tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-54013349201244959752024-03-06T20:15:07.681+13:00Leicester Kyle TextsThe Collected Poetry Books of Leicester Hugo Kyle (1937-2006)Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.comBlogger37125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-28908277421600493412012-01-31T08:53:00.004+13:002018-10-04T09:42:54.501+13:00Site-map<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oKDcq7iHgHkVWGyOhTX0FqEFizvU4ZFF70H4VWNf8dW9V8TTTUtnTbv9WZMgpbFuDE52WBebGDrf5buBftteUPdb_lqiBPuwCBNXILYueAuyGaNJX06Jff3FaZ0eabvt65jYHS8HEvM8/s1600/by+the+longdrop.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582559790521618082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9oKDcq7iHgHkVWGyOhTX0FqEFizvU4ZFF70H4VWNf8dW9V8TTTUtnTbv9WZMgpbFuDE52WBebGDrf5buBftteUPdb_lqiBPuwCBNXILYueAuyGaNJX06Jff3FaZ0eabvt65jYHS8HEvM8/s400/by+the+longdrop.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 269px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Leicester in Millerton</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;">[photograph: Jack Ross (2000)]</span></div>
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<blockquote>
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This site is intended as a clearing-house for information about the life and works of the late Reverend Leicester Kyle: environmentalist, poet, scientist and priest.<br />
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When Leicester died in 2006, he appointed David Howard and me as his literary executors. As a result, we inherited the two large fileboxes which contained (in approximate chronological order) all of the poems he wished to preserve. David was also able to make a copy of the latest state of his computer hard-drive at the time of his death, which has proved invaluable in compiling this collection of his poetry and other works.<br />
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What I've done here, in an attempt to fulfill the trust Leicester placed in us, is to set up two companion sites, one - <a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/">Leicester Kyle</a> - devoted to bibliographies and indexes, and this one - <a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/">Leicester Kyle Texts</a> - devoted to transcripts and facsimiles of his various books and poems. The first site aspires to provide complete listings of all primary and secondary material by and about Leicester; the second to be more selective: providing complete texts of each of the major books and a selection of the shorter poems.<br />
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It's our hope that these twin sites will grow over time. In particular, there are a number of works which we no longer have copies of - especially Leicester's various short stories and longer works of fiction. We'd be grateful to <a href="mailto:J.R.Ross@massey.ac.nz">receive information</a> about these or any other material we've overlooked. Copies of (or links to) other articles, photographs, reviews or tributes to Leicester would also be very welcome.<br />
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So be sure to check the <a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2012/01/updates.html">Updates</a> page on this blogsite, where new events or initiatives related to Leicester will be recorded as they come to hand ...<br />
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- Jack Ross, Mairangi Bay, July 2011-January 2013</div>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•<br /><br /><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/contents.html">Contents</a></span></b></div>
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<ol><b>Poetry:</b><br />
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/koroneho-1996.html"><i>Koroneho: Joyful News out of the New Found World</i></a> (1996-2001)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/options-1997.html"><i>Options</i></a> (1996-1997)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/state-houses-1997.html"><i>State Houses</i></a> (1997)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/voyge-to-new-zealand-1997.html"><i>A Voyge to New Zealand: The Log of Joseph Sowry, Translated and Made Better</i></a> (1997)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/heteropholis-1998.html"><i>Heteropholis</i></a> (1998)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/machinery-for-pain-1999.html"><i>A Machinery for Pain</i></a> (1999)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/safe-house-for-man-2000.html"><i>A Safe House for a Man</i></a> (2000)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/five-anzac-liturgies-2000.html"><i>Five Anzac Liturgies</i></a> (2000)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/christmas-book-2000.html"><i>A Christmas Book</i></a> (2000)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/02/great-buller-coal-plateaux-2001.html"><i>The Great Buller Coal Plateaux: A Sequence of Poems</i></a> (2001)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/king-of-bliss-2002.html"><i>King of Bliss</i></a> (2002)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html"><i>A Wedding in Tintown</i></a> (2002)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html"><i>Dun Huang Aesthetic Dance</i></a> (2002)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html"><i>Things to Do with Kerosene</i></a> (2002)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html"><i>8 Great O’s</i></a> (2003)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html"><i>Panic Poems</i></a> (2003)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html"><i>Living at a Bad Address</i></a> (2004)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html"><i>Miller Creek</i></a> (2004)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html"><i>Anogramma</i></a> (2005)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html"><i>Breaker: A Progress of the Sea</i></a> (2005)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html">Pamphlets & Ephemera</a> (1996-2005)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 1 (1983-1995)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 2 (1995-1996)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 3 (1996-1997)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 4 (1997-1998)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 5 (1998-1999)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 6 (1999-2004)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html">Selected Shorter Poems</a>: 7 (2004-2006)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html"><i>The Galapagos Tracts</i></a> (unpublished: c.1999-2006)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html"><i>God Poems</i></a> (unpublished: c.2005)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html"><i>The Millerton Sequences</i></a> (2014)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html"><i>Message from a Lightboard</i></a> (unpublished: 1996)</li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html">Miscellaneous Poems</a></li>
<br /><b><br />Prose:</b><br />
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/prose-fiction.html">Prose Fiction</a></li>
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<li><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html">Miscellaneous Prose</a></li>
</ol>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHEIRXSaWjATCh0A_Q-tenlSTex6yKDLBlu-xPSfX_eae7L167FP1eMJWQfLHFzHG6h_uu5-Z8yV6MaeoxFhRu2qBVBJ04-xdo-ORNZi-TaXl-NXnmWvv0VDIPBiQXH-Ao92BRpGGLMKs/s1600/buller+plateau.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582565503471053474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHEIRXSaWjATCh0A_Q-tenlSTex6yKDLBlu-xPSfX_eae7L167FP1eMJWQfLHFzHG6h_uu5-Z8yV6MaeoxFhRu2qBVBJ04-xdo-ORNZi-TaXl-NXnmWvv0VDIPBiQXH-Ao92BRpGGLMKs/s400/buller+plateau.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 268px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">The Buller Plateau</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 78%;">[photograph: Jack Ross (2000)]</span></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-62126808726683871242012-01-25T07:35:00.010+13:002017-11-26T10:54:12.999+13:00Miscellaneous Prose<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQx7-yfo7QPWvPKfFAz6q_nc5Lfqm8W0rXV-QyupvnIRYp106YilLMA9IFgmoGDbUZLtj83fqmtA5qJmcos1s3KbnEOaz4o1hImeSVkjHOdnYHIPWixIwqxeAAqEkM0rPGr644OjJ8LY/s1600/scan0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqQx7-yfo7QPWvPKfFAz6q_nc5Lfqm8W0rXV-QyupvnIRYp106YilLMA9IFgmoGDbUZLtj83fqmtA5qJmcos1s3KbnEOaz4o1hImeSVkjHOdnYHIPWixIwqxeAAqEkM0rPGr644OjJ8LY/s400/scan0003.jpg" width="284" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-thirty-five.html">Articles, Essays, Reviews</a></span></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Literary & Autobiographical</span></b></div>
<br />
<ol><b>General:</b><br />
<br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">Curriculum Vitae</a> (2000)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Sign-off: Aesthetics</a> [2 pp.] (2001)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">A Public for Poetry</a> [4 pp.] (c.2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Peninsula Days</a>: A Memoir of Joanna Paul [5 pp.] (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">A Letter from Buller</a> [2 pp.] (2006)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">When cousin Jill rang me</a> ... (2006)</li>
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<b>Editorials:</b><br />
<br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title=""><i>Spin</i> 29</a> (Summer 1997)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title=""><i>Spin</i> 32</a> (November 1998)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title=""><i>Spin</i> 35</a> (November 1999)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title=""><i>Spin</i> 38</a> (November 2000)</li>
<br />
<b>Reviews:</b><br />
<br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title=""><i>Red</i></a>: poems by Richard Taylor (1996)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title=""><i>Sleeper</i></a>, by John Dickson (1998)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title=""><i>Spin</i></a>: Short Reviews (1998)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title=""><i>Spin</i></a>: Some Short Reviews (1998)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title=""><i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i></a> (1999)</li>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Botanical & Ecological</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>General:</b><br />
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<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Respect the Plants</a> ... (2003)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Celmisia Morganii</a> (n.d.)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">Orchids of The Buller Coal Plateau </a> (n.d.)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">Comings and Goings</a> [2 pp.] (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">Orchids in a Ghost Town</a> [5 pp.] (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">The Botany of the North Buller Moors</a> [9 pp.] (2006)</li>
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<b>Notes on Millerton:</b><br />
<br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">Millerton Park</a> (2003)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">Postscript</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">The Millerton Reserve</a> [2 pp.] (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">MAPPS AGM</a>: President's report [2 pp.] (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">Millerton</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">Millerton Heritage Park</a> [2 pp.] (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">The Information Centre</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">Fauna of the Park</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">Flora</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">Historical Sites</a> (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">The Old Stockton Track</a>: Species List (2004)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn33" name="_ftnref33" title="">Millerton Town Plan</a> (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn34" name="_ftnref34" title="">Millerton Park Signing</a> (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn35" name="_ftnref35" title="">Millerton Tracks</a> (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn36" name="_ftnref36" title="">The Old Pack Track</a> (2005)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn37" name="_ftnref37" title="">The Waterfall Track</a> (2005)</li>
</ol>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Curriculum Vitae</span></b></a><b><br />
(2000)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRa-jSSbNjN9DryUGu-oOaL-362DgjpYNJz-h8VZvNLjQhRY_2iE4ACVzkW_AV2NZkvvwGXBFxZGRh3RSfVqy2pMXITAvIAR1wlia8Ju3VjMR0o4eLeSukdsL7-O2hWEJWaOWK-xUXBmg/s1600/cv+2000.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587377292890694210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBRa-jSSbNjN9DryUGu-oOaL-362DgjpYNJz-h8VZvNLjQhRY_2iE4ACVzkW_AV2NZkvvwGXBFxZGRh3RSfVqy2pMXITAvIAR1wlia8Ju3VjMR0o4eLeSukdsL7-O2hWEJWaOWK-xUXBmg/s400/cv+2000.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Leicester Hugo Kyle.</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
b.1937 in Ch.Ch.<br />
<br />
First took up botany as a career, and worked in the Ch.Ch. Botanical Gardens, then turned to theology, and was ordained an anglican priest at the age of 26. Remained in this work until retirement at the age of 60, on the illness of my wife. I have worked as a parish priest in many parts of N.Z. and in England, and have travelled widely.<br />
<br />
During my life I have written a great deal, though always against the demands of my occupation. I have had articles, short stories, and poems published in many places, including London Magazine, the N.Z. Listener, the Ch.Ch. Press, Poetry NZ., Sport, Takahe, Printout, Pander, and the journal of experimental poetry—A Brief Description of the Whole World. My poetry is increasingly appearing in anthologies,such as the Auckland Poetry Live ‘Tongue in Your Ear’ and the recent school anthologies published from Waikato university.<br />
<br />
After the death of my wife I moved from Auckland to Buller, the better to continue my interest in botany, and to write. I have published a number of books privately, excerpts from which have regularly appeared in “A Brief Description of the Whole World’. These include:<br />
<ul><br />
<li><i>Colenso</i> — Poetry written upon the disputed botanical discoveries of William Colenso, the missionary/botanist/explorer/printer.</li>
<li><i>A Voyge To N.Z.</i> — Poetry made from the diary of William Sowry, a colonist.</li>
<li><i>Options</i> — Poetry based upon various Christian spiritualities.</li>
<li><i>The Galapagos Tracts</i> — Poetry based upon material in the first ten issues of ‘The Transactions of the N.Z. Institute’ (1867-1876).</li>
<li><i>Heteropholis</i> — A poetic fantasy — the world seen through the eyes of a gecko captive in a Remuera apartment.</li>
</ul>
<br />
My first commercial publication has been ‘A Safe House For a Man’, published in July 2000 by Polygraphia. Until now my main purpose has been to assemble a good body of writing. In general I write mostly about the meeting of the individual with a formalised code or text, generally scientific, and write from a long experience. ‘Five Anzac Liturgies’ is about the community fulfilling a formalised ritual of expectation.<br />
<br />
At present I am working on ‘The People’, poetry made from a sociological analysis of a West Coast Wedding. I am much involved in my community and am engaged in some conservation issues.</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Sign-off: Aesthetics</span></b></a><b><br />
(2001)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAVm44_g16PZuuTnC6A8LtY6xFBxxdWiyydJoqcJs_kIo3gR4uyPkkvSCNVQvKjcUiNrOGaSme9_IQIfKK30iFKOYiyU4tGNiiJY2Zr8NI0aIhDFcKJSN-rOufd9TsfzVlPXlAE03bKM/s1600-h/brief+20+%286-01%29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143322491716047778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvAVm44_g16PZuuTnC6A8LtY6xFBxxdWiyydJoqcJs_kIo3gR4uyPkkvSCNVQvKjcUiNrOGaSme9_IQIfKK30iFKOYiyU4tGNiiJY2Zr8NI0aIhDFcKJSN-rOufd9TsfzVlPXlAE03bKM/s320/brief+20+(6-01).jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFIlDw9ib9Do9xqlWjV5mdFGn6xeuLhwJMhjAEOcCegH8k8IRY5mb-aWRvCgpWd2JTCxMolD6FeWF_1KgxpgXZZViVGS4N60AKXs_PBGmi7lofTbQBD5y69hZ_3FPbGtQ-OsEgK0rUqY/s1600/scan0018.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716124683821064962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeFIlDw9ib9Do9xqlWjV5mdFGn6xeuLhwJMhjAEOcCegH8k8IRY5mb-aWRvCgpWd2JTCxMolD6FeWF_1KgxpgXZZViVGS4N60AKXs_PBGmi7lofTbQBD5y69hZ_3FPbGtQ-OsEgK0rUqY/s400/scan0018.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WEuLYnT42by5cgJNQpry85FEp7f8yUw0UKPgPjPeEN3fZSj4tRH2Lbis4Nf9yGxllzwK11yaEDLtbMXvVGEdlGmcztD45wQXC32Xn6GC0itg2HYuzrPRS47HcZY4hfp0VqTnPg__ak8/s1600/scan0019.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5716124612848420706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0WEuLYnT42by5cgJNQpry85FEp7f8yUw0UKPgPjPeEN3fZSj4tRH2Lbis4Nf9yGxllzwK11yaEDLtbMXvVGEdlGmcztD45wQXC32Xn6GC0itg2HYuzrPRS47HcZY4hfp0VqTnPg__ak8/s400/scan0019.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a></div>
<blockquote>
<br />
I am much embarrassed by my own aesthetic, and wonder if it’s morally defensible. It has been with me from infancy, so taken for granted that until most recently I had assumed it was an invariable part of the human condition; the discovery that this is not so is a late one, and leads me to doubt that humour can be a permissible aesthetic, however subtle or profound. The title of the book that is beside me at this moment—‘The Divine Comedy. 1.Hell’ – leads me to a labyrinth of reflection, without doubt that this is how it is, the ‘it’ being life, existence, matter ‘it’self—that at the centre of all being there is the paradoxical, the inappropriate, as a matter of course. I would not wonder if the music of the spheres should prove to be jazz, or that God, having consecrated a bishop, should next go to Hyde Park to lecture on socialism. This is how ‘it’ is.<br />
<br />
And it is the crucible for my creativity, in which my poetry cooks up in an inveterate attitude of writing that is so masked and layered that it’s usually taken straight—but then that (so I hold) is how we deal with life. This is broadly apparent in my recent work ‘A Safe House for a Man’, in which I take to task a popular wisdom relating to personal freedom. The protagonist is so unable to justify what he has done that he romanticises himself, and at the conclusion is forced to take refuge in exaltation. Though the book is contrived as a complex of gentle mockeries, it is usually read uneasily as biography.<br />
<br />
In ‘The Araneidea’ I deconstruct a lecture by a Victorian Arachnologist, and expose it to the aesthetic values of our day. The consequence is, to me, a comment on the cosmos, but perhaps not so to anyone else.<br />
<br />
My aesthetic gains much stimulus from the conjunction of my scientific, theological, and poetic leanings, which have a happy coexistence in that wryness I perceive at the centre. ‘The Galapagos Tracts’ is a collection of C19th. scientific documents made poetry specifically to display this principle; once a fact is put into words it always seems to gather a beauty about it, and there’s always a spark of life in the stoniest fossil, alive or dead.<br />
<br />
Into most of my works I place a set text: in “A Voyge to N.Z.” it is the diary of a colonist; in “A Wedding At Tintown” it is an essay on the Maori race; for “The king Of Bliss” it is the psychotherapist’s charter of ethics, and “Five Anzac Liturgies” obviously makes use of the liturgy of the eucharist. The purpose of the textual presence is to heighten what some might judge to be irony, but which is really the essential inappropriateness of life, in which is beauty. It is like stillness against motion, stability in love.<br />
<br />
Poetry is, I believe, the art that can best discern and display this truth. The organisation of words can make a fire from this existential spark and show its light. <br />
<br />
The nature of my aesthetic is not one shared by other poets, so there is not much point in my inhabiting a poets’ community, nor in functioning publicly as a poet. I have belonged to such in the past, and had support, guidance, and good instruction from them, but now in my latter years I have chosen one where (in my own judgement) the three strands of my creativity may be able to come together. Any reader who knows Millerton (and only one or two will) might wonder at my choice; I can best use Pepys excuse for a rough night out:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">“<i>What a loose cursed company was this, that I was in tonight, though full of wit; and worth a man’s being in for once, to know the nature of it, and their manner of talk, and lives.</i>”</span><br />
<br />
Though I do myself read widely within a broad spectrum of poetry, I do not expect my own to be much read, nor published. And so the question: why write? I’ll let George Herbert sum up for me:<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>And now in age I bud again,<br />After so many deaths I live and write;<br />I once more smell the dew and rain,<br />and relish versing.</i><br />
<br />
<i>brief</i> 20 - <i>aesthetics</i> (2001): 66-67.</div>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">A Public for Poetry</span></b></a><b><br />
(c.2004)</b></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
In recent issues of <i>Poetry NZ</i> both Blair Ewing and Raewyn Alexander write on the matter of the public, the media and poetry in New Zealand. Raewyn Alexander concludes that the media should be encouraged to take greater notice of the art, and Blair Ewing concludes that the universities should be encouraged to create poet ‘stars’.<br />
<br />
The subject is one that the N.Z. poet might well be concerned at. The composer can gain a hearing at a public concert, the painter and sculptor can show at an exhibition, but as things are at present a poet with serious intent is uneasily conscious of having, at best, a very small readership.<br />
<br />
This may not much matter to the individual writer, for the practice of any art is a personal and pleasurable process, whether or not the work is ever enjoyed by anyone else; nevertheless, the denial of a public is a cause of interest at the least, because there is a dim sense of it being not quite just, and of there being no reward for labour.<br />
<br />
Poetry readings have a following, but on the whole one soon tires of hearing what should be seen; verse always has a popularity, but poetry at the higher levels has rarely been a much celebrated part of this country’s literary life. In other nations it has been—and still is—closely identified with nationalism in one way or another, but here it has played a small part in the identification and maintenance of nationhood, briefly featuring now and then in a social cause e.g. Baxter’s ‘Mixed Flatting’, ‘The Maori Jesus’, some pregnant phrases of Curnow’s, and in a good deal of the work of Alan Brunton. It is notable that nationalism is not a commonly articulated part of the New Zealander’s psyche. Though Sam Hunt and Peter Cape have helped a lot, there has been little ballad writing.<br />
<br />
The means of publication available to us are few: there are the established literary journals (which do a good job) and several other outlets such as the <i>Listener</i> and a newspaper or two. In due course a publisher may be found for a ‘Collected Poems’, or the writer might self-publish, but whatever the means used to reach a public, the public that is found is mostly composed of other poets.<br />
<br />
Here, I think, lies the crux of the matter and, if so, N.Z. poetry is distressingly like a club or association that exists for its members alone, so inward-looking that its vitality is at risk. It’s notable that in the two essays mentioned earlier neither considers that the lack discussed might have its cause in the poetry itself; both, and the blame for them, lie outside. It’s assumed that poetry is the victim of external offence or neglect.<br />
<br />
This might or might not be true. Whatever the truth of the matter the attitude is uncomfortably close to blaming the judges for failure to win the prize. I suggest that it might be useful to accept—for the moment anyway—that these is a complex of reasons for the lack of attention that we complain of; to begin with, let’s look at some ways we traditionally use to live within the present situation:<br />
<ol>
<li>The usual (one could say ‘orthodox’) presentation of the poem to the public, commonly called the ‘publication’. The poem is sent to an editor. This has the advantage of assessing the work’s literary quality, giving it a public, and putting it in an archive. If you’re very lucky, the poem might later be used in an anthology, but most usually, here in this issue of the accepting journal, the poem usually lies, unless it is one of those rare pieces that captures attention and develops a life of its own.</li>
<br />
<li>The Prize. Some poets have the knack of writing poems that are winners, and they have a particular path opened to them, for the prize is a qualification that publishers find attractive—they use it as an insurance, and it is possible to attach a ‘Collected Works’ to it. Public readings often follow, and writing seminars, which is good exposure, if mostly to other poets.</li>
<br />
<li>You can begin to move in the literary world, and if adroit or adept enough become part of it. To be there is the best tactic, and some find this sufficiently satisfying, though it can be weary. It’s also possible, of course, to start one’s own magazine, reading group, or writer’s circle, as a surety against being entirely ignored.</li>
</ol>
There are yet other ways. You can, if you like hard work, become an academic, which ensures that from the start your poetry is more likely to be trusted and taken seriously. If you are intent on gaining attention ( especially if you are of a confessional mind) you can become a legend. This ought, at present, to be easy to do, for the media is much given to legends, icons and stars. In the past, only Baxter has succeeded in this ambition, doing so with admirable skill. Glover and Hunt have each established a sort of roistering reputation, and others have managed to be considerably liked, but perhaps our indigenous Muse does not much countenance this sort of thing. In general, for our poets, it’s not an attractive option.<br />
<br />
Again you may, like the Pleiades, found a school though, as with them, this requires a long-term plan, much study, hard-focussed work, and some of your own money.<br />
<br />
All of the above activities, useful time-honoured essential and universal as they are, do not of themselves increase poetry’s public; they are inward in character and uneasily demonstrate the art’s close affinity to religion, that it seems to have no necessity nor use, and to be a thing of personal choice and pleasure. It is no wonder, therefore, that it receives little media attention, for what is unnecessary won’t be much noticed, unless it is in any way excessive.<br />
