Watch, Trump’s on hunt on Gaza front--
Battlefront turns to waterfront,
For the land all of rocks
Let me think out of box…
In place filled with craters
Ah casino caters,
Like Panama, Greenland,
Mexico, our northland,
Think, ideas I have abundant.
___________________
Happenings |17.02.2025| USA, Political, humour
Note: Trump may be a president, but he also is a realtor.
It’s a cold and damp, early-winter night in New Zealand. People are crouching in the dark throughout the forests and farmlands of Northland, They are here this night to coincide with the waning moon, so moonlight doesn’t disturb any hoped for visitors. Scattered, shivering, silent and hushed through the long night, they sit, quietly, and listen. The sound they’re all hoping for is a high-pitched, guttural croak of female kiwi or piercing cry of males looking for a mate. A sign that Aotearoa’s threatened, iconic kiwi has returned to patches of forests that had fallen silent. [Play the sound to hear what they heard]
Sound Prints
in silent forests
plaintive calls of male kiwis
herald a return
Winter's been cancelled in this frozen northland
Predicting the high 80s, a tropical winter so grand
Pinch me, must be dreaming
Or they've mixed up the seasons
Gonna vacation on Manitoulin Island to get my winter tan
Waves crash with word from Scotland
Warblers answer with yawning skies
Rocks washed up from last night's storm
Blaspheme glory, fought for Rome
Pushcarts filled with bravery tell
Of battles waged, regret for sale
Winter scoured laws they passed
Before the titles pressed in clay
Gulls enjoyed a calm sea float
While Ravens spoke in lightning bolts
Far out to sea, inside my mind
Lilies dance and pour red wine
I'll pay two- pence if you will sell
That spruce bough's dream
The Vikings tell
When I look out, upon this earth
I see a land, that smiles with mirth
And when she smiles, back at me
I'll know my dreams
Rest
Peacefully
08/14/13
© All Rights Reserved
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
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