the backroom of the café, I changed into dry clothes.
You wake me nearly every night
with your incessant guttural cries.
Tell me what’s wrong and how
is it the spotted owl is so wise.
I think you wake me on purpose,
you eerily laugh at my expense.
I say stop this ridicule, stop this
high pitched shrieking nonsense.
Anyway who cares about some
ruffled wide-eyed morepork
that’s frightened by the light,
who eats things like rats and mice
on a dark starry moonlit night.
The native Maori call you ruru,
it’s true I smiled when I heard.
You don’t have coloured feathers -
a poor excuse for a bird.
So go and trouble someone else,
find another place to hide.
And forgive me like I forgive you,
let’s both swallow our pride.
Written: 1991
Moreporks are native
New Zealand owls.
With a call like a Kuia,
the wail commenced our ride.
Gently bathed by mighties
Marama and Matariki,
our path lay clear and bright.
Ko Te Tohoraa, the nurturer,
hikers nestled nicely by her nipple.
Strolling on with Te Tohoraa,
on a breathless yet perfect stride.
Honoured journeys
both near and far,
are lovingly remembered with aroha.
Memories remain with such sunny smiles,
and a staunch salute to
Te Tohoraa.
______________________
Ika Moana: Traditional name for a Whale.
Kuia: an elderly woman, especially a female relative or ancestor.
Marama: Clear, light, moon.
Matariki: Matariki is the Maori name for the cluster of stars also known as the Pleiades
Te Tohoraa: The Whale. Also, the name affectionately given to a 1998 Toyota Dyna - campervan that I recently had the utmost pleasure of driving (and holidaying) for 1300km. Hence this tribute!
Aroha: Love
The All Blacks played Australian Rules
Maori men against young fools
Butt a stroke of luck
In a muddy ruck
Quite promptly diminished their tools
Beholding a stark-naked Kiwi
Prince Charles was bewildered: "What see we?”
His butler replied,
all blushed and wide-eyed:
“Your highness, a Maori… wee-wee."
Maori legend
twisted pohutukawa-
the place of leaping
Shady Sail Ills Forgotten,
Crests and Peaks Roll with the Laugh-in’.
Eyes and Heirs Make No Bones,
No Want Nor Wish, To Know 'the Jones.’
Tis Where You Rise,
Tis Where You’ll Lay,
There's Nowhere Else, Like T1Bay.
About a cool suburb called Tiitahi (Tee Tah He) Bay in a city called Porirua, Wellington Aotearoa-New Zealand. 'Ti' (tee) is the Maori word for a Cabbage Tree. 'Tahi' means number one or single in Maori.
Away with work
Up Kaitaia way
I’d driven for miles
I’d driven all day.
In a beautiful place
I was feeling alone
So great was the distance
Between me and my home.
I came round a corner
To see works on the road
What gave me the grin
Was a sight to behold.
A stop go lady
She was dancing and moving
Jiggling the booty
Twirling and grooving
Funky and crazy
Not a care in the world
As I unwound the window
A smile she unfurled.
A gap toothed grin
From a proud Maori face
I told her she’d struck me
By her style and her grace.
“Bro it’s OK,
It’s easy to me
When I’m out in the open
Feeling so free
Some think I’m crazy
But I don’t really care
They don’t know my story
The music, only I hear.”
Then she boogied me through
As I beamed and I waved
A new rule for my future
On that day she paved.
4th October 2015
* Based on a true story
There was a wild drink-craving pair
Who an Aussie airliner’s fuel did share.
It made in their guts masses of gases
Propelling them south via their asses.
Maori swear they’re Maero from thin air.
Garage
stacked high
scribbled stenos of
an automatic act
of little understanding or thought-------------
{tuhituhi}
visceral finality
zero return
zero reward
and then there's
a learning disability hindering the reading-------------
{panui}
writing
is taking a dump,
except after wiping, I tend to take a peek
this creative act ill affords a 2nd glance
a good day and bet the writing stinks... boring
jail or hospital equals readers galore
"TELL ME MORE!"
could correlate with occupancy rates
what a sorry excuse of a poet I am
damn if that ain't sayin' much.-----------
{paru}
~editor's note: Poetry Soup would not let the beautiful Urdu script be seen, so I substituted Maori~ :(
Only an inspired mortal such as I,
could feel the stimuli
synonymously woven in unison with the indigenous people,
who for centuries have inhabited this place.
The ‘Aotearoa Northland Maori’
Relating their verbal legends of old
complementing one’s majestic stance
here in the wilderness, a place where
the ancient Gods of Olympus would feel at home.
Here! I also stand in awe of you ‘Manaia’ guardian of the bay,
you with your shadowy creation which intimidates the serene waters
of the Pacific Ocean, lying dormant below.
Mortified crag laden face appearing to cry out
for assistance to the wayward breeze,
that it may hasten the removal of the ghostly grey veil,
compounded precariously within your stony crown, only then,
permitting the radiance of the brand new day to
cast out the lingering nocturnal shadows,
exposing all that surrounds your
‘Monolithic presence’
© Harry J Horsman 2010
The traditional Maori language, is a dying language,
you can see this over the decades,
laws passed by the government,
forced it to be this way.
My ancestors where beaten in schools,
for what was deemed a forked tongue,
constantly shamed and ridiculed,
in front of everyone.
Being a proud race,
emotions weren't meant to be shared,
so they stopped speaking there language,
for the white man they feared.
The next generation struggled,
caught in a violent time,
there parents reluctant to teach them,
because fear was always on there mind.
With each generation following the same trend,
the language became harder to learn,
only remnants remain now,
of a proud race that just got burned.
The language most spoken now,
come form the city's, it has been transformed.
European Maori widely is accepted,
very rarely can the old language be learned.
M.Mahauariki © 2012
I'm viewed as a plastic Maori,
because of the way I choose to live life,
moving with westerns trends,
away from traditional life.
This is all I have known,
being city born,
I did try to learn my Tikanga,
but I was severely scorned.
Don't talk that white trash they reckon,
what are you trying to prove,
bloody plastic Maori,
you ain't Tuturu.
From this point on wards,
I've struggle to fit in,
not knowing where I belong,
my identity taken.
I went back to my white world,
broke free from that cast,
forging my own identity,
free from there past.
The reason Maori struggle now,
there too wrapped up in the past,
they really need to change,
because the western world is changing fast.
(Tiikanga - Maori Culture.
Tuuturu - True)
M.Mahauariki © 2012
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