They came, put up the barriers
The village will be urbanized
The glass and cement area
They’ll set before our eyes
A block of shoe-box houses
More cruel teens around
One day your shirts and trousers
You'll find down on the ground
Must order electronic lock
Put on the fence a wire net
And get yourself a watchdog
In case you haven’t got it yet
Here comes the urban good
The village fears come true
Pay more for meds and food
Get less, and claim “I knew!”
Walk Home
In urban life, something is lost
Civilization is a plasticized life
Fashionable term of blindness
Oh, this is a wrong assessment!
We live in a contemporary world!
See lies as truth, and don’t think!
This is the key to modern life!
Drugged and deceived masses
By economic psychology, reined!
They enjoy this life
I am not domesticated
I am not urbanized
Live in nature
Without mass
And walk alone
That’s the life
Love of life
Meet with God
Of parrots and parakeets, no one knows
now numbering in the thousands
no longer Mexico's bucolic birds
new urbanized citizens migrated
to the suburbs.
If you travel to Los Angeles and county
where hobo avians flock to Pepperdine
hoping to matriculate to paradise..
Pasadenans know the raucous calls from palms
festooned in bright feathers and pheromones.
Should you wish to elicit a response
from a Red-crowned Amazon..
just ask any witch cat which hungers
with an acute accessory olfactory
rife in feline grin and purpose
eye'n the skies cheerfully.
And somewhere Marianne Faithfull warbles
'this little bird who lives on the wind,
this little bird that somebody sends.'
they're listening too, with a coo and squawk
o'er the skies of Silverlake
and Eagle Rock.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This Little Bird sung by Marianne Faithfull - Lyrics by J.D. Loudermilk 1965
Being a half breed,
isn't easy for me,
caught between worlds,
which you will soon see.
Not white enough to be European,
but I adhere to a lot of there beliefs,
the white Maori,
education wasn't a relief.
Not brown enough for the Maori's,
many traditional values have been lost,
seen as a traitor to the cause,
living the white way has it's cost.
I'm seen as an plastic Maori,
because I've been urbanized,
constantly burned at both ends,
because I won't pick a side.
There is no middle ground,
a side has to be chosen,
so long have they been fighting,
I don't want there poison.
Not white enough, not brown enough,
not even allowed to be in the middle,
so I will just be a kiwi,
because finding balance is a hard riddle.
M.Mahauariki © 2012
It feels like today
is falling into place
when I determine your face
It is bright…
A touch of light
is shone
as glorious as the sun
Then I slip on my own face
What a fine day
I’m not ashamed to say it
It’s a perfect occasion to say it
I can’t believe it’s happening
so abruptly,
intruding a long,
fatigued day
I’m just rolling along
Beside the ocean
Behind the mountains
Lift up my lowly spirits
Laughing maniacally
like a freaky clown
This fine day…
Soon withers away
with murky clouds
turning my smile
into a frown
singing tenderly
a most calming rhythm
sending dismay
in my urbanized bones
Hiking…climbing
on vast mountains
caught in the tone
of my withering voice
and it’s about time I rejoice
better than earning a fortune
the way I sing that tune
will flip the day like a dime
revolving the night to day
echoing the same tune
like a lullaby
The time is coming soon
What a fine day
I’m not ashamed to say it
It’s a perfect occasion to say it
I can’t believe it’s happening,
but I must roam
home and sparkle
my duty
and fulfill
My fine day
no more dismay
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