<br />
That poetry is seen as at best an idiosyncratic art form and of no public utility can again be judged as entirely the fault of the media, or of our education system, but I suggest it is the consequence of what we do with what we write, how we use our work. Poetry is the most useful of all the arts because it is language, and our ever more complex society has ever more need for words to categorise describe and generally articulate the changes about us, some of which are (quite literally) stuck for words. Failure of language is all too evident—in such areas as communication, ethics, finance, industry, publicity, and poetry could be of much assistance by turning outwards into the community, and involving itself in its activities. This can be done with ease if the poet is willing to be a poet, to openly acknowledge the practice and be committed to it, and to demonstrate competence.<br />
<br />
When this is done poetry goes wherever needed—into science, bureaucracies, community politics, information, local rituals, advertising, newspapers, other arts, memorial events, and protest movements like peace and conservation.<br />
<br />
The consequences of providing appropriate language for such causes and events are considerable, and are hinted at in the interview between Patricia Prime and Alistair Paterson, published in the autumn 2004 issue of <i>Takahe</i>, in which, in reply to the question ‘what kind of poetry is being written in New Zealand today?’ Paterson replies: ‘Pakeha poets generally privilege the technical aspects of their writing over that of content while Maori poets bring a vibrancy of involvement in life and culture to the poems they write’. <br />
<br />
Inevitably, such involvement in the life and culture of our own home communities produces a poetry with a decidedly regional caste, which is at present out of vogue; as such poetry often has engaging colours and flavours it’s certain to return to favour now and then; it has value also on account of the realities it depicts and the rewards it brings to the poet—of other outlets for the work, of seeing it used, and of an enriched literary and personal life. At some times in the writer’s growth the approval of the professional critic is absolutely essential, both for the worker’s self-knowledge and for the life of the work, but the self-respect of either need not depend upon that. The approval of the poet’s community can also account for a lot.<br />
<br />
If the threat of a return to regional art is too awful to think of, the fear can be reduced by the promise of the ‘vibrancy’ it will bring, of a poetry emerging from out of our own home communities, and of poets dignified by the service their profession offers, in which all poetic forms may be used and all literary freedoms maintained. There is no need for any loss of information or intellectual rigour—not in these electronic days—nor for any return to the socialist aesthetic of the ‘60s and ‘70s. However, there is the need to remember that, as has been noted at other epochs, when popularity moves in seriousness moves out. This dictum applies at several levels, and before it we can only seek comfort in the cliché that the spirit of poetry is a free spirit and, as Baxter wrote, blows where it will. For myself, I’m content with that.</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Peninsula Days</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDRQsGiGMNrDHQzJaZ_VjTYtVVAcGJBxR1Ohb_nzClV-g4dDB_D2NvaoVnlviaoeS1Y9O0BJhlE7QUtfICVOXzYqg1XcwmraoWRAgzO6yUDbSnXXC0XVsm-5dZ0xCl8tMj9z1_6IKPXw/s1600-h/brief+32+%285-05%29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5143333169004746002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMDRQsGiGMNrDHQzJaZ_VjTYtVVAcGJBxR1Ohb_nzClV-g4dDB_D2NvaoVnlviaoeS1Y9O0BJhlE7QUtfICVOXzYqg1XcwmraoWRAgzO6yUDbSnXXC0XVsm-5dZ0xCl8tMj9z1_6IKPXw/s320/brief+32+(5-05).jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">[Cover: Joanna Margaret Paul, “Beta Street” (1981)]</span><br />
<br />
<b>A Memoir of Joanna Paul</b></div>
<blockquote>
<br />
In the seventies I rented an old house, for time out with my young family. It stood on a small plateau on the hillside, at the back of Barrys Bay near Akaroa, and was a charming place, built about a hundred years earlier, with attic bedrooms, a fine colonial kitchen and pantry, and verandah on three sides. An orchard of gnarled plums and apples grew behind it, there was a stables nearby, and before it lay the whole of Akaroa harbour.<br />
<br />
Three or four years later I became the vicar of Banks Peninsula, and was required to live at the vicarage in Okains Bay, just over the hill. Hearing of this, a young Christchurch painter named Philip Trusttum approached me, asking for the use of the house, now that I had no use for it myself. Philip and Lee and their two children took it as a holiday house and made good use of it, and we came to know them well. Into this friendship came other artists of various disciplines who lived about, or had connections with the Peninsula.<br />
<br />
This was at the height of the Whole Earth Movement, and idealistic young couples yearned to do the right thing and live off the land; they found the means on the Peninsula hills, in disused farmhouses which could be rented or bought cheaply. I was not overworked in the parish; though there were five churches (one in each bay) it was depopulating—which accounted for the vacant houses. . The bishop had sent me there to take things easy, as both my parents had calamitously died and I was supposed to be near a breakdown. I was to recover, before moving on to a city parish. As part of the recovery plan I was writing short stories, which met with a brief success.<br />
<br />
However, my pastoral work was, as always, interesting, and through the course of parish visiting I came to know these new residents; generally, they found rural life a heavy and unaccustomed chore, being inexperienced with the component parts of mud weather, vegetables, poultry, fire, plumbing, space, and country people. With most it was the man who worked at his heart’s desire and the woman at the house. As they had children about the same age as ours, we came to socialise, especially at dinners. The children would be fed first, then bedded down around whichever house we were at, and then we would sit by the fire and eagerly discuss the intricacies of our lives on these wild headlands and hills.<br />
<br />
Philip and Daphne Temple lived in a fine old house at Little Akaloa. Philip is from Yorkshire, where I had worked for a while, and which helped to establish a connection. I found his position as an Englishman adopting another country and using this process to fuel his creativity, an interesting one; we would talk about it for hours, then drive back home through rain and snow and count ourselves lucky. His skill at literary politics brought interesting people to our evenings, such as Brian Turner, Peter and Ursula Cape, and the Weddes; these often cowed me with their erudition and experience, but the Capes made another impression on me, for reasons I’ve only recently understood.<br />
<br />
Kobi and Patricia Bosshard lived at Akaroa, where Kobi worked as a jeweller. In a sense they brokered our art, calling exhibitions and concerts to the tiny town, and they knew everyone. They did a great job, and Kobi, being Swiss, introduced an exotic element—I remember one dinner at which our only food was apricot dumplings; I remember no reason for this, and no thought to challenge their right to feed us in this unusual way.<br />
<br />
The Trusttums were often present at these evenings, through their knowledge of the Bosshards and their frequent presence on the Peninsula. They were great company, intelligent and articulate. Lee’s mother was Fanny Buss, a well-known Christchurch fabric artist, and Lee worked with her. Philip already had a name as a painter.<br />
<br />
Into this regional mix came Jeffrey and Joanna Harris. Jeffrey’s grandparents were farmers at Okains Bay, and his parents lived at Wainui in Akaroa harbour, where they had a market garden. He and Joanna had not long been married, and had a small daughter, Magdalena. Joanna was sociable, and the hesitancy, later such a part of her personality, was not then particularly noticeable. Jeffrey was saturnine, pleasant enough but discouraged presumption. Sometimes Joanna came alone.<br />
<br />
The Harrises had taken the Barrys Bay house from the Trusttums, and lived there. Jeffrey used one of the attic rooms as a studio; it had a morning light. I remember going to buy a painting from him, a large one of his mother and grandmother, and being almost overcome by his dreams stacked about me. Joanna painted too. For many years I had a portrait she did, a pleasant dappled painting on board, of Jeffrey holding Magdalena. Both were gaining respect for their work, but not enough to take them out of poverty.<br />
<br />
Here their second daughter Imogen was born, and I was made her godfather. This proved to be not an easy position. Joanna was Roman Catholic and I Anglican, so I was unsure of her expectations, and certainly did not meet several of them. The ‘pompous letter’ she refers to in <span style="font-style: italic;">Imogen</span> was most probably one of mine. Our theologies were pretty well identical, and we talked it a good deal, but I must admit to being timid before both Jeffrey and Joanna; their focussed intelligence intimidated me.<br />
<br />
Imogen was found to have a heart defect, and after time in hospital died, being buried at Akaroa. Her illness and death bore down heavily upon the couple, and caused Joanna to take a great dislike to the house. They moved to another, at the top of Okains Bay, a very desolate and long-abandoned place, without garden or paths, and about a thousand feet above sea level. Mostly they had no transport, and life was very tough for them, especially in the winter. Fortunately, Jeffrey’s rural background helped, as did the near presence of family, and he always seemed to be fit.<br />
<br />
They would come to our group dinners, though Jeffrey did not always enjoy them. He and Philip were not close friends, and Joanna seemed to think that Philip had strayed from some true path. I regretted this, for Philip always has known what he’s doing, and has taught me a great deal of the philosophy and ethics of art; I’ve always admired his work. As time went by, Jeffrey came less often..<br />
<br />
It was here, in this ruinous tree-shadowed farmhouse, that Joanna wrote <span style="font-style: italic;">Imogen</span>. I remember her asking me to type it for her. There had been, I think, some friction between husband and wife—she said nothing about it, the two were loyal to each other, but on this occasion she put Magdalena in the pram and walked down the hill to the vicarage, a distance of some four or five kilometres, in the rain. We were out at the time, and returned to find her seated at the kitchen fire, reading. Magdalena was asleep in a bed. The bath had been turned on and forgotten, and was coming down the passage. Her wet shoes had been placed by the fire to dry, and their soles had melted off.<br />
<br />
Typing <span style="font-style: italic;">Imogen</span> wasn’t easy; the subject was painful, and mixed with my own griefs. The manuscript was untidy, and the shape and format of the poems were novel to me. As Joanna had no phone she was not readily available for consultation, and I fear I did not do a good job.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">Imogen</span> is in form a classical sequence of poems, in style and perspective contemporary. The author sits at her sick child’s bedside, thinks of the birth, the gathering illness, of the few choices given her: <span style="font-style: italic;">‘I could have taken her to another country that is quiet’</span>. She observes the hospital ward, the child, the staff; she interprets Imogen’s death: <span style="font-style: italic;">delivered of</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">a baby<br />from the womb of living<br />to the life of night</span></div>
<br />
she reflects with particular accuracy, intelligence and sincerity; there’s intense feeling, but no sentiment; profundity but no obscurity. Few of the poems are titled, and it’s uncertain whether some stand individually or are part of another. Typography and shape vary. It needs to be read a few times, as an anatomy of grief.<br />
<br />
The work was published by Hawk Press in 1978, as ‘IMOGEN poems by Joanna Margaret Paul’, and dedicated ‘IMOGEN ROSE, February 28-December 9, 1976 farewell brave heart arohanui.’ It was printed and sewn by Alan Loney in a limited edition of 300, of which I have no.11. Alan was proud of his part in the publication; I talked with him about it, and the circumstances of its creation.<br />
<br />
About ten years ago David Howard told me of the effects <span style="font-style: italic;">Imogen</span> has upon him, at his first reading of it. I repeated this to Joanna soon after, and she was thrilled. Only then, I think, did she begin to realise the high regard that is held for the work, its high place in our poetry, and she spoke of a reprint.<br />
<br />
Soon after the typing I moved to Christchurch, and Joanna and Jeffrey separated. She would call at our Addington vicarage from time to time, and stay overnight. She spoke of the separation and the reasons for it, but I do not remember them and don’t want to, as I was fond of them both.<br />
<br />
We maintained a friendship, mostly by correspondence and telephone, and I observed her growing reputation as a painter. She asked me for some contribution to her anti-G.E. compendium ‘Consider the Lilies’. In her last letter she suggested she would make me a visit, with her new husband.<br />
<br />
On the day of her funeral at Akaroa, I read in the Christchurch Press of her death.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
- Leicester Kyle</div>
<br />
<b>Postscript:</b><br />
Philip Trusttum has reminded me of the party that we held at the Barry’s Bay house. There must have been some occasion for the party; I can’t recall any reason, but there was a great gathering—the Bosshards, Harrises, Trusttums, Temples, the Edmonds, Weddes, and others.<br />
<br />
I remember that it was a sunny day, which was as well, for the verandah and grounds were much more convenient than the house, and the view was a reliable source of conversation. My most explicit memories centre around one of the guests, a one-armed freedom fighter from Palestine; as I collected him from the Harris’s house, he probably came as a guest of Jeffrey and Joanna, and had newly arrived in this country. He was taciturn, and uncomfortable in this unheroic environment. I happened to be nearby when he was thrust into the company of Daphne Temple; affecting ease, he leant against the doorframe, sipped at his drink, and gazed abstractedly out over the valley. Daphne, feeling obliged to say something to this visitor to our country, was eventually forced into the obvious, and asked:<br />
<br />
“And how do you find New Zealand?”<br />
<br />
“Oh,” he replied, “I got off the plane at the airport”—a cliché, of course, but it’s a pleasure to hear a cliché well used.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>brief</i> 32 (2005): 61-64 /<br />
<a href="http://www.nzepc.auckland.ac.nz/features/paul/peninsula.asp">Joanna Margaret Paul (1945-2003)</a>. <i>nzepc</i> (2005)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">A Letter from Buller</span></b></a><b><br />
(2006)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2mYbWP55zJtEMd59g0JDNlK14DPOIPRvjnUXQ0_VzywBjP-iK-jFVWII-F10FJamleAGDQDKv75GbuBiMx82-LcXX7VUuMz8wWl-tV3AR8Mq5ZNQncg8J3Gi0Yj8Ct86QLrMV9CUG66M/s1600/brief+33+%25282006%2529+Anya+Whitlock.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593728025678299410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL2mYbWP55zJtEMd59g0JDNlK14DPOIPRvjnUXQ0_VzywBjP-iK-jFVWII-F10FJamleAGDQDKv75GbuBiMx82-LcXX7VUuMz8wWl-tV3AR8Mq5ZNQncg8J3Gi0Yj8Ct86QLrMV9CUG66M/s400/brief+33+%25282006%2529+Anya+Whitlock.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 286px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">[Cover: Anya Whitlock]</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ozERAWSUde-VzHkMPYrhHg33-Szu7Nap6IHPslc8KCGJog7191YVame27iUgP4AMl9Hewjughisp_21D7e5DTpcFtABOAD90ss0CwSNscJ8cMl6-soWyY5aGdslcZmr1g6POL_6GjWLO/s1600/buller1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593727519489777634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_ozERAWSUde-VzHkMPYrhHg33-Szu7Nap6IHPslc8KCGJog7191YVame27iUgP4AMl9Hewjughisp_21D7e5DTpcFtABOAD90ss0CwSNscJ8cMl6-soWyY5aGdslcZmr1g6POL_6GjWLO/s400/buller1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDn23O3fm-4v7JimnoCFSMc4bTQzQ2EOX9YMtruIN4RmvL3_6hSJ_dqzRKOopQQNegWLeO4qZrkMHMolpQH-iXf-yDlfh7dbCzBSCWkF9mpeMykjWC7Nhew0wJxQwsawyd0j8tZb1n9-1w/s1600/buller2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593727601374761122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDn23O3fm-4v7JimnoCFSMc4bTQzQ2EOX9YMtruIN4RmvL3_6hSJ_dqzRKOopQQNegWLeO4qZrkMHMolpQH-iXf-yDlfh7dbCzBSCWkF9mpeMykjWC7Nhew0wJxQwsawyd0j8tZb1n9-1w/s400/buller2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a><br />
<blockquote>
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Dear Scott,<br />
<br />
As for your invitation to write something on the theme of Exile and Home I hurry to respond, though with difficulty, as my thoughts on the subject are many and uncertain.<br />
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I came here to Buller about eight years ago, the complacent possessor of a small private income. Buller is an area I've known and loved since childhood. My ancestors came to the Coast in gold rush times, so I'm at ease in the area. I've long realised that the culture of the Buller district is relatively distinct, and it was my intention to attempt to define this in poetry while also practising my other discipline of botany.<br />
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Both these ambitions have had considerable consequences, and have become intertwined, some poetry moving into the scientific area (i.e. in botanical journals) and some science in the poetry, such as a campaign to establish a new park. This campaign was initiated by a collection of poems "The Great Buller Coal Plateaux" which was sent to every appropriate authority, and was received as such an attractive alternative to a protest letter that the campaign proved amazingly effective. This gave me my first personal experience of the potential power of poetry and how it can, when rightly used, accomplish considerable ends. This is an aspect of poetry that we don't usually consider.<br />
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A small remote and isolated area like Buller is an ideal one in which to study the teleology of poetry. We don't as yet really know the whole scope of poetry's place in New Zealand, of what it can or should do. The first pakeha settlers here regarded it as a frivolity, unlike in Australia where it made an early flowering in ballad form, and here it is still relatively untried and, ours being essentially a metropolitan country, is very much a metropolitan art. I'm fascinated by what poetry can do, what it can achieve, change and record in a region, whether it can find the place in our native lore that it has in most other countries, where in some it has led revolutions and aroused powerful sentiments. <br />
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In other lands the plants and animals are protected by the love they're held in and poetically identified by it, but here this is lacking and our environment is without the most powerful protection it could have. <br />
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A desire to accomplish this is the impetus behind a good deal of my poetry, and accounts for some of its particular character i.e. a disinclination to metaphor and an emphasis on the disparate. It also means that most of my work, being of such regional application, has relatively little interest to those outside Buller. The greater proportion is self-published and locally distributed, it seeming a waste of time to even attempt to find a commercial publisher; the little which has wider significance is sent out to journals which, fortunately, are inclined to accept it. I feel that it's essential to do this, to be part of contemporary writing, to be familiar with the writing standards of the times and be judged by them. <br />
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To my regret I have little personal contact with other poets. If I were younger I would have more, but I took my place in poetry rather late in life so my history in it is short. I do, however, read widely. With respect to being in exile, that doesn't much feature in my thinking. From this distance national poetry is something of a passing parade, and the urge to be part of that is not great. One misses the nearness of colleagues, however, and the stimulus of talking knowingly with friends in practice. After my last visit to Auckland it took me several weeks to settle but, though I like city life, it can never give me the intensity of interest that this does. There is also the point that one does like to write for a known readership, and that being poet to a defined and domestic community has its attractions, a sense of professional belonging. Until very recently the publishing and performance of poetry was a metropolitan prerogative and one had to go to town to do it; this seems to be a changing circumstance, and it is easier now to appear before one's own and to be better understood. <br />
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An editor once rebuked me with the dictum 'no good poetry ever comes out of the country'. Though obviously factually wrong there is truth in the saying, for rural life does encourage a softer art, removed as it inevitably is from proximate criticism and competition. In Buller there is a great fondness for verse but little for poetry, so I stand alone and unassailed.<br />
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My observable literary ability, my success in conservation and botany, my involvement in civic affairs, have all pushed me into a certain notoriety in the region which, were I so ambitious, would give me satisfaction. At home, however, I'm in solitude with my self, my past, and my advancing age. It's from these vulnerabilities that the poetry springs. <br />
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I hope the above is of use to you, is the sort of return you want. Congratulations on your editorship and the steps you have so far taken for 'Brief'. Your team is impressive. <br />
<blockquote>
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Best wishes,<br />
Leicester Kyle</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>brief</i> 33 (2006): 44-45.</div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">When cousin Jill rang me</span></b></a><b> ...<br />
(2006)</b></div>
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<blockquote>
When cousin Jill rang me, and told me of the cache of photos she had discovered, I went right round to her place and had a look for myself. They were taken over the years 1910-1945, from the last days of our founder to those confusing forties, when most of us seem to have got lost in one way or another.<br />
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You could spread the whole cache on Jill’s kitchen table, and there they all were, from Gt. Grand-dad Bill in his front yard of potatoes and(Grt. Grandma too), to my father in a baby’s hammock. It was clear that Aunty Biddy Angel had taken most of them, and dressed for the events, but there was someone else behind them, someone never self-disclosed<br />
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Gt. Grand-dad Bill, though by this time in his eighties, still looked like the Fishing boat builder that he and his two brothers had been before they left the Isles of Arran for the gold-fields of Kumara, which they soon forsook for the port of Hokitika,and then this in turn for a tailoring business in Greymouth, which prospered against all odds, and ended up making the family a small fortune.<br />
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This Turkish bath of wealth acted upon them to cleanse the past away, and we note the family drifting English-wise in the predominantly Irish culture of the Grey district. A new family bungalow was built in Shakepeare St, at that time (and for many years later) the ‘best’ street in the town, and there was a very slow gravitation from the Presbyterian to the Anglican church. This. To be fair, was mostly caused by the old man’s practical jokes, by which he liked to discomfort town leaders—a very irish trait.<br />
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Into the early history of the Grey Kyles came the Tarrants from Australia. who left a marriage partner behind upon their return to Australia, as well as a wildly romantic aesthetic trait, mostly given to popular childrens’ books about pastel-shaded gum-nut babies. The Kyles have always been proud of their connection with these gum-nuts, while on the contrary the jewish side of the family, by contrast almost fabulously wealthy. doesn’t get a look in.<br />
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The run-aways from the synagogue in Manchester and Liverpool did try to return to their appointed and anointed culture but didn,t stand a chance.,eventually being forced back to Christchurch where they lived the rest of their lives in a fragile poverty that was never explained to us. In those days Jewishness was not talked about, explained, of admitted to,and I knew nothing about this past until I was forty. Being artistic was quite enough—the curse of the Tarrants never left us, and there have been arts of all the sorts hanging about us ever since, troubling our innocence, with unaccustomed and accustomed tragedies, until now, the time of the great transformation.<br />
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My two devoted and thoroughly adopted sons are the sign and symbol of this. One is part Asian, the other part Pacifican. Both bear my name and both are busy bearing it in that entrepreneurial way young men and women have with families these days.<br />
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Which brings me to the point I’ve circuitously laboured towards: all this attempted cleansing of my family tree was to no good point at all. The good old British family tree has had root-rot for a very long time. The vigour is in the indigenous.</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i> 29</span></b></a><b><br />
(Summer 1997)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipABnWlvR1Sf2utu6-5-h6dxDx5Z5N1TeBG244r5Ze_FYqQmCmxn5W7gsPCREvmbEmxsQzTxg0cW-Ap_b8uHTcJfNgIn-djiKBJsw1ufrs450G_kUxNfBsisO1TyegjoGYbBbK8DHc4_SQ/s1600/Spin+29+%25281997%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026161344289250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipABnWlvR1Sf2utu6-5-h6dxDx5Z5N1TeBG244r5Ze_FYqQmCmxn5W7gsPCREvmbEmxsQzTxg0cW-Ap_b8uHTcJfNgIn-djiKBJsw1ufrs450G_kUxNfBsisO1TyegjoGYbBbK8DHc4_SQ/s400/Spin+29+%25281997%2529.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIrnSTd14_gjFAmJTKjwxIf4lyKX3_AamIm-AjwYbyze7-gq_JeXekyZvSkiFsQfHFsbEQAjUGW2rLR87blWfsvmCiOdZ_cYsBceR1Z3h8a68DX1gVPKTSGRVVbEBDy3IysLWLUa4cBef/s1600/Spin+29+Editorial.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587025957645666354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnIrnSTd14_gjFAmJTKjwxIf4lyKX3_AamIm-AjwYbyze7-gq_JeXekyZvSkiFsQfHFsbEQAjUGW2rLR87blWfsvmCiOdZ_cYsBceR1Z3h8a68DX1gVPKTSGRVVbEBDy3IysLWLUa4cBef/s400/Spin+29+Editorial.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Editorial</span></b></div>
<blockquote>
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One of the pleasures of reading literature from the early C19th is that it has so much to say about food. They ate, then, enormous meals, so huge they're best encountered only in fiction. I have read that this indulgence was a result of Napoleon's conquests, which broke down borders, mixed cultures, and hastened commerce, hut this seems too easy an explanation.<br />
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A small example of such a banquet is in Pushkin's <i>Eugene Onegin</i>, in chapter one:<br />
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<i>He enters, corks go pop, they pour champagne.<br />Before them, a roast beef ensanguine;<br />Truffles, that extravagance of youth<br />And finest flower of the French cuisine;<br />Strasbourg's immortal dish, foie gras en croute;<br />Soft, ripening Limberger cheese<br />And golden pineapples from overseas.</i></blockquote>
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Cheese, dessert, and mains are all together, as was the custom. Diners sat around the loaded table as soldiers camp about a besieged city, and ready to attack the lot.<br />
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It's an image that does, I hope, picture your thoughts as you behold this issue of 'Spin'. Everything is here before you, every course and dish to be consumed. Say grace, and hoe in.<br />
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<i>Spin</i> 29 (1997): 1.</div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i> 32</span></b></a><b><br />
(November 1998)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91OkqZYBMBV3BZ_JgnCNvayNEhrx_ZixugYPNiVTl1WRphbQKbpNrYljtzQcbqJ1qtQZgIM9W68fpLzYAORw9X1Syz57LTfobyv23pLrSNU3iDdPwtHUKFJQGXVV4074pzMtQJzL8lq7C/s1600/Spin+32+%25281998%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026642726249266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi91OkqZYBMBV3BZ_JgnCNvayNEhrx_ZixugYPNiVTl1WRphbQKbpNrYljtzQcbqJ1qtQZgIM9W68fpLzYAORw9X1Syz57LTfobyv23pLrSNU3iDdPwtHUKFJQGXVV4074pzMtQJzL8lq7C/s400/Spin+32+%25281998%2529.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 277px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGGvy7w4A2dTc2cwwPFafLKaky5gbAMvq6XwBYZeKZCsCdzdkSiBIX_JajSSEST7LIRjViKTGO92UL1_tMXh3jHR1fMX84aZasLUc_YSSl9-cQohh3cr6_zT42MJ36cLWckYK1kiwncci/s1600/Spin+32+Editorial.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026567666752482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgBGGvy7w4A2dTc2cwwPFafLKaky5gbAMvq6XwBYZeKZCsCdzdkSiBIX_JajSSEST7LIRjViKTGO92UL1_tMXh3jHR1fMX84aZasLUc_YSSl9-cQohh3cr6_zT42MJ36cLWckYK1kiwncci/s400/Spin+32+Editorial.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 287px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Editorial</span></b></div>
<blockquote>
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There often arises, with my colleagues, a discussion as to what is good and what is bad poetry. Some are doctrinaire about the distinction, and would dismiss all judged to be bad. The good is made so rare it becomes unreachable by all but the elite.<br />
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Elitism has always been with the arts; it is why many associate with the arts, and why the able artist is often given some of the attributes of the aristocrat.<br />
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History shows elitism to be a weakening force to society and to any creative discipline or tradition. For this reason there is every now and then a peasant pope, a senior officer promoted from the ranks, and a poet raised out of illiteracy. Such recruits bring vigour and wisdom.<br />
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Defensiveness about poetry creates preciosity and little else. The categories of ‘good’ and ‘bad’ are much less distinct in art (as in life) then we, for our own comfort, might care to think. Note how the standards change from one generation to another, and how influenced by fashion.<br />
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An open appreciation of what is judged to be good rather than a puritanical dismissal of what is judged to be bad, is much more likely to encourage a vigorous poetic tradition in any society.<br />
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<i>Spin</i> 32 (1998): 3.</div>
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<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i> 35</span></b></a><b><br />
(November 1999)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95VDOUlqHlmcXhx79hoYHb_fktoskhFndYo2Cqz2BUvIGeSAC5PUuzRo7X3vUqQZufSJKdiY1IxgdHkQ4v1LbvaQW5SFB6qkQQM5LVJ_Yyy_fP8Ktg04OrGzOBQi74cyEykJePuQ5IxY1/s1600/Spin+35+%25281999%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026793176817586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj95VDOUlqHlmcXhx79hoYHb_fktoskhFndYo2Cqz2BUvIGeSAC5PUuzRo7X3vUqQZufSJKdiY1IxgdHkQ4v1LbvaQW5SFB6qkQQM5LVJ_Yyy_fP8Ktg04OrGzOBQi74cyEykJePuQ5IxY1/s400/Spin+35+%25281999%2529.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgu4SSUzrm48Yz4LG5Y4cBrUcLkoY9aQlgbYkF8st2suJ1g23YLM6-ztDeulU_X0imXazTkfry-wdO16xNXsJ6hXQW0hV4ryrJeFp8D5Z71XP1QDI09YCqRuT51yed6DbCQSVTvBub9Nqu/s1600/Spin+35+Editorial.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026722835756962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgu4SSUzrm48Yz4LG5Y4cBrUcLkoY9aQlgbYkF8st2suJ1g23YLM6-ztDeulU_X0imXazTkfry-wdO16xNXsJ6hXQW0hV4ryrJeFp8D5Z71XP1QDI09YCqRuT51yed6DbCQSVTvBub9Nqu/s400/Spin+35+Editorial.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 290px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Editorial</span></b></div>
<blockquote>
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Of the many submissions of poetry to this issue, only a very few were not acceptable, and therefore I have tried to be inclusive and to offer space, though this does mean that most poets have the use of only one page.<br />
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Surprisingly, a few of the unacceptable submissions were from overseas, and their authors boasted of many prizes. It seems that there are still journals that offer room to Scottish heroes, Celtic myths, and American mountain scenery.<br />
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A few ask what they can do to improve their poetry, a question it may not be wise to answer; I often sense that an answer will not be attended to, or will cause anger. A clue I first seek is evidence that the questioner reads poetry.<br />
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For someone who writes to not read the writing of others, brings a liability to become intoxicated by one's own words, inflated by one's own breath; it also indicates a sort of verbal self-love, that the poet writes not because he loves poetry, but because she loves her own.The Muse is most inclined to give her graces to those who earn it. If you would write better poetry, first study the work of those who write it.<br />
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<i>Spin</i> 35 (1999): 3.</div>
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<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i> 38</span></b></a><b><br />
(November 2000)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFp5lmMRwdJg9WHDIBKIA_xrXgaJpPiEPioAszLq_XpJfuovdyzFxQSyZxQ37kYwQPMLzvrX7Mo0TGhUemWxRdBygyyTFco7L36M7loH54PLOZo34zshjh5UU31x7OxZzfhUeCUCGz92mB/s1600/Spin+38+%25282000%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026962976859282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFp5lmMRwdJg9WHDIBKIA_xrXgaJpPiEPioAszLq_XpJfuovdyzFxQSyZxQ37kYwQPMLzvrX7Mo0TGhUemWxRdBygyyTFco7L36M7loH54PLOZo34zshjh5UU31x7OxZzfhUeCUCGz92mB/s400/Spin+38+%25282000%2529.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 284px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLBLs2NqGE2BWEngP2xLb3d00zWv4d6iaWWGhjxbgw_tBkpDGE3NEC1pzWt6R6UMamRkz8tLMGSZrKhpUVUo_CAY71LpW4d5j3RHgaFkBMxZXUyWdoHKOKdYH2fI8-Lyh7c0ZU1SC_VCP/s1600/Spin+38+Editorial.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587026880033632674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiLBLs2NqGE2BWEngP2xLb3d00zWv4d6iaWWGhjxbgw_tBkpDGE3NEC1pzWt6R6UMamRkz8tLMGSZrKhpUVUo_CAY71LpW4d5j3RHgaFkBMxZXUyWdoHKOKdYH2fI8-Lyh7c0ZU1SC_VCP/s400/Spin+38+Editorial.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Editorial</span></b></div>
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>Recently I was able to purchase a volume of T. S. Eliot's works, and discovered within it a collection of his 'dirty' poems; I had not known he had written any. All were composed in his poetic youth, and were sent for publication to Wyndham Lewis, editor of 'Blast', a radical and short-lived English literary journal. Lewis returned the works, advising he would publish nothing containing words that ended with 'unt' 'uck' or 'ugger'.<br />
<br />
These days the editor would not be so censorious in this respect. Nevertheless, I think we have all experienced editors who are censorious in other respects, and it has always been so. Byron wrote "English Bards and Scots Reviewers" after cruel treatment from 'The Edinburgh Review', and others of the romantic poets were able to publish few if any of their poems in their lifetimes. (Some, as we know, had short lifetimes.)<br />
<br />
It is well for the writer to be intelligent in submitting work, and for the editor to be fair in receiving it; the latter, for example, has no right to alter a poem without the author's consent (though the temptation to do otherwise is sometimes very great). Material must be accepted and rejected for good reason, closure dates and confidentiality be kept - the latter is important, because a perceptive editor will gain from the written work much knowledge of its author.<br />
<br />
And the writer should respect the nature of the journal. It is obvious that though work by established poets is much appreciated, 'Spin' exists to encourage new ones. 'Landfall' most particularly serves the higher literary echelon; 'Sport' bas some interest in new writers, and 'Poetry NZ' holds a very useful median line. Naturally enough, the more senior a literary journal the more it must be concerned with its image; most have a particular job to do.<br />
<br />
Power comes into this too to some degree, and editors tend to like it. We are often titled 'gate-keepers', and for good reason, as we keep some out and others in. This is often done by calling some poetry 'bad' and other 'good', which standards might sometimes seem puzzling to the writer. For example, one editor will reject rhyming poetry as bad, while another will accept it. The truth is that editors, like poets, are likely to be submerged in the literary values of the times in which they began their work, and are as unlikely to change. Perhaps the best response is this - know your journal, know your editor; we can be comforted by the thought that - in spite of all human failing, poetry of the better variety does get published and does live.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>Leicester Kyle</b><br />
<br />
<i>Spin</i> 38 (2000): 3.</div>
</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Red</i>: poems by Richard Taylor</span></b></a><b><br />
(1996)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrm2ewy7nD5vuVnViAgWEnUse5_lEnDDuhuaDEyo0sX7sZCrgFlc-9woONIUsSM8_V9WiYDxHgM1INDeJvwjnNuWWi3YhmHypVw8zy40FTPPT3jppTRMIXGtAS_Z_ijABwFs-wX93Mlc/s1600/RED.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJrm2ewy7nD5vuVnViAgWEnUse5_lEnDDuhuaDEyo0sX7sZCrgFlc-9woONIUsSM8_V9WiYDxHgM1INDeJvwjnNuWWi3YhmHypVw8zy40FTPPT3jppTRMIXGtAS_Z_ijABwFs-wX93Mlc/s400/RED.jpg" width="268" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>(Auckland: Dead Poets Books, 1996)</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Having heard Richard Taylor read many of these poems at Poetry Live, in Auckland, where he gives them in an inimitable style, it is a new experience to have them for oneself on the printed page, to examine. It is hard for me to do so without the accompanying echo of their creator's voice, but they repay the effort with reward.<br />
<br />
The author's own broad appreciation and wide reading is quickly apparent – the influences of Catullus, Ashbery, and Christopher Smart are obvious, though not in any imitative sense. The reader is quickly assured that these are not the works of a novice in the art, but are subtle, sophisticated poems.<br />
<br />
There are two parts to the book, to a total of 32 pieces. The first part, 'Goblins', is Taylor in impish mode, as at Poetry Live. On the whole, he seems to need longish lines for his best work, so that the ideas, as they come tumbling out, can be laid to their complex rest on their word-quilts. His short lines make thinner poems, but there are exceptions, such as: 'Scrabble', which is a marvellously funny poem, cleverly concluded, as they so often are. 'Poem No. 12.', for instance, ends with these lines:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>The queerlight
shivers with naked dipthongs.</i></blockquote>
Which are lines so typical of this writer, as quotable as potable.<br />
<br />
Through Taylor's poetry a peculiar and attractive courage shines: though he treats Destiny with respect, the courtesies he pays her are accompanied by an independent and good-natured shoulder-shrug. Maybe this is a most suitable attitude as we approach a new millennium, but some readers might find the good nature over-prevalent. When words are put to play these games it's not easy to be serious – one can hardly read 'The Hunting of the Snark' for interpretation of existence without forcing the text, and Taylor is often Carolingian:<br />
<blockquote>
<i>They had encountered some<br />
Extraordinary curves that day,<br />
That day of the light bulb <br />
---------------------------------<br />
The transoms – and all the<br />
Dreadfully right things.<br />
The englishness of it all!</i></blockquote>
In the second half, 'Red', a more philosophical tone is prevalent. Though the distinctive games are played, one has the impression that these are later poems. They bear a more consistent profundity, and while as engaging as ever, and witty, are not flippant, except when dealing with the colour red, which is obviously most personally significant to the author. Analysts take note. <br />
<br />
These are not magazine poems, and are therefore mostly published for the first time, for those who have more uncanonical tastes. They are significant to our literature.
</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Sleeper</i>, by John Dickson</span></b></a><b><br />
(1998)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7t0NkRiO47I4wEM0tzmIFuhBT2AYqKv3kj8-o47-FHY2KXABS_0eThairBZ2_u1eN8cTmUz0rHM4UpB9coYIMWtbOz4_WpmZ17Hpv7hLvhmdH9YGBxKSRBMOx3DmScNQkE2YV6zrVKM/s1600/sleeper.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgu7t0NkRiO47I4wEM0tzmIFuhBT2AYqKv3kj8-o47-FHY2KXABS_0eThairBZ2_u1eN8cTmUz0rHM4UpB9coYIMWtbOz4_WpmZ17Hpv7hLvhmdH9YGBxKSRBMOx3DmScNQkE2YV6zrVKM/s400/sleeper.jpg" width="317" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>(Auckland: AUP, 1998) 54pp.</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
With its black cover and faint print, this book gives an impression of inaccessibility. However, if these defences are breached, delightful poetry is delivered to the reader.<br />
<br />
I know nothing of John Dickson, nothing of his background, and have not read his poetry before, therefore it is to my eyes fresh, and uncontaminated by the literary politics of this small land. Perhaps this is why I have enjoyed it so much, but I don’t think so; it is almost certainly the quality that gives the satisfaction. This poet is one who can be read with the secure sense one has in listening to an accomplished musician.<br />
<br />
It might be pointed out that his poetry doesn’t “go” anywhere, which may well be true, as he stays well within the bounds of contemporary orthodoxy.<br />
In view of his technical accomplishment this is surprising—he has the ability to venture into wilder seas—and is it really necessary that poetry “go” anywhere?<br />
<br />
John Dickson’s poetry gives such pleasure to the reader that little more is likely to be asked of it. Around almost every poem there shines an aura of mature reflection, a reassuring depth of personal experience, a considerable education, and a biddable species of imagination. The wit and long level tone are decidedly Ashberric, and enough well written to avoid preciosity.<br />
<br />
There’s nothing virtuoso here. ‘the apple on my writing desk’ is of thirteen considerable stanzas. ‘grand old orphy’ has a tap-root to the classical; ‘a rainy afternoon’s entertainment for jen’ is about the wittiest, though much is inclined to the restrainedly zany. All are notable for the author’s facility with conclusions, which are all placed well and well put.<br />
<br />
Some have autobiography, and these are, fortunately, no less interesting than the others. </blockquote>
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<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i></span></b></a><b><br />
(1998)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrnW7MsaIdd6KsH46uArMQ6sk0Vzg87J9ZiXK6ept1YAHIb957bv_Z2gyy-tiSespLedOASy6NmNNn3CGmoO6jVdamdc89zJCS-LnS_A2pKyE3pa2I8EFRF944qGbLOfW0I-ysBPYX6k/s1600/short+reviews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrnW7MsaIdd6KsH46uArMQ6sk0Vzg87J9ZiXK6ept1YAHIb957bv_Z2gyy-tiSespLedOASy6NmNNn3CGmoO6jVdamdc89zJCS-LnS_A2pKyE3pa2I8EFRF944qGbLOfW0I-ysBPYX6k/s400/short+reviews.jpg" width="232" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Short Reviews</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
‘Getting There’, Poems by Gloria B. Yates. Published by Hildegaard Productions. 1998. Artwork by Kate O’Neil. $14.95.<br />
<br />
You may already have come across Gloria Yates’ poetry in ‘Spin’ and the various Micropresses. It more commonly appears in Australian publications.<br />
<br />
Her contribution in this issue of ‘Spin’ is typical of her work, and of the poems in ‘Getting There’. They generally have a fluent progression (which makes them immediately readable), a resolute wit with a leavening of impudence, and a sentimentality which is always well-managed and never excessive, and which puts them into the area of the ‘popular’. She is a good working poet, in that she can turn to any topic, and no subject is safe from her well-informed and basically kindly examination.<br />
<br />
‘Hanging From The Clouds’ ,by Andre Duhaine. Pub.by King’s Rd. Press,Canada. Trans. From the French. $2.00. 1998.<br />
‘Switching Off The Shadows’. By Ruby Spriggs. King’s Rd.Press. $2.00. 1998.<br />
<br />
Two very slender volumes of Haiku and meditative phrases from two Canadian writers. In both the reader has to do at least as much work as the writer.<br />
<br />
‘Cold Morning’ ,an international Haiku anthology, edited by Margaret Saunders. Pub. By Hamilton Haiku Press, Canada, 1998.<br />
<br />
This volume contains the winning poems of the Herb Barrett Award, 1997. An attractive-looking book with high quality contents, including some from ‘Spin’ contributors—Ernest Berry, Janice Bostock, Giovanni Malito.<br />
<br />
Further information about these books may be obtained from the editor. </blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Spin</i></span></b></a><b><br />
(1998)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzndDgJ5jjC5Ke-dkiOEYbfi7bNVXHythmTx0g0r5R9aj_zscyXznQax7WNdOFVZ5ThENWPfjIevfuUFnSXJcaoXgRTpsLpQWBfoONsTyZbdiSfG13gJwCDnSXQsGC06l5DSO8zQtuvro/s1600/some+short+reviews.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzndDgJ5jjC5Ke-dkiOEYbfi7bNVXHythmTx0g0r5R9aj_zscyXznQax7WNdOFVZ5ThENWPfjIevfuUFnSXJcaoXgRTpsLpQWBfoONsTyZbdiSfG13gJwCDnSXQsGC06l5DSO8zQtuvro/s400/some+short+reviews.jpg" width="208" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Some Short Reviews</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
‘For The First Time’, by Michael Haig. Post Pressed, 31 Allara St. Flaxton, Qld. Aust. $14.95. 66pp.<br />
A collection of generally lyric poems, with some beauty and delicacy. Where the poem is built about an absorbing subject it flourishes, but too often the impetus to the poem is insufficient, or hindered by forced metaphors and prosaic rhymes:<br />
‘So the morning train devoured its rails,<br />
and to deflect her thoughts she sawed her nails,<br />
but all the while she wondered, if the next one fails….?’<br />
<br />
‘I, Jesus, A new verse interpretation of the Bible story,’ by Rowan Ayers. Post Pressed. $12.95. 58pp.<br />
A curious and interesting work, a valiant and impressive attempt: Barbara Thiering’s theory of the nature and person of Jesus, in poetry.<br />
The high point is probably the fine description of the crucifixion, but this does then descend to a most confusing ‘death’. To deal with Thiering’s complex creation would require a poet of the calibre of Browning, and Rowan Ayers’ poetry cannot convey the theory’s subtleties; for conviction one requires more faith than for any of the gospels.<br />
<br />
‘bawdy per verse and irreverent’, ed. By John Knight & Katherine Samuelowicz. Post Pressed. $11.95. 115pp.<br />
The clever title is a little misleading, for there are some serious and absorbing poems in this collection; the rest are generally good clean fun. A few are not, and are horrid. Many, by Gloria Yates and Kate O’Neill, are already known to us.<br />
<br />
‘Noticing The View’, haiku and other poems, by Katherine Samuelowicz. Post Pressed. $9.95. 45pp.<br />
Some great haiku, in which subtle and fascinating complexities are clarified by construction and metaphor, all in the best haiku tradition. The same sensitive economy pervades the longer poems.<br />
<br />
‘In a Strange City’, selected verse and prose by R.L.Frye. Post Pressed. $7.95. 62pp.<br />
An interesting book, apparently initiated by friends of the author, and the executors of his estate; a compendium of his life’s work. Of particular note is that part written from an understaffed nursing home, not long before he died. It should be sent to the directors of every nursing home in Australasia. Read it.<br />
<br />
‘Half Light and High Wind’, Airing Cupboard Women Poets, 74pp. C/o 455 Johns Rd. Ch.Ch.<br />
The third Airing Cupboard anthology and, like the others, containing much of value. Inevitably, given the nature of the book and of all such initiating groups, the quality of the content is uneven, but there are many fine poems, and some by regular contributors to SPIN.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>A Brief Description of the Whole World</i></span></b></a><b><br />
(1999)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ-vO48OS7RXjKguG-QqQmcUk2Z-uVdSz9rjqKZ5ktZLXZdEjmcVYiXp9b_La8xadUv6TdybA7i6TkyD1-oen2RklZSbvETL7j5sA3mft9uaPul7M1Q9s8zsE3aS1FO6LQjU-8-R6j9A/s1600/brief.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQ-vO48OS7RXjKguG-QqQmcUk2Z-uVdSz9rjqKZ5ktZLXZdEjmcVYiXp9b_La8xadUv6TdybA7i6TkyD1-oen2RklZSbvETL7j5sA3mft9uaPul7M1Q9s8zsE3aS1FO6LQjU-8-R6j9A/s400/brief.jpg" width="272" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
About three years ago I finished a book of poems derived from the botanical writings of William Colenso, the missionary/explorer/botanist. I sent the completed manuscript to the Auckland University Press, which expressed some admiration for it, but said it would not sell. At this time a helpful friend had encouraged me to subscribe to the journal ‘A Brief Description of the Whole World’, and it occurred to me to send ‘Colenso’ to the then editor, Alan Loney. The journal has since published many extracts from ‘Colenso’, and from a work in present progress, ‘The Galapagos Tracts’.<br />
<br />
‘A Brief Description’ exists to encourage the radical, fringe, exploratory, the innovative in N.Z. Literature. Other journals may say they do, but when it comes to the point will only take the ‘received radical’, i.e. that which already has some degree of critical imprimatur. The bafflingly new, that which in no way conforms to the existing critical templates, has nowhere to go. One can try sending one’s work overseas but, to speak for myself, much of my work is so entirely N.Z. in content, depending so heavily on our history and cultural ironies, and is so seemingly eccentric, that such a move has been only occasionally successful, and I could not reasonably expect it to be more so.<br />
<br />
It is probably correct to say that none of our publishing firms are dedicated to the advance of N.Z. poetry. Their customary reply—‘It’s good but it will not sell’, has the effect of keeping our poetry in a tame or domesticated state, and existing for the sake of the institution. At present, it is only ‘A Brief Description’ that lets in new vigour from the wild. Many poets frequently published in the journal rarely appear elsewhere—writers such as Peter Crisp from Napier, and Michael Radich, a New Zealander who lives in Japan. Others, such as Joanna Paul, Murray Edmond, Wystan Curnow, Alan Brunton, Tony Green, present work that might hardly be acceptable elsewhere. Such an openness is a great gift to a writer who has met with continual frustration from other publishers, and who is about to lose confidence.<br />
<br />
The journal is now edited by John Geraets, and is supported by the Writers’ Group, each member of which made an initial monetary deposit to give the magazine a financial viability. Its list of subscribers is not large, but one would like to think its influence is profound.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Respect the plants</span></b></a><b> ...<br />
(2003)</b></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNrYANqUJKtT0zw33I3ypUUltz10FGc18SWixx6LAkSAgYwFnAaZA0yYuH1VojRLxZLwFvcCTrSxZ-Fx-sWYCEQKaeNdJDGUQbii1yk58BErNwr5KStBCYTNxfWZp1OomVIL4KFWrOmY/s1600/MAPPS3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDNrYANqUJKtT0zw33I3ypUUltz10FGc18SWixx6LAkSAgYwFnAaZA0yYuH1VojRLxZLwFvcCTrSxZ-Fx-sWYCEQKaeNdJDGUQbii1yk58BErNwr5KStBCYTNxfWZp1OomVIL4KFWrOmY/s400/MAPPS3.jpg" width="331" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Respect the plants which grow on these cliffs. They mightn’t look much, but they’ve been attracting scientific attention since the 1890’s, when they were noted by Buller’s first resident botanist, W. Townson.<br />
<br />
There are two plants here which grow nowhere else in the country: a gentian, and a mountain daisy (celmisia). The latter is a large-leaved white-flowered daisy, which grows along the cliff-tops and on ledges and niches on the cliffs. Both these plants are of types that are normally alpine, and because of their rarity are protected. There is also a fine local form of a small yellow daisy, a ‘senecio’;it has dark green glossy leaves pressed against the ground.<br />
<br />
A number of native ground orchids grow here, especially the white or blue sun orchid, and there might be a blue hare-bell; it was found here by Townson, but hasn’t been seen recently.<br />
<br />
These plants have found a carefully-balanced life in adverse conditions which are often extreme, so take the best care you can not to disturb them.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Celmisia morganii</span></b></a><b><br />
(n.d.)</b></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Manuals of N.Z. plants that refer to C. morganii list it as being found in the Ngakawau Gorge and adjacent rivers. Townson did not find it, perhaps because the gorge was closed by works at that time. Subsequent hearsay put the species at the Blackwater in the Buller Gorge, and at other sites nearby. I have recently visited these sites and have not found it, even though there is an abundance of suitable and protected habitat.<br />
<br />
There is a possibility that it could be in Chasm Creek; I have not yet been able to examine this area, but will do so; the creek has the Glasgow Range as watershed, as does the Ngakawau, and C. morganii obviously is closely related to C. monroi, which grows on the Glasgows though (in contrast to that on the Paparoas) only poorly and sparsely.<br />
<br />
In the inner Ngakawau Gorge C. morganii’s habitat is the narrow thinly-vegetated strip of rock at maximum flood-line. It’s a very limited and poorly-nourished territory, liable to destruction by freak flood and to over-growth in the absence of flood. The plants that grow upon it are generally small. I have not yet been able to discover how far up-stream the species can be found, but in the tributary Charming Creek it can be found for only several hundred metres from the confluence. Along the Mangatini River, which also joins the Ngakawau at this spot, I have not been able to find it at all. Severe pollution from the mines does damage to vegetation on its banks, but in spite of this there do grow several striking broad-leaved and large forms of C. dubia in bush on the river’s banks.<br />
<br />
The Celmisia morganii that has adapted to the habitat provided by the old railway line in the outer Ngakawau Gorge is a strikingly vigorous plant. When grown in a protected environment it adopts an erect posture and grows in a tight clump, propagating itself by sucker as well as seed. Unlike the cliff-top Celmisia at Doctor’s Bay near Charleston, it remains very consistent in appearance and does not revert to its probable parent. It has been classed as one with C. dubia and C. monroi, but remains distinct from both, looking rather more like C. mackaui of Banks Pen.<br />
<br />
Celmisia monroi, to my knowledge, does not grow anywhere on the Buller Coal Plateaux. C. dubia is a most variable and fascinating plant abundant on the plateaux, adapting imaginatively to the many environments it’s at home in, but I have found no forms of it which can really be confused with C. monroi.</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Orchids of The Buller Coal Plateau</span></b></a><b><br />
(n.d.)</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The Buller Coal Plateau provides a soil that is in all its parts highly acidic, and the coal mining widespread upon it creates the crisis territories beloved by some of our orchids: abandoned coal mines, old tracks, shale heaps, slips and slides, quarry faces, and large tracts of re-vegetating areas.<br />
<br />
For example, the abandoned Mt. William mine, at about 800m above sea level, is losing itself to an advancing tide of montane scrub. In the darker places Corybas oblongus grows—it’s the dominant Corybas here, and has several forms. On better-lit mossy seepages Pt. venosa grows, and Pt. foliata in the scrub. On rock ledges Winika cunninghamii and the two Earinas grow; Adenochilus gracilis is in the shadier places, and Aporostylis on old mossed-over trunks and in beech coppices, often near Chiloglottis cornuta.<br />
<br />
Various species of Thelymitra abound, especially Th. cyanea, which favours flat thin soils where water may lie in rain; here it grows in troops, each perfect flower presented to the sun. Th. hatchii favours small heaps of shale at the side of tracks; these are common around old mines, and in them it is extraordinarily robust.<br />
<br />
At lower levels, on the pakihi, the other Thelymitras grow at their best. There is a fine pink form of Th. cyanea, which flowers later than the blue, and grows in clumps apart from the other. Th. pauciflora is common amongst the grass and rushes, while Th. pulchella favours mossy banks. The yellow form of Th. carnea is not uncommon and is the first to flower; this species likes to grow in gravel at the side of old roads, and also on flat damp sparsely-grassed sites. Th. longifolia is scattered about, often on unusual sites such as to perch on punga trunks.<br />
<br />
Calochilus paludosus grows thinly scattered over the pakihi; Orthoceras novae-zealandiae may very rarely be found, and Genoplesium nudum on bare gravel-and-clay slopes. <br />
<br />
The plateau is cut by canyons so deep they’ve worn through the coal and sandstones to the granite base. In these are scraps of old Podocarp forest which give shelter to most of our epiphytes, and to ground orchids such as Corybas acuminatus and trilobus, Caladenia chlorostyla, Gastrodia cunninghamii, Pt. cernua, irsoniana, banksii, and graminea, as well as several others I’m still unsure of. The area is too remote to have ever been attentively botanised. On coastal limestone cliffs Corybas papa has been recently discovered; other interesting finds are most likely.</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Comings and Goings</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Over the seven years for which I’ve owned this property I’ve been impressed by the movement of orchids, by their attempts to lodge themselves, their failures and successes.<br />
<br />
The half-hectare offers a range of environments: it’s at 300 metres above sea level, and is bisected by a small gorge cut through the sandstone. Both sides of the creek were once inhabited, but in the 1960s, when the coal mines closed, all but two of the houses were taken away; the two remaining are occupied. Bush now covers the vacated sites—rata and kamahi mostly, with some manuka and toro, and emerging podocarps. There is an abundance of tree ferns, while flax and coprosma occupy the less hospitable places. The annual rainfall of three metres means there’s always a lot of water around, and a great variety of mosses liverworts and filmy ferns, especially in the gorge.<br />
<br />
There’s a wide range of habitats, and it must have been much wider for a time after the houses were taken away; a good deal of what I now see must be the aftermath of that event, when so many species were presented with vacant lots, piles of bricks, paths, concrete yards, unwanted roads, and old fire bases to claim.<br />
<br />
After forty years, however, that colonising vegetation is starting to age; some sites are darkening and others are gaining light—this is particularly affecting the Pterostylis: once sizeable colonies of Pt.irsoniana and montana are now reduced to a few weak seedlings, while new colonies are forming where none grew before. <br />
<br />
All the time new sites are being tried out. Adenochilus gracilis appeared in a hollow between two pungas; it lasted for three years, never flowering, but then vanished, perhaps overwhelmed by frond-fall. I personally introduced a plant of Ch. cornuta—it flowered, seeded, and has since appeared abundantly in many parts of the property; this year there are many seedlings but no flowers. Aporostylis bifolia has seeded down-slope from its arrival site, into leaf-mould, and is flowering but rank, clearly not quite content.<br />
<br />
Caladenias atradenia & nothofagetti are widespread and very abundant under scrub, but the great success is Corybas papa; this appeared by a foot-track about four years ago, at an old chimney base, as very new plant, and has spread rapidly, intensifying its growth. It flowers freely in the late winter, but has produced no seed. It shouldn’t be here, and its manner of arrival is a mystery, but it might have originated from some papa country about ten kilometres to the north.<br />
<br />
Thelymitras are constantly appearing on punga trunks, with pot-plants, by tracks, but they are opportunists and none have stayed. Microtis unifolia is more enduring, even in the bush.<br />
<br />
The epiphytes can also be transient. Earina mucronata has tried several old willows, but not lasted; it prospers on a macrocarpa trunk and on a punga, as does E. autumnalis. About three years ago Bulbophyllum pygmaeum appeared as a seedling on a toro trunk, was soon joined by another, and now both are one and spreading. Similarly, a Winika seedling has lodged on a rock in my rockery.<br />
<br />
A Gastrodia showed at the foot of my garden, against a macrocarpa tree, as a young plant with five buds. Being on the lawn, it was accidentally mown, then showed again. After being cut a second time it gave up and hasn’t reappeared; I’ve found no others on the property.<br />
<br />
Every year there are pleasant surprises, and the odd disappointment. Some seed is brought by water, others by wind bird or gravity; also, the removal of gorse, blackberry ,willow, and other weeds creates new sites. About fifty orchid species grow on the adjacent hills, so there are more to be welcomed yet.</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Orchids in a Ghost Town</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Most of the orchids here seem to have arrived around the same time I did, and probably for some of the same reasons, one, of course, being that here there was room. I didn’t note them right away for none were well-established, and I was busy plotting the property and wondering what to do with it.<br />
<br />
My two acres are at 300m above sea level and face nor-west over the Tasman sea. Two considerable mountain streams rush across it, each in its own small gorge, and only about a fifth of the property’s in grass. The rest is in secondary bush that began its life in the late 1960s when the town was largely closed and the miners went to live down by the sea. All but twenty or so houses went too; gorse and blackberry spread over the rubbish, and the new forest pushed up through that. The weeds are largely smothered now except for the montbretia, which is intent on its more insidious strategy.<br />
<br />
Anyone driving through, on the way to the coal-mine on the plateau above, sees only several houses half-hidden in the greenery, and is entirely unaware of the evidences of the past underneath it. There might, in any case, be nothing visible at all, as our three metres of rain each year are often wrapped in fog.<br />
<br />
On my property history has left me three old houses, seven fire blocks, three concrete water tanks, a footpath to a vanished post office, a railway cutting, the cellar of a butcher’s shop, two ruined bridges, an overgrown road, and some garden escapees. The road is asphalted, but you have to dig to find it now. The garden escapees live precariously.<br />
<br />
There also the barely-discernible sites of five shops, a church, a fish-and-chip outlet, a garage, a billiard salon, and countless kitchen middens.<br />
<br />
In part, I came here for the botany, and botany has brought me here since I was fourteen. My father started me on this course when I was old enough o go with him. He was a keen naturalist and a conservator and would take me with him on his rambles. Though born on the West Coast, of gold-rush stock, he then lived on the Port Hills above Christchurch, and that was the first environment I came to know. Laing & Blackwell was my manual, and amongst the very first plants which I identified by myself were two orchids—Earina autumnalis and Thelymitra longifolia.<br />
<br />
The Port Hills environment gave me a bias towards flowering herbs, which has continued, but here in Buller I was immediately put into an intimacy with trees ferns mosses rushes sedges and other plants less familiar to one from a dry climate. My home bush here is largely made of small trees—toro wineberry southern rata coprosmas kamahi broadleaf etc.; young podocarps are just beginning to break through its canopy. All these (and others) I’ve had to come to know, though orchids, that particular interest of my childhood, still quickly take my attention.<br />
<br />
It’s some years ago since I came here, but if my memory’s right the first that I found was Earina mucronata on a tree fern trunk. There are three species of tree fern on the property, and they are abundantly present, but only this single specimen has any epiphytic orchid on it. There were three or four plants on the trunk, none old enough to flower, and I later found several more on an adjacent macrocarpa, all of the same age and one of which, on flowering, revealed itself as a pretty orange-lipped E. aestivalis.<br />
<br />
Though I looked fairly thoroughly I found no other epiphytic orchids, and as I had arrived at the beginning of winter there were no ground orchids visible, and also I was preoccupied with the need to settle into the house and make it weather-proof for the spring rains. There was also the need to carve some lawn and garden out of the mass of Yorkshire fog and montbretia around the house. The bush, which was advancing with determination, had to be understood; in doing this I found that I now owned a number of distinct environments<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>On the steep slopes at the west side of the house is a patch of manuka scrub; I set about enlarging this.</li>
<li>Adjacent to the manuka is a considerable slide of broken sandstone. I turned it into a rockery for the plants of the neighbouring hills.</li>
<li>At the foot of the manuka, where the billiard salon and fish-and-chip shop once stood, is a small swamp; which I cleared and enlarged. In this general area I’ve planted a collection of native podocarps.</li>
<li>Between here and the creek is the old road to the bridge. Water runs upon it, and the whole length is covered with mature flax.</li>
<li>The mixed bush on the south and east side of the house. It’s a little more complex than I’ve perhaps indicated; several species reach their altitude limit here, such as whitey-wood and rangiora, and there are five species of rata, including M. parkinsonii.</li>
<li>Beresford St., the former shopping centre on the other side of the creek, now under a canopy of bush. I cleared it of fallen trees and made it a promenade for the views it offers of gorge and waterfall. Invasive black poplar threatens the lower end.</li>
</ol>
<br />
All this has, of course, taken several years to do, and was accompanied by the making of a simple path to provide comprehensive but unobtrusive access.<br />
<br />
Spring brought some happy surprises. The first became visible as two very slender species of the orchid genus Caladenia, which flower so thickly on the ground as to make a thin white mist. I first found them under scrub, while making the rockery. One, the more robust, is entirely white, the other has a coloured lip.<br />
<br />
This means of discovery established a pattern, in that new orchids were found by me while I was in the act of doing something other than botanising. For example: while mowing my back yard into a lawn I mowed a Gastrodia under the macrocarpa tree at the bottom of the garden. In the hope of the plant making another try I put a stake at the site and was rewarded by a secondary spike, only to mow that too in my careless energy. This was a great disappointment to me, as I’m most interested in the Gastrodias and have not before had one to observe; the plant has not reappeared.<br />
<br />
Again, while removing a Blechnum fern from a rocky site that I wanted to expose, I found a small struggling Winika cunninghamii; on release from its oppression it quickly began to flourish, which was good for me. I find that having desirable native plants on my own property makes me feel that I belong, while the act of transplanting natives onto my land makes me feel a colonist.<br />
<br />
As is so often the case, one of the most interesting of my sites is one that seems the least so—the bottom end of Beresford St., just before it joins the main road. Here the bush is mostly lank coprosmas and broadleaf with a slight grass along the narrow path; the soil upon the asphalt is very thin. Under the scrub as spring advanced I found firstly Pterostylis irsoniana, then a Microtis, and then another Greenhood that looks very like Pt. cernua but is, I think, a form of Pt. montana. Another form of montana I found upon a concrete ledge of the former butchery cellar; it has a ballooned flower. The cernua look-alikes grow most strongly in the grass , and all seem to relish the shallow soil, apart from one plant of irsoniana that grows on a mound of choked Montbretia corms.<br />
<br />
Subsequent checking has revealed further colonies of Pt. irsoniana—usually on gravelled sites in the bush—and one or two plants of Pt. banksii, usually at the edge of the creek and eventually removed by flood.<br />
<br />
One orchid genus that seemed to be entirely lacking was Corybas. The only Corybas known in the district was C. oblongus, which is found in shady sites on the local hills. One morning, however, while returning home along my track near the site of the old grocer’s shop, I spied a little patch of a fleshy-leaved Corybas growing near a rotting bicycle propped against a chimney block. Brian Molloy later identified this as C. papa, the first record of it in the South Island. It has grown into a dense mat about half a metre square.<br />
<br />
There’s very little Thelymitra at my place, and the little there is doesn’t flourish. The strongest plants grow epiphytically upon tree-fern trunks. These appear to be Th. longifolia; they don’t flower, and live only a couple of years, but their appearance does show that there’s seed about. <br />
<br />
In understanding the presence or absence of orchids here, I have to bear in mind the polluted nature of the soil. Almost all the vegetation is growing on former household midden, and on industrial sites that had to do with coal grease oil and various chemicals now regarded as more or less unsavoury. None of the running water hosts life—not even sandflies are able to breed in it. Orchids, as we know, favour disturbed land; Th. hatchii grows superbly in the detritus of one of our abandoned coal-mines, and Th. decora is flourishing on one site so polluted that little else will grow there. Several orchids have appeared, been welcomed by me and flourished briefly, then unaccountably vanished. Adenochilus gracilis was one of these and Aporostylis bifolia may prove another. It has appeared by the old track that was once used as access to the now vanished post office; it flowers seeds and reproduces but looks drawn and weak, as if it grows on sufferance rather than goodwill. Chiloglottis cornuta makes a habit of appearing in plenty, then vanishing to reappear somewhere else, as if it can’t decide to settle. <br />
<br />
On the hills nearby there’s a particularly wide range of orchids, and a lot of seed to go riding the wind. I keep a watch for new arrivals, and make sure to make as little disturbance as possible when working or walking about. The experience of being here for a considerable time, of watching what comes and goes, is rewarding. On the crest of a ridge near my vegetable garden, where something like a stable once stood, are three slender toro trees. When my dog was a puppy I would play with him there at the end of the day. One evening I was leaning against the trunk of one of these trees, to gain my breath, and was idly noting the texture of moss and lichen on the bark, when I noticed two seedlings of Bulbophyllum pygmaeum. In the three subsequent years I’ve watched the surprisingly rapid growth of these two plants and their union into one expanding patch, which is on the south side of the tree, is fully exposed to our montane climate of rain gale sleet and hail, and couldn’t be doing better.<br />
<br />
It is likely that there were other orchid species here thirty years ago, when the vacated sites were less vegetated; Thelymitra and Prasophyllum for example would have found more space. When I collected here at that time Orthoceras was present, which I’ve not been able to find here now. However there’s more than enough movement to demonstrate that our native vegetation, even in its most specialised parts, has the vigour to return and reclaim what was once taken from it. The same story could be told by the ferns grasses mosses and fungi, as well as shrubs and trees. My role is to practise hospitality; I try to restrain myself from experimentation and aggressive protection. I learnt this several years ago when I defended some orchids that grew alongside a concrete path at some mine ruins near here. I caught some DoC workers spraying the path edges with a herbicide in an attempt to keep the rushes and gorse at bay, and asked them to stop. I promised to keep the edges clear myself, in order that the orchids might grow—in this narrow strip grew Genoplesium nudum, Pterostylis montana, Corybas oblongus, two species of Microtis, Thelymitra cyanea, pulchella, and venosa. This arrangement seemed to work at first, and I boasted of it to my conservationist brethren, until I noticed that no amount of my personal care could keep those edges clear; the rushes especially kept creeping in and the orchids were diminishing; it was the winter spraying that made place for them, and I had to ask that it resume.<br />
<br />
After this experience I practise a mostly passive hospitality; I make room for the wilderness and welcome it, but from fear of my own ignorance I let it mostly make its own way.<br />
<br />
Leicester Kyle, Millerton, Sept. 2005</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Botany of the North Buller Moors</span></b></a><b><br />
(2006)</b></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The term ‘moor’ is used with deliberation, to establish from the outset an historical connection, which is helpful in our discussion.<br />
<br />
When the first miners came to live in North Buller in the late 1860s, they would have noticed various similarities to the coal countries they left in the north of England, i.e. an upland of horizontal sandstone and coal beds on a granite base, a flora of acid-loving plants of the heather-myrtle-rush groups, and lots of mud. Even the climate would have been much the same, though wetter. In the Repo area in behind Millerton one could well imagine oneself on Ilkley Moor.<br />
<br />
Significant and expected differences are that in Buller the heights and depths are profounder, the vegetation is wilder and more luxuriant and various, and we have not the weeds that are invading the English moors i.e. the rhododendrons and silver birches. We have our own—montbretia, gorse, broom and blackberry.<br />
<br />
The North Buller Moors are almost unique in N.Z.; other small areas of coal measure uplands are found inland from Collingwood, and at the southern tip of the Paparoa Range. The latter has a botany very similar to the one we’re to discuss, while the former—in N.W. Nelson—would undoubtedly have significant differences according to the character of that territory.<br />
<br />
Before I proceed to deal with this fascinating territory that I live upon I must make it clear that I speak as an amateur botanist, not as a scientist. I make no attempt to function as a scientist, but speak from a close co-habitation with the native plants of my own home territory and a personal fascination with them, with how they grow, where they grow and move to, variations etc. I do my best to ensure that I’m factually correct, but in living with these plants as I do I become romantically attached and enthusiastic, which are not scientific qualities as they cloud perception. The information that I gather, however, has its own value and is difficult to impart—there are few outlets for it—so I’m grateful for this opportunity.<br />
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<br />
I first visited the Great Buller Coal Plateau when I was fourteen; a friend and I climbed Mt. Rochfort, which is at the southern end of the Plateau and is one of the four highest peaks, at c.1,050m; the others, of much the same height, are Frederick William and Augustus. The Plateau itself is effectively an extension of the Paparoa Range onto the other side of the Buller River; it declines to the north, ending at the Mokihinui River, which is also the northern limit of the coal deposits..<br />
<br />
At that climb I made 55 years ago there were no tracks to Mt. Rochfort and we climbed it from sea level, struggling through gahnia tussocks, rush epacris manuka phormium etc and were exhausted at the top, but even so I was stunned by what I saw. The encircling conglomerate cliffs made the top hard to reach, but there when we had struggled up and over them was a fine sample of the plateau’s botany: its gentians dracophyllums mosses forstera, and dwarfed contorted scrub of beech senecio and olearia, all so different from the flora of the Canterbury foothills that I still remember that first sight, exhausted though I was. We then had to walk through the rough divided territory to Denniston, and I had my first experience of the Plateau’s canyons, their warm sheltered microclimates, so rich in ferns mosses and liverworts, and groves of Dracophyllum townsonii.<br />
<br />
Several years later, when I joined the staff of the Ch.Ch. Botanic Gardens as an apprentice, I began taking my fellow apprentices there to collect for the native section at the Gardens. Still later I took my own family there for holidays, and now I live at its northern end, in Millerton, at 300m asl, and grow some of these plants I’ve so long admired.<br />
<br />
In those apprenticeship days I was a keen member of the Cant. Bot. Soc., and once gave a talk to it on our native orchids. I also won the Bledisloe Trophy, though I’m unsure what for.<br />
<br />
After that diversion, to proceed:<br />
A good deal of the Plateau is at 600m asl. It’s about 10km long by 3-4 wide. At that higher level the dominant covering rock is a crystalline sandstone, worn into a flattish pavement from which erodes an infertile silica sand. Harder rock remnants stand about, worn by the weather into surreal shapes, as are the bushes and stunted trees that survive, such as N.menziesii, N. solandri, Pittosporum rigidum, and ratas. Several faultlines cross the Plateau and appear as cliffs. Streams have worn spectacular gorges that are hard to cross. It is the catchment for the Buller plains.<br />
<br />
The western side falls sharply to the sea, the southern to the Buller River, the eastern into broken disorganised land, and the northern into the moors.<br />
<br />
I record an average of 3m of rain a year at Millerton, but there is double that at the higher peaks. There is often snow from about April to November, and there can be long periods of hard frost. Generally, though, the weather is temperate; a warm summer day at home may reach 22deg, and a cold winter night may go to minus 3deg. The only commonly intemperate features of our weather is the rain, and the SE wind, which can be sustained and damaging. <br />
<br />
The bushline is at about 900m, but because of the extreme infertility of such soil as there is, most of the plateau is unforested, and subalpine plants are able to extend much lower than usual, even into the moors. The lack of bush has caused the plateau to function much as an island, standing bare above the surrounding woodland since goodness knows when.<br />
<br />
This environmental isolation has caused many of its plant species to develop individualities that are intriguing. It has, for example, its own snow tussock, Chionochloa juncea, and its Celmisias are fascinating. I will tell you of them now, and trust that you won’t mind me enlarging my scope to a little beyond the moors.<br />
<br />
The dominant sub-alpine Celmisia upon the adjacent ranges is C. monroi; its closest relative is C. coriacea, which is not found in Buller. The ‘monroi’ on the Paparoa ranges is a grand thing, but on the Glasgow ranges, granite mountains just to the north of the Buller, it is usually weedy. It is not found as its true self on or about the plateau, but does appear in different guises—in the Ngakawau Gorge as C. morganii; on the sea-cliffs near Charleston as the magnificent clumping broad-leaved C. semi-cordata, and within the bush itself in well-lit places, from sea-level to the bushline, as an isolated mid-sized Celmisia. On the higher parts of the Plateau grows C. dallii (which occasionally throws a yellow flower) and all over the plateau and the moors grows C. dubia—a well-named plant. It’s prolific down to c.350masl, and occasional below that, scattered through the Pakihi or on cliffs and rocks, often thickly-scattered, even forming mats. It’s dagger-leaved, and an individual plant of the type is a sturdy 6-12cm across<br />
<br />
There are two main forms of this plant—one is glossy-leaved and is sometimes bronzed, and the other is a mat grey-green. Both forms are hardy, with coriaceous leaves, and they most typically grow on hard wet ground on which shallow water stands during rain.<br />
<br />
The grey-green form is extremely variable; one broader-leaved variety grows in moss alongside streams; another longer-leaved form grows in shady places at the edge of scrub; abundant near Millerton is a very robust form that blooms handsomely in July; another, nearby but higher on the hillside flowers all the year round.<br />
<br />
With the exception of C. dallii all these species and forms are only approximately named; some of the semi-cordata at Charleston is visibly classical monroi. Morganii passes in places into dubia, which in turn becomes here and there something indescribable. Druce grouped all these under ‘monroi’ but I doubt that Dr. Monroe would have liked this; it’s too approximate a taxonomy and doesn’t serve the amateur naturalist, who likes to make some observance of variation. David Given has looked at some of these, with much interest.<br />
<br />
Other Celmisias of interest are a diminutive C.discolour, C.laricifolia, C.lateralis, and C.similis, whatever this latter might be. Above Millerton ,near the burning mine, there occur a number of tiny mat-forming Celmisias, mostly of a silvered foliage and very pretty—they are lovely in the rockery. Their parents appear to be laricifolia linearis and dallii. They are intriguing mutations and grow best in an almost sterile mix of clay and silica gravel. Their foliage is very small, their flowers unexpectedly large.<br />
<br />
At the northern end of the Plateau, on what we call the Repo pakihi, occur two other notable Celmisias of the graminea type. One is a grass-leaved plant, the leaves a shiny emerald green; it forms a tight patch and flowers in the early summer in extraordinary abundance, its cream-white flowers on stems about 35cm long. In flower it is a great beauty, and it appears to be sterile. A close relation grows nearby; it flowers later, and is so frail as to be almost invisible.<br />
<br />
We’ll leave the Celmisias now, and go back to more general observation.<br />
<br />
The term ‘pakihi’ is often applied to the territory under our consideration, but is more properly used for land of a gentler gradient. While ours has much of the vegetation common to pakihi—such as rushes tangle-fern manuka epacris gahnia and flax—the steeps cliffs and other rocky parts introduce many plants absent from lowland pakihi. However, the soil is much the same, i.e. a hard wet grey mud beaten level by the rain. Underneath the grey-green vegetation are weak herbs e.g. daisies of one sort or another, violets, sundews, grasses small ferns and mosses; it’s a useful experience to lie down and do a search of the ground in your immediate vicinity.<br />
<br />
Through this vegetation there poke, in their season, the taller herbs—orchids such as Thelymitra and Calochilus, three species of the yellow Bulbinella lily, and long-stemmed Celmisias. Nowhere, on these moors, are there any Ranunculus Myosotis or Aciphylla. Where fertility permits there are scattered bushes of rata (north and south) stunted podocarps, coprosmas, and on rocky outcrops there is bog-pine. There’s plenty of Dracophyllum longifolium where there’s scrub.<br />
<br />
On a sunny day this sort of moorland glistens, and makes a glorious prospect, stretching out invitingly towards the Glasgow and Tasman mountains. It has a distinctive pungency, made mostly of the scent of manuka Dracophyllum and flax (Phormium cookianum), with a touch of Coprosma foetida. A general glance gives an impression of sameness, and some think it barren, not knowing of its diversity—of the three different forms of prostrate manukas, of the variety of Dracophyllum species, of the delightful little Bulbinella talbottii, the various sundews, the azure Herpolirion, the orchids, white and pink snow-berries, indigo Dianella, ferns, and those plants less popularly studied—rushes sedges, mosses. The whole deserves to be celebrated in literature—it has much more character than its British counterparts.<br />
<br />
On some exposed sites virtual deserts form, the weather having stripped the soil and exposed the sandstone base. If this base is crystalline, small dunes of silica sand may form, which wander with the wind, smothering the flora. It’s odd to encounter a desert in a rainfall of 3-4m a year.<br />
<br />
There are some particularly good displays of mosses at spring sites on the open moors. These occur where runnels emerge from scrub onto open rock. In time these form moss gardens, where various species gather to make terraces and pools in shades of yellow green and rust.<br />
<br />
Circa 300m is a useful line for botanical distinction; it marks the limit for many coastal species, such as Brachyglottis repanda, kie-kie, Olearia cheesemanii and lowland softwoods. Above this line, in the valleys, there grows a type of bush that has a distinct light and character. It’s characterised by the presence of a great deal of yellow (pink) pine which gives it a lighter green colouring. Scattered thinly through it are all the beeches and most of the ratas (seven species), Dracophyllum townsonii (Townson was the Westport Chemist for about 10 years) lancewood, rimu, quintinia, totara, a little cedar, and much else.<br />
<br />
This bush tends to be well lit, and so supports a great many ferns and orchids, both epiphytic and terrestrial. In February I was exploring a larger area of bush towards Stockton, and was delighted by the abundance of Earina autumnalis in flower; Winika cunninghamii was too.<br />
<br />
The montane climate, conditioned by the local landscape and inland ranges, encourages some subalpine species to grow at lower altitudes than might be expected. This applies to the bush type just described, and to some species individually notable, such as the very lovely Celmisia dallii, Actinotus n.z., Donatia, and several gentians.<br />
<br />
Which brings us back to the higher lands, and towards our conclusion.<br />
<br />
The Great Buller Coal Plateau is the geological and botanical origin of the moors, and for the Plateau there are four peaks that dominate it, and are its floral storehouses. These peaks have soil on them, which the sandstone pavements at their feet do not. Each of these peaks is about 1,050m asl, and of exceptional botanical richness—they are a delight to botanise upon. They are the banks, as it were, which genetically fund the land about them. No species is known to be entirely confined to these peaks, but they are profoundly integral to the plateau’s ecology.<br />
<br />
Unfortunately, this is the Great Buller Coal Plateau, and even more unfortunately the richest seams of coal are at the highest altitudes, so these peaks must go. Two have already largely yielded themselves to the increase of our nation’s wealth, and the other, Mt. William, is likely to before long. This is terribly sad, and the mining agent, Solid Energy is heavily blamed for this. It is, however, an SOE, and is doing as the government orders. I suggest that the effective way to stop such tragic destruction is for society to cease to use coal and the products it creates, rather than to blame the agent that is giving it what it wants.<br />
<br />
To ensure that something of this environment is left untouched, the Millerton community has negotiated with Solid energy, DOC, and the Buller District Council, to create the Millerton Ecological and Heritage Reserve, an area of open moorland and some bush, of some 700 hectares. This is a public reserve, with tracks and an information centre, and also gives access to the extensive interior territories of the Ngakawau Protected Natural Area, where you may walk and prospect for plants for days if you wish, amongst relatively unbotanised lands.<br />
<br />
The reserve itself has most of those environments mentioned in this talk, but not the really high sandstone pavements nor the peaks. Some pavement area and Mt. William can be reached through Burnetts Face, near Denniston.<br />
<br />
The Millerton Reserve is well worth a visit; for those who wish to study any aspect of its flora fauna or history, accommodation is available at Millerton.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton Park</span></b></a><b><br />
(2003)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTIrnCXH5Nh4iceWvpYAI7yzvwTJq9JTYt8DAuqME3lI8ypZkKtbTF8lA9NASaK93Pr8hsYedkoEwb1fxFW2en5M5sRE-hOi97XhM5n6h8q6a7Bk8AQ_ryo4ZBcogdaf-PUK7WljEL2Q/s1600/MAPPS1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="125" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKTIrnCXH5Nh4iceWvpYAI7yzvwTJq9JTYt8DAuqME3lI8ypZkKtbTF8lA9NASaK93Pr8hsYedkoEwb1fxFW2en5M5sRE-hOi97XhM5n6h8q6a7Bk8AQ_ryo4ZBcogdaf-PUK7WljEL2Q/s400/MAPPS1.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
After three years of negotiation with the people of Millerton, Solid Energy has presented us with an agreement of understanding, by which a forty-hectare park might be created from land gifted by the company. This land lies along the southern and eastern slopes of the Millerton Basin, and extends for some distance over the escarpment and onto the plateau; it includes beech and rimu forest, scrub and regenerating bush, moorland, gorges, and rocky country, and includes many sites of historical value. It will be a public park, and access will be provided.<br />
<br />
The negotiations were initiated by us in an endeavour to preserve the town from the threat of environmental damage; with the disappearance of Stockton, and the looming presence of open cast mining, our own existence seemed at risk, as did that of the flora and fauna of the plateau rim. The negotiations were long and sometimes seemed pointless, and an outcome as good as this we thought most unlikely.<br />
<br />
<br />
Don Elder, the CEO of Solid Energy, has told us that mining at the crest of Mt. Augustus has been postponed for at least three years, to enable further study of the operation to be completed, and damage to the summit line avoided.<br />
Leicester Kyle</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Postscript</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The discovery in 2003 of the Millerton snail—Powelliphanta lignaria ‘Millertonii’—is an illustration of a considerable difficulty we face in our environment.<br />
<br />
For over a century this snail had lived in a human community and not been noticed sufficiently to come to the attention of science. It’s a quite large solidly made bush snail that lives in several acres of forest and scrub. A road goes through its territory, two rail tracks have done so, and there’s a house on it. Some fifteen years ago a bush fire narrowly missed the land. In the spring the snail gets restless and goes wandering around the house and across the road; at other times it’s not seen.<br />
<br />
During the century of co-habitation with humans it could so easily have been eradicated by such things as fire, industry, or property development—part of its land is designated on the town plan for road and housing. Had any such accident happened, we would never have come to know the animal.<br />
<br />
You might well ask whether that would matter, and go on to attend to some other issue more important than a vanished snail, but before you do—stop and think: how different our country would be if the moa, tuatara, takahe, huia, eagle--and the many others of our great army of the disappeared--were still around; how much more lively would be the mountains and the bush. And then there is the colour that has gone—the kaka beak that used to brighten the shores of the Bay of Islands, the scarlet mistletoe that used to make such a brilliant display at Christmas in the Lewis Pass.<br />
<br />
These things have gone, and left our island world, our inheritance, so very much the poorer, darker, less interesting. There are few now alive who can remember how rich was the bush before the deer and opossums got into it. This process of impoverishment is continuing, and is of course a global calamity, but here it can be lessened.<br />
<br />
One of its causes is ignorance. Our attachment to our natural inheritance is too slender. In all other countries there are poems stories songs and legends about their plants and animals, but here, apart from the Maori, there are virtually none. Our attitudes to our plants and animals is more of sentiment than of experience or knowledge.<br />
<br />
We are easily dispossessed of what we value lightly.<br />
<br />
We might well be like those who dream on in life, and then awake in a time of need to find they have no friends or family. </blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Millerton Reserve</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-wfbXU1gkhCdj8moURAWm1OEW3TXZQ9i4O-WqjlTWHCnVbo680RySrF-PFOvxJXxJVfBblX0JmZ9oLLRxaMC5eyEN1DPGeMAwuKo5IPXqTAVyJFpWPFRvdz-m1g-ZniK5b8nvc2Pj5o/s1600/MAPPS2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5-wfbXU1gkhCdj8moURAWm1OEW3TXZQ9i4O-WqjlTWHCnVbo680RySrF-PFOvxJXxJVfBblX0JmZ9oLLRxaMC5eyEN1DPGeMAwuKo5IPXqTAVyJFpWPFRvdz-m1g-ZniK5b8nvc2Pj5o/s400/MAPPS2.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Short Description</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
The Millerton Reserve is a rectangular area of land owned by DOC and Solid Energy, about 500 hectares in extent. Its western edge is the escarpment overlooking the Tasman Sea, and the southern boundary is the rocky edge of the Coal Plateau. Millerton Town and the Stockton Road mark the northern limit, and Mine Creek the eastern. It is largely within the 300 and 400m contours. Three large streams cross it from south to north: Granity, Miller, and Mine Creek 2, each cutting deep gorges, and creating micro-climates which support unexpected fauna and flora. There are considerable residual disturbances from past coal-mining in the mid-section of the reserve: these include bulldozed tracks, building sites, tramways and tunnels, as well as scorched areas left by the retreating burning mine. To the west of this area are remnants of yellow-pine and rata forest in shallow valleys; these have a distinctive flora. The eastern section is heavily forested with a mix of beech and podocarp except in the higher parts, which graduate through the prevalent moorland vegetation into the sandstone pavement of the higher plateau. The old Stockton-Millerton Road cuts through this section, more or less along the line of the Millerton Fault.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
The first miners to settle at Millerton came mostly from the north of England, and would have found much in their new environment that was recognisable: the topography—strata of sandstone and coal founded on granite—is much like that of the Yorkshire moors above, for example, Ilkley. The native vegetation at Millerton is composed mostly of heathers and myrtles, as is that of the Pennines, and the weather, colder in the 1890s than now, would have been pretty familiar too, though wetter<br />
<br />
They proceeded to create a society organised much like that they had left, with the pit town grouped about the pit head (Millerton), and the service town at some remove (Granity). As they had to provide their own housing, and had to use wood and iron to build, this was at first much inferior to what they had left but, grouped on a hill, produced familiar disease: drainage from the house latrines seeped downhill to the homes below. (The Brontes dealt with a similar state of affairs at Haworth.) Four or five of these early cottages still remain at Millerton; others have been removed to the coastal towns.<br />
<br />
For a time the town prospered; the population rose to somewhere near a thousand and it gained the usual amenities of a town. After the first world war, when (for various reasons, mostly to do with the politics of labour) it became cheaper to import coal than to mine it in New Zealand, the population began to decline. When the Millerton mine closed in the 1960s and the people left, many of the houses were shifted elsewhere and others abandoned. Those that were left were bought by people seeking to live an alternative life-style, and the community became very colourful. In recent years it has become more settled.<br />
<br />
The rounded hill that Millerton was built upon was then largely bare—what is known as ‘sandstone pavement’, a feature widespread on the adjacent plateau. Though a site that is seemingly very exposed, nearby hills give an unexpected shelter, and create a surprising amount of windless weather. On the hills round about acidic soil and three metres of rain a year have created a peat-based vegetation known as moorland or heath, or by the maori name of pakihi.. On the north-facing slopes that overlook the town this is luxuriant, and has almost recovered from the disturbances of the mining era. Manuka, epacris, dracophyllum, dwarf flax, gahnia tussock, and rata predominate; sheltering under these are various celmisias, sundews, ground orchids, snow-berries, ferns, rushes, and lilies. There are some rare plants.<br />
<br />
Bush grows mostly in the valleys and gorges, which are more fertile, and on the rolling country east of Millerton, where mudstone overlies the sandstone; here there is some mature beech and podocarp forest. In the gorges there is a fine selection of ratas, including the curious Parkinson’s rata, and the winter rata, which flowers in May and June, and also the widest range of filmy ferns and bryophytes to be found in New Zealand. On the highest parts of the reserve, at some 400-500m., some sub-alpines may be found, including celmisias and gentians. On rocky faces there are prostrate manukas that never grow erect, and tiny moss-like dracophyllums.<br />
<br />
With the closure of the mine and the removal of the population, the bush began to move back into town, flourishing on the refuse left. The introduced grey poplar spread unchecked, giving colour in the autumn, and each year the remaining houses grow more hidden. Most of the public and industrial buildings have been removed or destroyed, and many of the historic sites have been all but forgotten.<br />
<br />
It’s the purpose of the Millerton Reserve Trust to make these sites and places accessible again to those interested. Because of the industrial activity of the last century the flora and fauna of the area has never been closely studied, which explains the recent discovery of the land snail Powelliphanta lignaria ‘millertonii’, the fern Lyndsaea linearis, which is rare in the South Island, and the lily Bulbinella talbotii, which has been known only from the Gouland Downs area. A study of the mining history has much to offer also, as Millerton was, for a time, the largest industrial complex in the country.<br />
<br />
As the tracks are made, the sites cleared and identified, the features of the reserve will be revealed. Many of these are virtually unknown, even to the present inhabitants. There are waterfalls, canyons, ravines, majestic forest, expansive views of mountain hill and sea, and picturesque ruins. The initiative for the reserve came from the inhabitants of Millerton, and was enabled by Solid Energy. DOC, Tai Poutini, and the Buller District Council also give their willing co-operation. We hope it will protect all it holds, and give reward to those interested in nature and New Zealand’s coal history.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">MAPPS [The Millerton and Plateau Protection Society] AGM</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPu0lEN9gu3Ob6oJoXJoVSQO8AuaC9INFq0rrV_cZn5sI5jk51_ly9VzH9eAe2bg8sxW-8wn9HWEZYZVz8UqXnybxhiIh0ULM9WVoyqc77sFniWVLmFT7jfs8h9C0_yekyyvT8l-kpfGU/s1600/scan0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="209" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPu0lEN9gu3Ob6oJoXJoVSQO8AuaC9INFq0rrV_cZn5sI5jk51_ly9VzH9eAe2bg8sxW-8wn9HWEZYZVz8UqXnybxhiIh0ULM9WVoyqc77sFniWVLmFT7jfs8h9C0_yekyyvT8l-kpfGU/s400/scan0002.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>President’s Annual Report, 2004-10-19</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Almost a year ago your negotiators—Maureen McAuley John Ferguson and I—signed the deed with Solid Energy that instituted the Millerton Heritage Park, ending three years of negotiation. It then seemed to me to be most probable that the time had come to wind up MAPPS, as the work it had been created for had been done. However, in the subsequent negotiations for setting up the park, it became clear that Millerton needed a negotiating body to represent the community where it is necessary for it to meet such formal structures as Solid Energy, DOC, the Council etc., especially in legal matters. For that reason, MAPPS still continues.<br />
<br />
Throughout the year the work of MAPPS has continued. Ashley Curd joined us in our meetings held to set up the trust board to govern the Park; unfortunately, this trust has yet to be established, in part due to bureaucratic difficulties within the structure of DOC, and partly due to the particular vision for the park that Solid Energy has. I regret this failure, as it means that there is no governing body for the Park, and it has therefore been difficult to keep up any progress or sense of development. Inevitably, in this absence, some responsibility for this has fallen to this community, it being on the site, and we have found ourselves entering into negotiation with DOC on our own behalf, to obtain access to develop the old Stockton Pack Track as a public walkway. Most of this old road lies outside the boundary of the Park, but would be added to its amenities. These negotiations seem likely to succeed.<br />
<br />
During the year, in order to have some forward momentum, I have been repairing this building so that it might function as an information centre for Millerton and the Park. It is the only way by which we might have an information centre in the meantime; a purpose-built one would be ideal, but must be some way off. The intention is to open this building as the centre at the beginning of December; information material will be gathered and compiled during this month and displayed. The Centre will be open daily from 8.0am to 5.0pm, unstaffed. Renovations will continue, but it is now weather-proof and able to function.<br />
<br />
Early this month Mike Lyn, the manager of Stockton Mine offered to fund a week of track-making in the Park; we decided to formalize the informal track from the tunnel at the top of the bathouse steps to the foot of the escarpment on the sky-line. Seven of us worked on this for five days doing a very good job and being paid for our efforts. It is the first of the Park’s public tracks, and we’re grateful to Solid Energy for this; it brought a bit of money into the community, which has always been a hoped-for consequence of the Park. We hope that the next track will be the Stockton Pack Track.<br />
<br />
That the Park is of value is undoubted. As the deed was signed, our snail was discovered, and named Powelliphanta millertonii. Another species has been found to live at the highest limits of the Park. At least two endangered plants have been found to grow in it, and I’m sure more will be—just now we’re looking at a particularly fine orchid. A botanist came to visit us at Labour Weekend.—accommodation is available for such visitors here, at the Centre. I hope that the Park will eventually enlarge, to include some adjacent portions of the higher plateau, some upper regions of Mine Creek, and the old Rockies Mine.<br />
<br />
To conclude on the subject of the existence of MAPPS: I think it has to continue, in order to be the community aspect of the Park, so that other agencies ,such as science, tourism, administration, can deal with us here, and so that solutions and decisions are not imposed upon us. There is an increasing risk of this, that we be used for purposes that have nothing to do with us. MAPPS can also be a useful means for gaining funding for the community. <br />
<br />
I find it difficult to continue as president of MAPPS. My work, which I should be attending to, is being neglected; my health is uncertain, and I don’t enjoy being involved in Buller community politics. It would be a great relief to me if someone would take on the role. My thanks to John Maureen and Ash for their support during the year, and to Solid Energy and DoC too. May the year ahead be even more constructive.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gC0ZTuYXnYf6VCamrf4FhLoRHGMg5EbUo1XJuvjOVEi4JhXXI9SbdeiaHTaCq2hU6Crh72hgzb3r-64-6RPcwXggg6sDwYxSpG32HjhBNiVY1EDEhYeakDDlfii2Yr2S6lJoRXjTzxY/s1600/millerton+reserve.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="75" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_gC0ZTuYXnYf6VCamrf4FhLoRHGMg5EbUo1XJuvjOVEi4JhXXI9SbdeiaHTaCq2hU6Crh72hgzb3r-64-6RPcwXggg6sDwYxSpG32HjhBNiVY1EDEhYeakDDlfii2Yr2S6lJoRXjTzxY/s400/millerton+reserve.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The Westport Coal Company began work on the Millerton Incline in 1891. At that time coal was being mined at Denniston Seddonville and Mokihinui, and was being exported from Westport.<br />
<br />
In 1896 the first commercial load of coal was taken from the Plateau; by then a few people were living here. The small brown house standing above Coal Reserve Rd. dates from that period, and is probably the oldest house still standing in the town. Others almost as old are at no. 17 Napier St., a cottage in Calliope St., and another in Cain St.<br />
<br />
The earliest photos show the low hill the town stands upon as being mostly bare sandstone rock, which forced roads and houses to not conform to the plan made for the town; even today neither are necessarily where they should be. Bush surrounded this sandstone cap, and there were considerable stands on the adjacent hills, most especially in valleys—much of this was cut for timber, and the remainder burnt in a succession of fires, the last of these happening about fifteen years ago.<br />
<br />
Within twenty years the population of the town stood at near 1000, and there were a number of satellite towns further inland—Stockton, Darlington, Mangatini, Mine Creek. Millerton had all the necessary amenities. A number of small coal mines were attempted near the town (the sites are hidden in the bush) but the two main working mines were Mine Creek and The Dip, both extensive underground mines, whose portals still exist—they can be located on adjacent maps and visited. The income from these mines was so great that they created one of the most prosperous industrial complexes in the country.<br />
<br />
In the 1960s both mines were closed, being pretty well worked out, and the method of coal extraction turned to open cast, which is practised on the Plateau today.<br />
<br />
With the closure many houses were removed from Millerton, to towns on the coast. About thirty remain, some almost hidden in the bush. The climate ( three metres of rain a year) makes life and maintenance difficult, but most of the buildings are being renovated, and the population has maintained itself for the last four decades.<br />
<br />
Millerton is named after H.J.Miller, once chairman of the board of directors of the Westport Coal Company. </blockquote>
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<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton Heritage Park</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3snEiGIWty2SqVHo0Ps5A4Wzyiq7j62VNSbCTludrTUdEXmhsYbTgMGzW1nt69lt08GueCVLvh3RujGoDwGQlzMIzo3BXKtsVbzC7xcJR2Qs8vOnjinv-umZY3NmHRbr46cYDLpNl2pw/s1600/scan0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3snEiGIWty2SqVHo0Ps5A4Wzyiq7j62VNSbCTludrTUdEXmhsYbTgMGzW1nt69lt08GueCVLvh3RujGoDwGQlzMIzo3BXKtsVbzC7xcJR2Qs8vOnjinv-umZY3NmHRbr46cYDLpNl2pw/s400/scan0006.jpg" width="387" /></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The Park was created in 2003, after several years of negotiation between Millerton residents and Solid Energy. Precise boundaries are shown on the maps in this Centre, but with adjacent DoC land the area available to the public is bounded by the Millerton-Stockton road, Mine Creek, the escarpment of the high plateau, and the Rockies mine haul road.<br />
<br />
The purpose of the park is the protection of its flora and fauna and our coal mining history. By means of public walking tracks items of interest are made available; many evidences of coal history lie hidden in the bush and have almost been forgotten.<br />
<br />
All of the park is open to the public, but it is best, on the whole, to keep to the tracks. Beneath the park lies the immense complexity of the Old Dip mine. There are sink-holes and subsidences, old shafts and drives, none of which should on any account be entered if come across. Also, the open moors are easily damaged, and with our heavy rains the damage is quickly worsened. Fire, too, is a real threat.<br />
<br />
Three major streams cross the park—<br />
<ol>
<li>Mine Creek 2, which issues from a tunnel; its resurgence can be heard from quite a way off.</li>
<li>Miller Creek, which has a similar source.</li>
<li>Granity Creek.</li>
</ol>
<br />
These three have deep gorges, and divide the park into three sections: to the west of Granity creek the territory is more montane and the bush has a different character; small streams flow steeply west, and in their valleys are patches of sub-alpine bush—hard beech, podocarps (especially yellow pine), dracophyllums etc. This area is the least disturbed by mining.<br />
<br />
Between Miller Creek and Mine Creek is a large tract of regenerating and mature bush; the latter is of podocarp and beech, and is in a sheltered area. The regenerating bush is vigorous as the base rock is kaiata mudstone, which makes a fertile soil. There are some mine remains in this area of the park, and some fine waterfalls. The old Stockton pack track runs by these, which occur along the Millerton Fault, and it’s hoped to soon have this track open to the public.</blockquote>
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<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Information Centre</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
This building was once the pay office, the union office, and the Doctor’s surgery. It is about a century old. The coal train ran just behind the house, and the miners could stop off to attend to administration etc. Note the fine old fireplace, and the long runs of tongue-and-groove in the ceiling.<br />
<br />
You are welcome to shelter here. There is a toilet, and water—you may make yourself a hot drink, and eat here.<br />
<br />
The centre is open from 8.0am-5.0pm. If the information you want is not available, please call next door at no.17.<br />
<br />
Our phone contact is 7828608.<br />
<br />
If you use our facilities, please make a donation, and be tidy.<br />
<br />
A tour of the hidden history of Millerton (‘The Undercover Town’), lasting an hour, is available at $5.00 per person in a party, $10.00 for a single individual. For this, call next door, or at 404 Calliope St.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Fauna</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<b>of the Park</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The animals of the park are not well understood, as they have never been studied. Only last year (2003) two species of Powelliphanta snails new to science were found here. Both are confined to this area, and are endangered.<br />
<br />
The brown bush gecko is occasionally seen, and a green gecko very rarely. There’s a rich insect population, including the red and yellow admiral butterflies, the owl moth, stick insects, and wetas. Wasps are not abundant; neither are sandflies, as the streams are unsuitable for their breeding. There’s a wide range of spiders.<br />
<br />
Bush rats are plentiful, opossums very few.<br />
<br />
Of our native birds, there’s a good population of bell-birds, tuis, and wood pigeons. Moreporks are occasionally heard; keas and kakas visit now and then, wekas more often, and once or twice a year at night a pair of kiwis will wander through the town. Fern birds are quite abundant on the moor. Robins and bush tits are in the bush, and the shining cuckoo on sunny days. There’s a sea-gull colony further inland.<br />
<br />
Bird life has notably increased with the regeneration of the bush.<br />
<br />
Visitors are reminded that all living things in this park are absolutely protected.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Flora</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The park is mostly moorland, and the flora is therefore dominated by heathers myrtles and rushes of various types. The level beds of sandstone mudstone and coal on a granite base inhibit drainage which, with an annual rainfall of three metres a year, form a typical pakihi soil of layers of sand and heavy mud.<br />
<br />
On the most depleted places the vegetation is thin rush and Gleichenia fern; at higher levels the dominant local Celmisia—C. dubia—and gentians will also grow. Some ground orchids, such as the bearded Calochilus and several Thelymitras also favour this sort of territory. Where fertility is a little higher manuka moves in—here we find it in three distinct forms. In rocky places, and in the valleys, the ratas will grow—there are about seven different species in the park, including the shining rata which flowers in the autumn, and Parkinson’s, which flowers in the spring.<br />
<br />
The Dracophyllums, which belong to the heather family, grow here in a remarkable diversity, from tiny moss-like sub-shrubs to small trees. There is also the Epacris (with its white flowers and bronzed leaves, the red-berried juniper heather, and various types of snow berries.<br />
<br />
Most notable are the moss gardens which develop by seeping water; the park has an exceptional variety of mosses and liverworts, also of ground orchids—amongst the latter we have at least six species of sun orchids and eight of greenhoods. Surprisingly, there is only one spider orchid. The epiphytic orchids also grow here, on rock and tree.<br />
<br />
Bush grows in the more fertile places, especially in the valleys. The regenerating stands are mostly of toro, kamahi, dracophyllum, manuka, rata, and the mature areas are of beech and podocarpus species—there are three species of beech in the park. At lower levels various species of tree ferns are plentiful.<br />
<br />
Here, the temperate coastal rain-forest vegetation meets a montane climate. Bush-lawyer kie-kie rangiora etc. stop at the lower edge of the park, except in some of the gorges where there are micro-climates and some unlikely plants, especially ferns.<br />
<br />
Millerton has a cool climate; it is 300m. above sea level, and is greatly influenced by the weather of the interior highlands. It is relatively windless, with moderate summers and cool winters. Except for rain, extremes of weather are unusual; the average temperature is low—snow may fall, but rarely lies, and air movement generally prevents heavy frost. There is frequent fog.<br />
<br />
A collection of local plants is available for inspection.</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Historical Sites</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzXHE6twlcTWgkECx4sOJWNzT6-baX29X4pVbjiGE-MvwYkSNGl2QOnxFGqyJgSf08DUsXRxJt0xLA9rcsj4dlq6_PEOEM-Z1mbErowr_q4BKPvNWRoqmi_AhyphenhyphenZCu_sg3hn4pKYC5oCA/s1600/scan0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="369" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzXHE6twlcTWgkECx4sOJWNzT6-baX29X4pVbjiGE-MvwYkSNGl2QOnxFGqyJgSf08DUsXRxJt0xLA9rcsj4dlq6_PEOEM-Z1mbErowr_q4BKPvNWRoqmi_AhyphenhyphenZCu_sg3hn4pKYC5oCA/s400/scan0005.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Millerton</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The principal industrial sites are grouped at the end of Napier St., and are managed by DoC. There is parking available.<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Napier St. ends at the concrete remains of the loading bays, from where coal was trucked for a time. Arrangements are being made to drain this site. At the east end of this site begins the old Stockton pack track, which is in the process of being prepared for use.</li>
<br />
<li>Almost above the loading bays is the portal to the Old Dip Mine. A large wooden trestle once took the tramline to this tunnel. A track to this begins near the bath house. The other end of the tunnel can be reached by taking the pack track (at present it has a marshy beginning) and then the side track up the Miller Creek gorge to Miller Force. It’s a powerful and impressive place. There’s a scramble at the end.</li>
<br />
<li>Beside the bath house are the foundations of the lamp house. The stepped path proceeds beyond this to the portal of the Mine Creek tunnel. All the Millerton tunnel portals are built in this style, with a classical keystone at the top of the arch; none remain open, though one may be re-opened in due course.<br />
<br />
The Escarpment Track starts here.</li>
<br />
<li>On the other side of Napier St., opposite the bath house sign, is the entrance to the 100 steps, which the miners used to reach their homes on the north side of town. These will take you to Calliope St., if you wish to do a round walk. There is a waterfall soon after the Miller Creek bridge, and a swimming hole.</li>
<br />
<li>The Brake-head, at the top of the Millerton Incline. Entrance to this is on the south side of the tennis courts, at the end of High St. A rough track takes you through gorse to the top of the incline tunnel.</li>
<br />
<li>Beresford St.: this can only be visited by organised tour; call at 17 Napier St., or at 404 Calliope St.</li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
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<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Old Stockton Pack Track</span></b></a><b><br />
(2004)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7w1_1Oo-U4kSkhweQzGdJTloH7IHFBZv1AvA6Brd2KNw4p8jYDXyWYbFM9SNovOAZPZOeDHtaAfPJ91RUJ03hwF8aVECRH8xXim3Cxo-uTN_p90jaIFwi7MC0Xb_8lhBYS9eGZA8GfQ/s1600/old+stockton+pack+track+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgF7w1_1Oo-U4kSkhweQzGdJTloH7IHFBZv1AvA6Brd2KNw4p8jYDXyWYbFM9SNovOAZPZOeDHtaAfPJ91RUJ03hwF8aVECRH8xXim3Cxo-uTN_p90jaIFwi7MC0Xb_8lhBYS9eGZA8GfQ/s400/old+stockton+pack+track+1.jpg" width="296" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Species List<br />
And assessment of the consequences<br />
Of clearance and construction.<br />
</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<ol>
<li>The first portion of the track, to Miller Creek, is benched and mostly open; beginning in gorse blackberry and swamp, it will need to be drained, and probably decked in one or two places. It then moves on to open land, and has a thin covering of gorse, manuka, and epacris. Some small herbs of interest grow upon it: several grass-like celmisias, a sundew, and several species of sun orchid.</li>
<li>The track then dips sharply into Miller Creek gorge, and the track down will largely need to be reconstructed through a thick tangle of gorse and blackberry.</li>
<li>On the other side of the creek the formed track recommences, at first through very thick manuka and gahnia tussock in which, for a hundred metres or so, the track is almost lost; it then emerges onto the open pakihi on which it largely stays for the rest of its length, dipping into bush at stream crossings.</li>
</ol>
<br />
The Pakihi Vegetation is as Follows:<br />
Gahnia (2sp.) Drosera Celmisia graminifolia<br />
Manuka Theymitra sp. Celmisia dubia<br />
Epacris Microstis unifolia ferns: Blechnum, Sticherus<br />
Phormium colensoi Calochilus paludosus Nertera depressa<br />
Kamahi Dianella nigra Gaultheria sp.<br />
Leucopogon 2sp. Rushes sedges & grasses<br />
<ul>
<li>Thinly scattered through the pakihi are stunted rata, kamahi, and rimu.</li>
<li>The only rare plant so far found on this site is the bearded orchid, Calochilus paludosus.</li>
<li></li>
</ul>
<br />
The Vegetation of the Bushed Gullies:<br />
Kamahi Toro lancewood<br />
Broadleaf Nothopanax tanekaha<br />
Rimu yellow pine totara<br />
Rata-north and south, and the climbing white rata Nothofagus (3sp.)<br />
Ferns: Cyathea smithii, Blechnum procerum, Lindsaea cuneata, bracken (2sp).<br />
<ul>
<li>Clearance of the track will reveal further species.</li>
<li>No rare species have been found on these sites, though there are some adjacent.</li>
</ul>
<br />
Mitigation of the Effects of Clearance and Construction:<br />
Throughout the length of the track it will probably not be necessary to fell a single tree, though some that are fallen will need to be removed. As the walking track will take up only a small portion of the easement width, it will be able to avoid sensitive areas (such as sphagnum accumulations) and notable specimens; these will be identified in advance with coloured tape. All cut debris will be concealed, and construction rubbish removed; scrub will be cut at ground level.<br />
FAUNA: in the Millerton region this is not well known nor understood. On this site, though we have looked, no Powelliphanta have been found. A brown bush gecko has been observed, and it is possible that a green gecko is here also. There is an abundant bird life, though no wekas seem to live in the reserve—a few pass through each year, as do one or two kiwi. Moreporks have been heard, and keas—the latter visit, as do kaka from time to time. There are few opossums.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XuUh1JCNopy2YAuhpBdHtCQZ_xBhIUyWdI17tElcUui9YQC4FdS9RZ-dmcqZhnJATP25o7dH0rMiGO6TrDX2bY08O9tGKuZ4NokssnaeCrlnSe5q54K3HlO0kLQ0HmemRN6JYaEZ7RI/s1600/old+stockton+pack+track+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="278" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2XuUh1JCNopy2YAuhpBdHtCQZ_xBhIUyWdI17tElcUui9YQC4FdS9RZ-dmcqZhnJATP25o7dH0rMiGO6TrDX2bY08O9tGKuZ4NokssnaeCrlnSe5q54K3HlO0kLQ0HmemRN6JYaEZ7RI/s400/old+stockton+pack+track+2.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton Town Plan</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Suggestions for consideration</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
NOTE: The Buller District Council Town Planning Officer thinks that we should have a town plan of our own; DoC and Solid Energy have also suggested we should. Here are some ideas to start the discussion; you might have some of your own. Perhaps we could have a town meeting soon to take it further.<br />
<br />
<u>Principles and Reasons</u>:<br />
<ol>
<li>To preserve the space we each have, and the advantages we’ve come here for--- e.g room, privacy, peace, and the personal freedoms these bring us.</li>
<br />
<li>To retain some control over our environment and its amenities---e.g. outlook, bush, water, recreation, relatively inexpensive cost of living.</li>
<br />
<li>To preserve the present character of the town, and to give access to and present its history.</li>
<br />
<li>To liase with the District Council, DoC, and Solid Energy to ensure that any buildings plans or developments in Millerton comply with the above principles.</li>
</ol>
<br />
<i>The present high level of prosperity in Buller makes it unlikely that we will be spared development and/or exploitation in the near future. We need to make sure that the Millerton we know and value isn’t taken from us</i>.</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton Park</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSaYfJt4PHCkMezX1_ELpFDOkCvxXTZfofQakjzdsRVuFuGb3BdO5lvsKY8UK7ro0aXx474NklT8mMqNs2og9nuXkgc2Z2NubWQzdXf3pPSo-U4R3yAX6ShV5WM63UBAyWkCclvUQXnE/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGSaYfJt4PHCkMezX1_ELpFDOkCvxXTZfofQakjzdsRVuFuGb3BdO5lvsKY8UK7ro0aXx474NklT8mMqNs2og9nuXkgc2Z2NubWQzdXf3pPSo-U4R3yAX6ShV5WM63UBAyWkCclvUQXnE/s400/scan0004.jpg" width="275" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Signing</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
On Saturday Aug. 6th. the four parties concerned with the establishment of the Millerton Park will officially sign the documents that will create the reserve.<br />
<br />
This will happen at 1.0pm. at the Bath-house, Millerton.<br />
<br />
You are warmly invited to attend this.<br />
<br />
The event will be a public one. There will be a welcome at 10.0am at the site, and then guided walks will be led about Millerton and the Park.<br />
<br />
At 12.0 the will be a sausage sizzle and other refreshments provided.<br />
<br />
At 1.0 the signing will take place.<br />
<br />
Public transport will be provided to and from Millerton, and will leave for Westport at 1.30pm. apprx.<br />
<br />
A tent will be erected at the Bath-house, toilets will be provided, parking spaces indicated, and both the hall and the info.centre will be open in case other shelter is needed.<br />
<br />
The four signatories are: Solid Energy<br />
The Dept. of Conservation<br />
Buller District council<br />
MAPPS<br />
There will be a good deal of publicity, on both radio and newspaper, and the occasion will officially conclude Conservation Week.<br />
<br />
Come and make this a worthy celebration of our five years of planning and negotiation, your negotiators—<br />
Maureen McCauley<br />
Ashley Curd<br />
John Ferguson<br />
Leicester Kyle</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Millerton Tracks</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4w-HXOtsPTZKlSrN6Iepi2HkGVzzqKC5TwR6O6PiE5wcAQeGziHvLQhRAzjq-iZHNIhu5DpwHnAr894YripRyONaX4yRTobKMBQJGfRWw5tMeW8bzqUyCb0yS-vUccIshMKRvnmG_MEw/s1600/millerton+tracks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4w-HXOtsPTZKlSrN6Iepi2HkGVzzqKC5TwR6O6PiE5wcAQeGziHvLQhRAzjq-iZHNIhu5DpwHnAr894YripRyONaX4yRTobKMBQJGfRWw5tMeW8bzqUyCb0yS-vUccIshMKRvnmG_MEw/s400/millerton+tracks.jpg" width="277" /></a><br />
<br />
A map of the present walks is on the reverse side of this sheet</div>
<br />
<blockquote>
The two major walks are:
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>The Escarpment Track.<br />
The Old Rockies Haul Road.<br />
The Repo Basin Track<br />
The Hundred Steps<br />
Old Dip Portal<br />
The Old Pack Track</b> — see separate sheet</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<b>The Escarpment Track. 45min.</b><br />
This begins at the top of the bathouse path and steps, beside the Mine Creek tunnel portal, and ends at the entrance to the Miller Creek ravine, at the foot of the escarpment. From the whole length of the track there are superb views of Millerton and Stockton, the Glasgow Range, and the Karamea Bight; it also provides access to adjacent moorland and the Miller Creek valley. On the banks of this valley unusually large forms of Celmisia dubia can be found that flower all year, especially in the winter, and in suitable localities the rare Bulbinella talbotii, a small golden lily. <br />
<br />
Where necessary the track is marked by poles. The last of these, at the top, also marks the vestige of an old tram-line which gave access to coal in the ravine—Miller Creek issues from one of these tunnels. The ravine is an interesting and dramatic place, but can only be explored by means of a rough scramble—there is no track. If you attempt this, on no account enter any tunnels. The rock is loose, and there is gas.<br />
<br />
<b>The Old Rockies Haul Road. 1hr.</b><br />
This starts at the crossroads and goes through bush and then into open moorland; once you get onto the bare sandstone stretch you’re on private road, but it’s safe to take the branch track to the right to the communications hut; this gives good views, and takes you to some sub-alpine bush.<br />
<br />
<b>100 Steps</b><br />
These are signposted at the end of Napier St., and permit an attractive round trip back through Millerton, across Miller Creek.<br />
<br />
<b>Old Dip Portal</b><br />
Take the Old Pack Track to the brink of Miller Creek Gorge; here a sign directs you to the ten minute walk which ends at the portal and Miller Force. It’s a dramatic site; here the hillside collapsed upon some mine buildings a bridge and a waterfall—see the photograph at the Info Centre.<br />
<br />
<b>Repo Basin Track.</b><br />
Some years ago Solid Energy made this track, to enable access to the hinterland. The path takes you to a crossing point on the haul road; once over this a vast area of wilderness is available, including the Repo Basin and-- in the distance-- the inner gorge of the Ngakawau River. There are many tracks wandering over this fine tract of moor and bush.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<u>Please note that you venture into the park entirely at your own risk</u></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Old Pack Track</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcX_i8Tb-7PDsuHbXEj2Zgvbtf2jd_lmawrxw1nv7LqM_Ns78Xet5jr85okWj0FN5_V3VnGD8tsq3q_Xea1QytnU7acEXsd7A8YOaBnegEHLQHW5m8KG3pooAFNnyGvD_mY9Jh3DbaOYI/s1600/the+old+pack+track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcX_i8Tb-7PDsuHbXEj2Zgvbtf2jd_lmawrxw1nv7LqM_Ns78Xet5jr85okWj0FN5_V3VnGD8tsq3q_Xea1QytnU7acEXsd7A8YOaBnegEHLQHW5m8KG3pooAFNnyGvD_mY9Jh3DbaOYI/s400/the+old+pack+track.jpg" width="248" /></a><br />
<br />
(1.50hrs)</div>
<br />
<blockquote>
This old road to Mine Creek and Stockton became disused about fifty years ago, and was cleared again in Dec. 2004. It’s in a rough and muddy state, without bridges, so it must be walked with stout footwear and at the individual’s risk. Bridging is being prepared.<br />
<br />
The track begins at the end of Napier St., behind the old loading bays, and in general follows the line of the Millerton Fault. Fine prospects appear almost immediately. At the brink of Miller Creek a vestigial branch track curves upstream to an old tunnel portal and views of Miller Force. The Pack track proceeds ahead in steps down a steep face to the creek, where a rope assists with the crossing.<br />
<br />
On the far bank the track continues through a patch of kamahi and rata into some tall manuka and then out onto open moorland keeping, until its end, a gentle gradient. Below, and to the north, is a view of Millerton Hill, the dam, Mine Creek valley, the coast and country of the Karamea Bight, and the Glasgow Range—a fine range of granite mountains.<br />
<br />
The first major feature reached is the Warm-Water Falls. These are set in a dark cirque overshadowed by trees. The temperature keeps at 16deg. but can be warmer after rain. The cause of its warmth is uncertain but is most likely the burning mine, though this is some way off uphill. There are interesting rocks and clays here.<br />
<br />
From here on the vegetation begins to intensify; the covering rock is Kaiata mudstone which decays into a fertile soil, and the regrowth is now very thick and various—the track is at times in a tunnel of green. A little before Shit Creek there is a clearing (a good spot for a rest) and at the foot of this clearing a rough track will take you to an old hut, which can still provide some shelter. Below the hut, in tall bush, if you look carefully you can find a mine tunnel, with wooden rails coming from it and the remains of a trolley. (At this point, if you don’t wish to proceed half an hour further, you can scramble directly downhill through the bush, keeping more or less parallel with the creek, and in you will reach the main road; turn left to Millerton.)<br />
<br />
From here the track follows a rock bench to the creek and falls, skirting the old forest of beech rimu rata cedar totara tanekaha etc. Shit Creek is so named from its former role of receiving the nightsoil from Millerton and Stockton—the dump site on the east bank below the main road bridge (where it is officially Mine Creek 2) is worth a visit.<br />
<br />
The crossing of this creek is very dangerous; please take great care. Below the crossing is a massive waterfall, and above it are some more.<br />
<br />
After this the track is once more in the open until the approach to the third set of falls—Spring Creek falls; here the strange tree Dracophyllum townsonii makes an appearance. Care should be taken at this crossing also. Behind the falls is an overhang which can provide shelter in bad weather. The water is drinkable.<br />
<br />
Further on, the track proceeds through an attractive area of regenerating beech and lancewood, rising into manuka and epacris, giving good views of the Stockton area and the end of the haul road where coal is loaded onto the aerial ropeway to be taken to Ngakawau. The track and the remains of the old ropeway draw closer, the massive shelter of the former no.4 station appears above. Follow the polled track to the dirt road. If you wish to walk the round trip follow the dirt road downhill and you will come eventually to the main road at the mine gates.<br />
<br />
It can be a good idea to have transport ready for you this side of the mine gate, at the site of the old Stockton school.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-prose.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Waterfall Track</span></b></a><b><br />
(2005)</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf2gWo6u1YsA9ItANs9YJ5Kf2IF-7vtboPANC69Msp0s134o8ES8I1_PVm1dYeOnEotmE_mJcFccqnkiWSlIeZQFmjuddgVSx1yg9tBw95jbCea1EnyYTX3O389p3Zt3An_5BwhSbhLM/s1600/the+waterfall+track.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQf2gWo6u1YsA9ItANs9YJ5Kf2IF-7vtboPANC69Msp0s134o8ES8I1_PVm1dYeOnEotmE_mJcFccqnkiWSlIeZQFmjuddgVSx1yg9tBw95jbCea1EnyYTX3O389p3Zt3An_5BwhSbhLM/s400/the+waterfall+track.jpg" width="398" /></a><br />
<br />
c. 45 min. return</div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Access is from the Domain, where it is signposted, or from the Brakehead, which is adjacent to the disused tennis-court by the swimming pool. Parking is available near both access points.<br />
<br />
Follow the cleared path of the old incline until you near the cutting to the tunnel; the waterfall track begins at your right, initially down a steep bank. From here the track proceeds pretty clearly through regenerated bush and scrub, through a belt of macrocarpas (planted when this area was built upon) and then to the edge of the Granity Creek gorge.<br />
<br />
For a while the track follows the cliff edge, giving fine views of the waterfall, the coast, the distant Tasman Mountains and the inland moors. Please exercise the greatest care. Warning notices are placed and on no account should the cliff edge be approached. It is a considerable precipice.<br />
<br />
After leaving the gorge the track follows the edge of an escarpment, proceeding gently uphill through a mix of tangle fern small trees and emerging podocarps. There are fine views of Granity and the old road.<br />
<br />
The track soon joins the Sunset Rock track. Turn right for Sunset Rock ( you’re almost there) or left for Millerton.<br />
<br />
Sunset Rock is a lookout and resting place; you may follow the track down to the road if you wish, and walk back up by the road.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUriP717INhzThTXUydx0VgIkKUQ8r13xIIMCDxVxde8Abz93cJqD_hhTSo7mgBWa40zo78SSZytZMWnoGRP5V9VH2VSPWn8_DNSusdHwkcUwjuKpAo8O2SHRxwTYfYH6tRTQvURqzGD9/s1600/verandah+at+millerton.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5582562794039746850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRUriP717INhzThTXUydx0VgIkKUQ8r13xIIMCDxVxde8Abz93cJqD_hhTSo7mgBWa40zo78SSZytZMWnoGRP5V9VH2VSPWn8_DNSusdHwkcUwjuKpAo8O2SHRxwTYfYH6tRTQvURqzGD9/s400/verandah+at+millerton.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 269px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-21201554169118209602012-01-19T07:29:00.006+13:002017-11-26T10:54:27.817+13:00Prose Fiction<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Uhy6i_Hw4V8T4BKhWl1KnakCdlmVZJdlVDd7KZVWm0NFPySmm22JWjt9WFDJplfPSuM3ivmA9UUPPpnJktcW15HHQ63D-JxlPFmCOtYdUsHcPIehVszuVP8Iv5sCQPQU4DE6Knq_aFU1/s1600/Flowers.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615966948897656322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Uhy6i_Hw4V8T4BKhWl1KnakCdlmVZJdlVDd7KZVWm0NFPySmm22JWjt9WFDJplfPSuM3ivmA9UUPPpnJktcW15HHQ63D-JxlPFmCOtYdUsHcPIehVszuVP8Iv5sCQPQU4DE6Knq_aFU1/s400/Flowers.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><i><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-thirty-four.html">I Got Me Flowers</a></i> (c.1975)</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Novellas & Short Stories:</span></b></div>
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/prose-fiction.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title=""><i>I Got Me Flowers</i></a><i>: Letters to a Psychiatrist</i> (c.1975)</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Uhy6i_Hw4V8T4BKhWl1KnakCdlmVZJdlVDd7KZVWm0NFPySmm22JWjt9WFDJplfPSuM3ivmA9UUPPpnJktcW15HHQ63D-JxlPFmCOtYdUsHcPIehVszuVP8Iv5sCQPQU4DE6Knq_aFU1/s1600/Flowers.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615966948897656322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Uhy6i_Hw4V8T4BKhWl1KnakCdlmVZJdlVDd7KZVWm0NFPySmm22JWjt9WFDJplfPSuM3ivmA9UUPPpnJktcW15HHQ63D-JxlPFmCOtYdUsHcPIehVszuVP8Iv5sCQPQU4DE6Knq_aFU1/s400/Flowers.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQZPFJatY-rfuWO0UhlUxV1CGCdL6R1KVeAsRXL-DtZK4h0rFrXrw6X543W3fQ7ZfteHXW_sNFMnIK924_Wk8sGnLXIGNr_QeuSDVrqQywsOJWbHIiBoGJNnuYxcCs53RyUb1-0UBb0O9/s1600/F1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615967337261979906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQZPFJatY-rfuWO0UhlUxV1CGCdL6R1KVeAsRXL-DtZK4h0rFrXrw6X543W3fQ7ZfteHXW_sNFMnIK924_Wk8sGnLXIGNr_QeuSDVrqQywsOJWbHIiBoGJNnuYxcCs53RyUb1-0UBb0O9/s400/F1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 287px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/prose-fiction.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">I Got Me Flowers</span></b></a>:<br />
<b>Letters to a Psychiatrist</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>L. H. Kyle</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
For Ursula</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOojgeAEEGPNlu59oQ58QZy8TIlZ8AvYDrIZggBkNhCyQ3pT9mLp-6fsd7NawYIRBZHgYShqjwRPE3bHl9lAvzDlqUW_hzjFCbseHblfn8q3nE0ynnCIUfQID3GhEslteM5PdfbofUGGq4/s1600/F2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615967600611536082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOojgeAEEGPNlu59oQ58QZy8TIlZ8AvYDrIZggBkNhCyQ3pT9mLp-6fsd7NawYIRBZHgYShqjwRPE3bHl9lAvzDlqUW_hzjFCbseHblfn8q3nE0ynnCIUfQID3GhEslteM5PdfbofUGGq4/s400/F2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
[1]<br />
<br />
I present this material to you as it was received. It is therefore not in chronological order, no major deficiency when it comes to the point, as the writer himself states that he is unable to remember the sequence of the events and impressions he records. After a close study of each letter, however, I am of the opinion that they were sent in an order that has a psychological veracity of its own. In accordance with that conviction, I place this material before you.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">When Father Riley sent me this ‘confession’ (if I may use the term) he was in a distressed state. He has since been converted to Roman Catholicism and has entered a monastery on the Athos Peninsula, where racial, denominational, and linguistic difficulties must keep him preoccupied. In view of his enclosure, no harm can be done by the publication of this material, and I assure the reader that the letters have been carefully edited for the further protection of my friend. Fortunately the editing caused the omission of only a very little material of importance.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">It is as well to admit that the publication of this intimate document is prompted by what is sometimes called ‘collectors elation’ – the overpowering desire to exhibit a rarity to the public. Never, in all my professional life, have I come across such a remarkable psychic experience as this, indeed it throws doubts upon the whole concept of psychological and experiential reality. I know Fr. Riley does not object to my making it public. His one condition is that I do not try to explain it.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[2]<br />
<br />
This is my attempt to describe a unique situation, an adventure I found myself taken into. It is not even put in chronological order, for time had little to do with it; to treat it like a tale would be like putting a time sequence upon a landscape. I’m pretty sure too that I was sick at the time, mentally ill, but that is for you to judge. It’s hard for me to be certain about these things, but that’s understandable enough. It’s not likely that the sufferer could be accurate about his diagnosis, but my memory of that season on the beach is not that of a sane man. The whole year lies flat as a picture. There is no depth to it, no order, only a vivid canvas of events and impressions. If pressed, I could give no order to it, apart from the obvious beginning, the inevitable end, and one or two approximate sequences. Even to place an over-all interpretation upon this account of mine must be unsure, for who can tell whether it is fantasy or at least partly factual? You can surely help me, Thomas?<br />
<br />
As for myself, I have a glimmering of the real meaning of that year, but you must judge. Only be sure of this one thing, that of all I have so far written and am going to write, all seems true to me, I think it happened. Nothing is fictional in the sense of being deliberately invented by the author, though it may seem like fiction, for any account of an adventure as strange as this is bound to sound incredible. As I have frequently observed in my own profession, the varieties of human experience are so diverse and each unique, that when recounted they must often be diluted with the imagination before they may be widely received.<br />
<br />
[3]<br />
<br />
For the first few weeks I did try, and kept rigidly to a devotional plan, rising with the sun to matins, and meditation based upon the ordered reading of the Jerusalem Psalter. At mid-day I read the noon office, and at three and again at dusk and bed-time there followed the offices suited to their times. At those hours free from chores I prayed and studied, all with an intensity calculated to bring spiritual enlightenment , if not the Vision itself. When I look back on those laboured days I am both scandalised and amused, for with the nightmare now over the naivety of my attempts at sanctity seem incredible. It must be that I was sick; however, I leave the judgement and diagnosis to you, if you will. <br />
<br />
At first my intentions were beyond reproach, and the failure of each day’s spiritual warfare was undoubtedly due to Ursula. If I was sitting on a rock praising out to sea, a rustling and a gasp would herald her approach, and there she would be, climbing up to a seat beside me. Should I be on my knees before the hut, a slight crunching of the shingle would open my eyes, and there would be her slight and naked foot, pointing the way to gentler contemplations. It was very very hard that I, a product of suburbia and all its modern ills, should be so satanically and classically tempted, but there it was, and she was always nice about it. Her courtesy was beyond reproach, and every interruption for a particular and reputable cause. <br />
<br />
Riley, she would ask, in her clear, moderate, well-educated tones; I’ve just found a bed of pauas. It’s low tide now. Do you think you could come and help me pick them off the rocks? And off I would have to go, for there was no refusing such a dignified appeal to my gallantry. <br />
<br />
Almost all these interruptions, so sweetly eroding into my spiritual disciplines, concerned food, and to my shame I admit that eventually dietary needs came to rule every day. As I look over the rough draft of this document, I am astonished at how I was seduced from my first principles into an elaborate fussing about the stomach. When it came to finding food Ursula was relatively helpless, or she professed to be, so I had to go hunting, if you can call hunting the quest for shell-fish, bush-snails, eggs, sea-weed, and vegetables. Goodness knows what she had lived on before I turned up – mussels and seaparsley I suppose, but once resident she came to rely entirely upon me. As some slight mitigation of this sorry state of affairs, let me add that I was good at getting food, an ability perhaps due to my Maori ancestry. <br />
<br />
Don’t think, I beg you, that the solitary lady was entirely successful in her distractions, for throughout those twelve strange months I never ceased to devote much time to prayer and reading, but nowhere near the time that should have been. Ursula successfully stole away far too much. I will tell you how she did so. <br />
<br />
[4]<br />
<br />
We worked out a delicious recipe for cooking crabs: they were put alive into a closed cooking-pot dry, with a finely-chopped garnish of Rohutu. The pot was heaped over with hot ashes and embers, and in half an hour the dish was cooked. You could hardly imagine a tastier food, but we had to be quick to apply the initial heat. I sometimes think I should write down some of the recipes we invented out of sheer necessity, but when I think of some of the meals that Ursula prepared, especially the very last, I feel a bit sick at heart, and forget the idea. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
My Lady was at times disturbing in her shadowy aloofness. It then seemed she was not wholly of this world, but was using it as a half-way house to some far-off existence more real than this. One night, when there was a full calm moon and a low tide, I was out gathering sea-eggs from the far end of the reef. I cannot remember why I was doing this at night rather than by day, but the reason was possibly to do with the weather, or more likely it had occurred to me to do the collecting, so off I went. Well-planned days have never been my forte, as I had discovered to my cost in the parish, und now discovered anew in the wild. Had I been a better planner, Ursula would never have been able to pervert me from my prayers, and make the raw taste of sea-eggs a compelling factor in my life. They are best eaten raw, and only the roes. <br />
<br />
Standing up to return, I looked towards the beach some hundred yards off, and saw the lady walking stately as if in a dream, with her hands cupped before her, filled with a greenish-blue light. It was probably phosphorescence. Sometimes shellfish picked in the morning would be phosphorescent by night, and there was a cylindrical blob of sea-life that shone quite brightly in the dark, and was occasionally trapped in the rock-pools. I called out to her, but she never replied, and as I could not hurry over the rocks without losing my supper, she had gone by the time I reached the sand. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[5]<br />
<br />
It was one of those days that seem to come off a web-offset press, with a grey light and black shadows. I had just said Mass, as I did almost every morning at sunrise to keep my orders before me, so that I would not be seduced by solitude into forgetting my calling. At no point did I forget to do this – please note that, Thomas. <br />
<br />
During Mass Ursula very often came and sat with me. It was not possible for me to celebrate the sacrament, as there was no bread and no wine, so I don’t know whether she would ever have communicated. Perhaps she communicated by intention, like me, but I did not dare to ask her whether she was confirmed into my church, or even whether she was baptised, or what her beliefs were, or whether she held any. It’s as well that I didn’t, for as things turned out such a question would have been ridiculous. <br />
<br />
Sometimes she sat in an attitude of prayer and appeared to listen intensely, at others she indulged in a restless silent physical pestering. <br />
<br />
This day I completed the reading of the liturgy without that sense of alert benevolence which usually accompanied the work, and a melancholy reserve encapsulated me. <br />
<br />
I had a restless night last night, I said to Ursula, partly in excuse for my low spirits. She looked quickly, sympathetically. <br />
<br />
Are you worrying again? She asked. This was a way she had – to ask a general question in such a personal manner that it was bound to lead to some sort of confession if answered at all. You have to say yes to a question like that when it’s asked so intensely, for you’re bound to have worried at least once before, and quite recently too. <br />
<br />
It’s just me, I explained. I still don’t know what to do with myself.<br />
<br />
Are you worth so much worry? She asked, in her frankest of pastoral manners, and I blushed, at both her transparent artifice and my own lack of humility. I have never been able to rid myself of a sense of greater worth than has ever been put upon me.<br />
<br />
Definitely not, she forced me to reply, but I do belong somewhere, and I don’t know where. Little boy lost, I added, in case she might sneer. <br />
<br />
We belong where we are, she said. You would not have come here had you not belonged. <br />
<br />
I wish I could stay forever, I replied. We were now both sitting on the shingle outside the door, looking over the beach and out to sea. A corrugated cloud covered the sky completely. but to the south-west a dark line of lower rolling clouds marked the edge of a rainstorm. The heavy atmosphere caused a slow swelling surf , and there was no breath of wind. Nature is at her best when still, for there is then a suspended interest while <br />
<br />
[6]<br />
<br />
she takes off one face to put on a new. <br />
<br />
Why not? She asked, as if to suggest she wished I would. <br />
<br />
I would like to, I said, but I feel no calling to the solitary life. I know it’s right for me to do this now, but not forever. <br />
<br />
And where forever?<br />
<br />
In the parish.<br />
<br />
Then that’s where you must go. You like the work? <br />
<br />
Very much indeed, but I sometimes think that I don’t do it well enough.<br />
<br />
You probably don’t, she retorted, with that dry tartness that occasionally shot through her gentle exterior like fat within a wrapping. Her honesty stung me to a greater frankness: <br />
<br />
Most probably I would work better if it were not for a feeling of redundancy, unwantedness. <br />
<br />
That could hardly be true, she said. If it were really so you would be crucified, wouldn’t you. And she patted me on the knee and leant luxuriously against me, so that I had to laugh and put my arm about her waist. <br />
<br />
That was her way: on the one hand to instruct (almost to prophesy) on the other hand to lure (almost to destruction). Sometimes she would play with me as if she were a cat, and at other times she wore the face of God and sternly pointed me to duty. I’m now quite positive that at no time was she absolutely genuine. In all she did there was an ulterior motive, and I never quite discovered it. Perhaps you can, Thomas , and I think you will find (if only from a necessarily literary analysis) that I have written down only those thoughts and happenings that could illuminate this problem.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Now and then it happened that I thoughtlessly and accidentally did or said something that she found objectionable. It wasn’t that Ursula was necessarily offended, but more likely that I so surprised her that she was unable to make a suitable reply. At such times, I often observed, her features would quite alter. The colour would go from her cheeks, her eyes would come bloodshot and dull, the muscles of her face would sag, and her whole posture would slump. She would again be the girl who had greeted me on the beach after my first swim, and I would quietly leave her, for there was hardly anybody there at all. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[7]<br />
<br />
Beauty has never failed to move me, whether it be in nature, music, any art or in human form, but beauty, as we all know, can be a pitfall, so part of my decision to remain in the Bay was due to Ursula’s rather repulsive appearance. My vow of celibacy has always been a trouble to me, and has cost me a lot, as all vows should. Nevertheless, it has never been broken in deed, though on at least one occasion it was broken in intention. <br />
<br />
With respect to this subject, however, Ursula proved to be no help, but on the contrary to be a goad at times. At our first meeting on the beach she was ugly enough, but I soon noticed that her appearance was subject to the most remarkable alterations, all clearly not of her own volition. She was subject to moods when she was not only beautiful but enticing, and there were several occasions when, taken short by the seduction of the moment I very nearly broke my vow. If Ursula had not always remained ultimately inaccessible, I might well have become a ruined man and a renegade priest.<br />
<br />
Great distance from the visible effects of civilisation often levels certain barriers that are wise and sensible in society. By nature I am inclined to think that inhibitions are a good thing, and contain a core of essential truth, so you may be surprised that I always swam naked. I’m surprised myself, when I think back upon those days, and in explanation can only say that it had great practical advantages to swim in that fashion (or lack of fashion) and that Ursula was almost always totally disinterested in me as any sort of sex object. In her presence I always felt modest, with one or two notable exceptions, as I shall eventually relate. <br />
<br />
On Palm Sunday I decided to feast with crab-meat, and late in the morning swam out to the end of the bluff, where some tumbled marble slabs formed a dark chasm that rustled with crabs, great big reddish-brown monsters that baked delightfully. The very memory of them makes me wish I was back there now, for crab-fish is far tastier than cray, and much better for the stomach. Lobster tends to be indigestible, and tastes everything that follows after, but crab goes well with the palate, especially if with a subtle sauce. Never stew it. I quickly caught five or six, put them in a flax basket, and headed back to the beach keeping in the shelter of the rocks and out of the ocean swell, and I saw Ursula, sitting solitary upon a recessed rock, looking like a nixie into a pool beside her. She hadn’t noticed me, so I swam and crept quietly to her feet, took a crab from the basket, and let it scrabble at her toes. She leapt to her feet with a gasp, but I’m sure that even then she knew it was me at play. Nothing surprised her, nothing really surprised her, though sometimes she looked innocently startled, as <br />
<br />
[8]<br />
<br />
now. At such times there was a clear colour in her eyes and upon her cheeks, and her hair had silken lustres as it curled about her shoulders. <br />
<br />
In my enthusiastic folly I couldn’t resist pursuing as she fled up the rocks, until she fell laughing upon the flat turf at the top. I knelt beside her, holding the crab towards her nose, but she looked so love]y that I drew the crab away, and fondled her cheek instead. She sat up. <br />
<br />
You’ve been eating too many shellfish again, Riley, she said. And I don’t know if crab is much better. You will remember to leave me out of your celebration, won’t you? <br />
<br />
Ursula was never rude, no matter who she was, but I sometimes thought that when she was like this she was, as at no other time, nobody else at all. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Long spells of rain were hard to cope with, for they had a depressing effect, though if the rain was very heavy or came with storm the challenge of survival added interest to our daily routine. My hut was built of notched pungas plugged with clay and moss like a log cabin and thatched with flax, so it never leaked and was always cosy. Ursula had woven a flax mat that hung over the doorway and could be secured against the wind, and under her direction I had used a mixture of clay and crushed limestone to make an efficient sort of fireplace. She was oddly useful in unexpected areas, having a mind that seemed illuminated by random spots of light, so she was able to come to my practical assistance when I might have least expected such help. <br />
<br />
Though the weather was never a serious threat to our safety, it was sometimes alarming, as you might guess from your own knowledge of that part of the West Coast. We sometimes had severe storms off the sea, and when these raged the waves would rise to such a vast extent that even from my hut they towered above, and as they crashed upon the rocks the spray would swirl into the trees in a smoke. It certainly seemed on several occasions that the sea would take the beach away, but it never did. The thunder would crash upon the roof, hail bounce in the door, gale tear at the walls, and pounding seas shake the earth, but no disaster ever came , thank God, however vulnerable I might feel. At such storms there was nothing that could he done but sit by the fire and try to read, or share with the elements by walking with them if warm enough and in the mood. <br />
<br />
[9]<br />
<br />
On the whole the worst threat that bad weather posed was to our fires, for we soon had few matches left and had to do our best to keep them continually in. With the help of drift-wood and sea-coal this was usually possible. I usually kept a large supply of dry wood in the cave, but if the sea rose too high or the wind blew in even this got wet. In really bad times Ursula and I ran a complex method of wood-drying, stacking the firing before the flames to dry out before it was used. We never liked doing this because it was a fiddly business and easy to forget, and if I did forget I had to run to her through the rain to fetch enough dry fuel to keep the fire going. <br />
<br />
In such ways the monotony of the rainy weather was broken. Most fortunately we very rarely had cold weather, but even that was possible to use for good. It was only in rainy weather that I ever sat for long with Ursula in her hut. Sometimes she would come and sit with me, and never say much, but sit while I read aloud. I much preferred the going to her, for then I could look at the games she played. <br />
<br />
Our little beaches were mostly sandy, but in places, especially under the lea of the bluffs, drifts of pebbles had accumulated, and these provided Ursula with incalculable wealth. Over the months (or years – I never learnt how long) that she had presumably been resident here, she had collected a treasury of marvellously beautiful stones. There were pebbles of agate, jasper, carnelian, chrysolite, jade, rose quartz, white quartz, jet, and many others that I neither know nor can describe, She particularly took round or egg-shaped stones, and she kept them in a grass bag hung by the fire-place. <br />
<br />
Long before my coming she had woven several fine flax mats that now carpeted her hut and hung the walls, giving her home a comfortable clean appearance far surpassing in domestic taste the rustic Simplicity of my own quarters. During these wet spells, it was her custom to tip the gems upon the mat, and with them create complex and curious designs of an apparently alchemical or cabalistic nature. My learning is not great, and since my return to society I have searched many works likely to throw light upon several of Ursula’s more obscure habits, and though I can neither explain nor identify these designs and patterns, they do seem to have some psychological significance. Her favourite creation was based upon the wheel, often intricately elaborated into a flower or sun-burst, and sometimes reduced into radiating spokes, or a series of circles with a glorious centre. After several months the patterns became fairly familiar to me, but it was a long time before I realised that they had no meaning to Ursula, the form depending entirely upon <br />
<br />
[10]<br />
<br />
the stones she had available. I am sure she used colours in numerical sequences, but I could never work these out. <br />
<br />
At the heart of the design she would put the key-stone, almost always a splendid specimen of whatever type was to form the theme, and this same stone was repeated at other critical points by lesser examples of the same gem, crystal, or mineral. lf, for example, the heart was a round greenstone, jade and roundness played a significant part in the whole composition, for the stones were grouped by colour, shape, or type, and then also by number in astonishing complexities. Groups of seven amethysts for example, with assemblies of three jades and five white quartzes in repeated sequences, would create patterns of pulsating sombre lustres that sometimes seemed to take the wheels and set them spinning. <br />
<br />
While doing this she would rarely speak, and when finished would sit at a position carefully chosen in relation to the design, and staring at it remain still, in contemplation of the handiwork. None of the patterns were ever explained to me, and few were long-lived. In that tiny hut, of course, there was not the room for floor-art and Ursula to live together, and I would not have even made that remark had not one or two designs been left for days at a time. When this happened Ursula was very withdrawn; my Lady was a very deep person. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[11]<br />
<br />
Dear Thomas, as you declare so emphatically in your last letter, you do deserve some explanation for the erratic and eccentric correspondence I have been troubling you with lately, and for the very long silence that preceded it. An explanation rather than an apology, though perhaps I should apologise for not advising you beforehand of what I was about to do. We do in any case only correspond several times a year, and I intended to be away for no more than a year. Also, I was well aware that you would have entirely disapproved of my unusual course of action, and I was particularly disinclined to go into the wilderness under a cloud of anyone’s disapproval. Even now, though I am deeply shaken by the total over-riding of all my hopes and plans for those twelve months, I feel no guilt for those intentions, innocent as they were, though entirely negated. To tell you the truth, I am surprised to learn that I have sent you so much material relating to my experiences, for I have no memory of having done so. There have been times since my return when it has been very hard to keep my mind in any ordered state of self-awareness, and it must have been that I wrote to you as a sort of cri de coeur. Automotive writing!<br />
<br />
Perhaps this long and discursive letter will clear your confusion, and persuade you to give some help, for I am frightened by what has happened and beg that you, from your knowledge of psychology (and in particular my psychology) will come to my aid. It is understood, of course that your entirely secular mind will not appreciate the motivation that forced my course of action, but I will (as always in our relationship) make allowances for that, and interpret your interpretation with love. One other thing only I ask of you – no professional patronising please. You will find it amusing that I should go into the wilderness to seek the Beatific Vision, and find only Ursula, but all prayers have their answer, and all quests their goal, and you must treat the answer I was given with respect. There has always been a slight element of competition in our friendship, and the narrative I am about to roll out before you will give you certain moral advantages, so I here formally entrust myself to you as patient, as you have in the past (in spite of your lack of faith) made me your confessor. You must now observe all due respect, and play the professional game. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[12]<br />
<br />
About two years ago I began to fall out of love with my parishioners. This is quite the worst thing that can happen to any pastor, and there is surely no need for me to elaborate on either the symptoms or the consequences of such an arid, fruitless situation. It made me most depressed, and at times even physically ill, especially when under stress. You have never seen my parish, but you will remember from our childhood the soul-less suburbs that were then beginning. Again, I have chosen my words badly; of course they are not soul-less, but they are dreary, unspeakably dreary, featureless, treeless, hag-ridden by rectangles and over-hung by lowering mortgages. Even the church and vicarage are mortgaged, and the burdensome fact is everywhere camouflaged by spotless newness. As my spiritual distress grew, I turned increasingly to prayer. Observe that I am not about to propagandise, but declare a fact. (How sensitive I am – it is for you.) However misguided you might think me, that is what I did, and I gained much benefit thereby. Indeed, from prayer there came my whole stability, and the eventual courage to act in a decisive manner. Perhaps as an escape from an especially repugnant reality I turned more and more to meditation and other forms of prayer, and began to read widely on the subject until I became seized with a desire to do nothing else. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
If you wish to better understand me, dip into some of these devotional classics. How else can you understand anything about the Vision and the longing I had for it? You appreciate music, you collect paintings ( and look at them too), you love beauty (perhaps rather too much), and if you think of your most intense aesthetic experiences in all these appreciative fields, you will still fall far short of gaining the merest glimpse of the Vision. Not, I hasten to add, that I have myself been so blessed, but nearly so, quite nearly so, enough to send me off to solitude to wait for it, and I was prepared to wait too, for years if need be. Read Richard Rolle, Teresa of Avila, St. John of the Cross, Francis of Assisi, Bunyan, or even the Bible. Remember Isaiah in the Temple, Ezekiel by the River, Paul in the seventh heaven? I quote from St. Francis: <br />
<br />
[l3]<br />
<br />
“St. Francis, desiring to comfort himself with the spiritual food of the soul, began to meditate on the immeasurable glory and joy of the blessed in the life eternal, and therewith he began to pray God that he would grant him to taste a little of that joy. And as he continued in this thought, anon there appeared to him an angel, with very great splendour, bearing a viol in his left hand and in his right a bow; and while yet St. Francis was all amazed at the sight of him, the angel drew his bow once across the viol; and straightway St. Francis heard so sweet a melody that it filled his very soul with rapture and rendered it insensible to every bodily feeling; insomuch that, according to which he afterward told his companions, he doubted whether, if the angel had drawn the bow back again across the viol, his soul must not have departed out of his body by reason of the intolerable sweetness.” There is a host of books on this subject, and some of the most interesting is the peripheral – as it always is, to my cost, though it is the least instructive. Again I betray myself, if I could do that to you, for you know me so well anyway. It’s enough to say that I did read very widely in the subject, and being seized by the thought that all men spend all their lives on this same search, decided to devote myself to nothing else for at least twelve months.<br />
<br />
The Bishop granted me leave of absence, though reluctantly, and only after my assurance that the time would be spent in a positively edifying manner. He suspected my motives, as all married men do of the celibate, and always with good reason too. <br />
<br />
After careful thought I decided to spend the time on the North Buller Coast, and on one morning of the late spring of last year, took the Karamea bus, forsaking it at Mohikinui. Herrick urged me on: <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
O Yeares! And Age! Farewell. <br />
Behold I go <br />
Where I do know<br />
Infinitie to dwell. <br />
<br />
And these mine eyes shall see<br />
All times, how they <br />
Are lost I’ the sea <br />
Of vast Eternitie. <br />
<br />
Where never moon shall sway<br />
The starres; but she, <br />
And night , shall be <br />
Drown’d in one Endlesse Day.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
[14]<br />
<br />
‘lost I’ the sea of vast eternitie’ ; that is what I hoped for. You must believe what now follows; believe it not necessarily as objective truth, but as subjectively so, at least. All that I now proceed to relate appears to me to have actually happened or been said. In planning this letter I tired to impose some order upon it, or even to thread it upon some ordering subject like a Catena Aurea (I flatter myself, you see), but the unexpected meandering of my memory defied the best intentions, and I’m left with the conviction that you only can discover the thread. However, in spite of the fragmentary nature of the material, this is an attempt at a reliable account, to describe a unique situation that I found myself in, un adventure of sorts that time had nothing to do with. To treat it as a story would be like putting a time sequence upon a landscape. <br />
<br />
My memory of that season on the beach is not that of a sane man. The whole year lies flat like a picture, with no depth to it, no order, only a vivid canvas of events and impressions. If pressed, I could give no order to it, apart from the obvious beginning, and the inevitable end, and one or two approximate deductions. Even to place an over-all interpretation upon this account of mine must be professionally hazardous, for some of my friends have declared it to be a fantasy, others that it must have at least some factual basis, and one, more credulous than the others, is scandalised that a priest should have a liaison with a nixie, and has suggested that I be exorcised. <br />
<br />
As for myself, I have a pretty shrewd idea of the real meaning of that year, but you must judge – I may not say, for fear of influencing your opinion and annoying your diagnostic person. Only be sure of this one thing, that all of what I am going to write seems true to me, I think it happened. Nothing is fiction in the sense of being deliberately invented by the author, though it may seem like fiction, for any account of an adventure as strange as this is bound to seem incredible. I have frequently observed in my work such diverse varieties of human experience and each unique, that when recounted they must be diluted with imagination before they can be widely received. Never think, of course, that in this instance I am resorting to that confidence trick. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>* * * * * * *</b></blockquote>
<br />
[15]<br />
<br />
I left the bus at the far end of the Mohikinui River bridge, und walked downstream, following a rough road to the sea. From the river mouth I walked northwards for one and a half days, averaging about a mile an hour for the twelve hours tramping I must have done. Lest you should think this very slow going, let me observe that this stretch of coast-line is rugged, and my progress was no mere long tramping up a sandy beach. The rocky nature of the coast, and its inaccessibility by road, was the reason I attempted it, but I had to carry a pack crammed to capacity, and get it dry and whole over the bluffs, gorges, and algaed rocks, through kie-kie, screw-pine, quagmires, and lagoons. For the first night I slept out in the open, on a shingle ledge above high water, in the shelter of some flax bushes. I set off again soon after daybreak, pleased to find that I was still fairly fit, able to manage tough terrain and a heavy pack. You may take this as evidence that I remain a fairly sturdy specimen of manhood, despite the cassock. Trudging the streets helps, most probably. <br />
<br />
It would be honest to voice a certain doubt here. I really am uncertain as to how long or how far I travelled to the final camp. It initially seemed that I travelled for three days, but after studying the Lands and Survey map, there doesn’t seem to be room for such a long journey along this part of the coast. Only one night’s camp remains in my memory, and as the three days are indistinct it is most probable that the subsequent months confused my memory. Also, though I was undoubtedly fit, I could hardly have borne three days of such a strenuous activity. <br />
<br />
The relief with which I reached my final resting-place is still vivid in my recollections. It must have been about six in the evening when I reached the bay, for the sun was low over the sea, yet still warm. The place appeared homely and inviting. In all respects it was much as I had counted on finding, being fairly typical of this coast, only better-appointed than all the others I had spurned on the way. Two low and narrow bluffs held the hundred yards of sand and gravel beach. The southern bluff was of white limestone, the northern of a harder, pinkish near-marble, and between them a good fresh stream flowed softly from under some Nikaus out onto the beach. A narrow flat bordered the beach; it was only a few yards wide, and was over-grown with flax, scew-pine, punga, and pepper, with several palm-groves that promised good sites for a hut. In the mean-time a dry pebbled cave in the southern bluff offered adequate temporary shelter, so I dropped my pack and began to explore.<br />
<br />
[16]<br />
<br />
An abundance of food was obvious, for the more sheltered cliffs were sprinkled with wild parsley, spinach crept amongst the flax, and long flat reefs extended out from the bluffs, showing mussel-covered knobs, and suggesting pools crawling with pauas, urchins, and cray-fish, though the heavy sea and steep beach was no place for tuatuas. <br />
<br />
I thought I would try for a swim before I settled down for the night, so I took off my clothes and left them in a careless pile on the gravel. Such an act would have normally been unthinkable to a man so self-conscious as myself. To openly undress to nudity, to forsake my clothes, and to enter the water trusting it for total concealment! You may smile at my inhibitions, Thomas, but reflect with charity, if you will. After some years of practice you must surely have seen by now that in every social convention there is a core of truth, as a great lady once said of social convention. Other people might flout them as a protest, or as an act of rebellion, or for sheer public ebullience, but I acted only in a spirit of delight in the freedom of the place, and the sea was so inviting. Most seas are swimmable only in warm weather, but on this coast the richness of the foaming breakers encourages patronage even on cool days, or even at night, when the long lines of phosphorescence come rolling in to crash in glowing spray upon the bluffs. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Many of these western beaches are very dangerous, with steep shelvings and strong undertows, but now the tide was low and quiet, and I enjoyed the first swim in safety. The situation quickly elated me, and I was filled with an inflating sense of freedom. The bay was not only pleasing to the eye, but of interest as well, and as I swam further out I saw sea-caves, inviting reef pools, strange-shaped rocks, and other beaches and bluffs that promised an infinitude of explorations. Oddly, none of these were ever visited, though it is hard now to imagine what I did with my time. Backing the whole scene was the towering coastal escarpment, unbroken and heavily bushed, standing from north to south as far as could be seen, defending itself with its series of tumbling cliffs like a bastioned city wall. As I swam and gazed the dreary frustrations of the past years pulled away, and a future began to rise in my mind like a clearance spreading into rain. <br />
<br />
[17]<br />
<br />
When I entered the water the sky had been clear, and the sun bright, but now, as I prepared to leave it, though the sun was still shining, I noticed it was much weaker. A haze had overspread it. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky, and the temperature was, if any thing, a trifle warmer, but there was now no horizon. Visibility was down to about four miles, and beyond that everything vanished into a rolling golden haze that didn’t lift again until the end. I trod water, wondering at this sudden change in the weather, thinking it the prelude to some storm, for the sea began to heave beneath me. Sullen erratic surges alternately stranded me on the bottom or threatened to dash me against the rocks, so I fought for the safety of the shore, and sat trembling for rest upon the warm sand. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Even as I sat the waters subsided to their usual turbulence. I looked up and down the beach, seeking some cause for the change, and thinking there might have been an earthquake. There was no sound of falling rocks, but standing against the north cliff, only six or seven metres away, was a female figure. She showed no signs of ridicule as I hurried up to my clothes and put on my trousers. <br />
<br />
Your shirt too, she advised when I appeared to hesitate, Else the sandflies will make a mess of you. You won’t be immune to them yet. She must have thought I looked sheepish, for she added (as if to console me): You can go about like that all the time if you want to, but there are certain hazards, you know. Wait until you’re really used to the place. There’s no doubt she thought me something of a savage, and I must have looked pretty wild with my dark skin, polynesian features, and rather long black hair. Also, I found it rather hard to understand precisely what she had meant, and so stood before her with my faculties of speech entirely crippled by both shock and incomprehension. Nevertheless, I was usually ready enough with my tongue, as you will remember, and no-one can accuse me of the verbal imprecisions she was so habitually guilty of, though she was splendid in so many other ways. Yet not initially in looks. (You will think that a strange thing to say, but let me explain it in my own time, please). She sat on a flat block of stone that projected from the gravel bank at the top of the beach, dressed in a full-length cotton dress and a wide floppy straw hat, with bare feet. <br />
<br />
[18]<br />
<br />
With Ursula, naked feet were a part of dress. She had long brown hair to below her shoulders, and was of middle stature, slight in build though a very little inclined to plumpness, with large black eyes in a very delicately Irish face. It looked as if she was close to me in age, in her late twenties or very early thirties. <br />
<br />
You’re not a commune? I asked in alarm, for there are a number on the coast further south. <br />
<br />
No. There’s only me, she replied. I live in the next bay. And while I watched amazed, or puzzled, and perhaps just slightly annoyed, she stood up and walked off around the rocks. <br />
<br />
You may wonder why I didn’t stop her with a question, bring her back with a clever verbal ploy, and snare her with a subtle erotic sleight-of-hand as I would once have tried to do. I wanted to. As she walked off around the bluff my maleness arose within me like a fiery desert wind. It grasped in my chest and almost took the breath away, so that I staggered slightly on the sand, but she was quite out of reach. Two years ago I took a vow of celibacy, so though I am still subject to temptation, I have a certain interest in resisting it, a more partisan interest than clergy usually have. Don’t think that there are any doubts about the general morality of the clergy , but you must realise that celibacy is not common amongst the Anglican priesthood; we are usually married. Therefore a celibate priest is regarded, even by his fellow-clerics, as being unusual, and is forced to prove his celibacy, as most men are required by society to prove their manhood. <br />
<br />
After the girl had gone, I put mw things in order in the cave, cooked a small stew of rock-mussels and sea-parsley, and curled up in the sleeping-bag by the fire. Tomorrow, after I had spoken with my neighbour, I would decide whether to stay or go on. It would probably be best to go on. The sun had long since set, and darkness was closing u upon the pale green horizon. The breakers were so strong that they shook the ground when they hit the beach, and the cave was filled with their thunderings as, worn out by my labours, I fell into an abyss of sleep. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
And I dreamed, or so I must have, and so I think, and almost certainly it was on this night in particular. It is the only nightmare I can recall during all that year, and so the memory has a certain distinction about it – because of its uniqueness, not its dreadfulness. As nightmares go, it was not particularly shocking, and caused me to awake in discomfort only, a bit hot and bothered. <br />
<br />
[19] <br />
<br />
A great building appeared, standing in the midst of a sea of tarmac. A desert of tarmac, with perhaps some grass on the far outskirts. In outward appearance the building had much of the aircraft hangar about it, for it had low walls and high rounded roofs, and seemed to be built mostly of corrugated iron. Those ends facing me had huge doors, but all were locked or seemed to be, for to my surprise I entered the vast complex structure through a small side trap-door, in company with some other people. No individual in this small group remains in my memory, though they kept me company in a detached and anonymous fashion. <br />
<br />
Once in the building it was my destiny to continue through it, bearing to the left for some reason, whenever possible. There was nothing of interest visible inside; it was just a long series of passages with rather cheaply partitioned rooms on either hand. Every now and then I had to pass through a door from one passage to another, and though people occasionally left or entered the rooms about me, I carried on and had no communication with them. There were no windows; the light was artificial, and the atmosphere grew progressively more stifling. There was an overwhelming need to escape, but the only doors I was permitted to use were those ahead. Even these became harder to go through, for as I made my way the scale of the building decreased; the roof became lower, the doors smaller and the heat greater. Soon the passage was little more than a neon-lit tunnel, and then became so small that I had to crawl, forcing myself on, for only ahead lay any possible liberty and fresh air.<br />
<br />
Then, just when it seemed I must be stuck in a foetid drainpipe forever, I awoke, to find the sun streaming in through the mouth of the cave, warming me where I lay upon my rocky bed. <br />
<br />
Perhaps that was the origin of the dream – the cave it was dreamed in, and the sun that woke me out of it, or perhaps my apprehension of Ursula brought it on, or the tension I had been labouring under. Personally I think it was the effect of sleeping in the cave, but you will know, Thomas, you will know better than anyone, or at least you will appear to do so. You will dress your analysis or your ignorance in Jungianisms, a disguise as impenetrable with the one as the other. But I am being bitter; forgive me please. When I seriously think of what I am going to write you, I realise the inevitability of being understood, even by you, and that is a sad thing to accept.<br />
<br />
[20]<br />
<br />
All this that follows is not at all what I intended. It is not the first New Zealand Spiritual Pilgrimage, nor is it the seducing of a celibate cleric. I had in my vanity hoped for the former and never, I swear, even thought of the latter. At first I did imagine that Ursula was a risk to my vows, but only until I came to understand her better. Then I realised that even had I been grossly oversexed (which is not the case) I could never have stormed that castle and conquered. As shall be related in due course, there were several times that I forgot myself and tried, but whenever I fell to the temptation of making fair speech and fine deeds, I thought: Whom am I performing before? And this was quite a thought, for her personality was extraordinarily fluid. Trying to relate to her in any way at all was like trying to strike up an acquaintance with a crowd. She was the female version of the man called Legion, though that may be inaccurate in some respects, for there was little discernible chaos in her. <br />
<br />
It was several weeks before I gained much insight into her true nature, and even then she seemed to be acting, but I saw that each facet of her character was consistent with itself, and so vital as to be almost a person in its own right. No-one could dissemble as well as that. Then I panicked a little, and thought her possessed, but when I saw no confusion it was clear there was no demon. With great evil there is always confusion, or else an icy order founded upon a sort of falsehood, don’t you think? Or maybe you don’t believe in evil – most probably not. There was nothing evil in herself, and no good either; there was no ‘herself’. Ursula was always somebody else. <br />
<br />
It was very, very hard to sort her out, but from the very beginning of our acquaintanceship I was forced to try. On the day after my arrival, when I paid the first tentative call, 1 found she too was living in a cave, in a state of minimum sufficiency and maximum simplicity. She had a small fire, but no other condescensions to comfort, and no other signs of existence except a pile of gemstones from the beach, and a few flax baskets. Masculine help was so obviously needed that I decided to remain, and for the next few weeks my leisure time (that is, the time not spent in praying or gathering food) was occupied in the planning and construction of two punga huts, one in each bay. I put my heart into this work , and quickly erected the charming brown cottages, built under the nikau palms and facing out to sea, each with a neat clay fireplace, a cobbled path to the front door, and the walls planted. with ferns and epiphytic orchids. In spite of my work and care, <br />
<br />
[21]<br />
<br />
however, she took little interest in her house, and did nothing for it except to make a flax door-curtain. All my activity was regarded with a mild aloofness that seemed to preclude her from full participation, but 1 felt no criticism, rather a reverence at this time. She was so perfectly poised. Her tall slim form was always clad in the same cotton print dress, and she was never without the same floppy straw hat. There was rarely a smile on her high-cheekboned face, but she never looked grim, and always walked with such a secure dignity, that there could clearly be no obstacle to make her to stumble, and no cause to hurry her. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
The impression may be given in these records, that my solitary life was a sort of sea-side idyll, and there were some times when it almost was, yet there were other times far from idyllic, times when the formless anxiety that had so pestered me of late, would rise up in an intestinal panic, and all but sweep me gibbering before it. Almost always this happened at night, creeping in an exterior disguise as heavy rustlings outside the hut, unidentifiable bird-calls, low sweepings in the dark above the hut, weka cries so dreadful they could only be concerted. Then I would cower in the hut, afraid to sleep in case the fire should go out, oppressed by a sense of evil that was cloying in its omnipresent nothingness. During those horrid nights I used often to wish there was something to make the fear recognisable. If only the threat had come from some familiar ghost or wilderness spirit, but our bush has nothing in it at all , and nothing is the worst fear of all. When I asked in horror ‘who is there?’, there was nothing there, not even a dangerous beast, just nothing as far as the mind could reach. <br />
<br />
Such evenings left me feeling weak and tired in the mornings, and I sometimes told Ursula of them. On one occasion she listened to me very seriously, wide-eyed and most impressed. <br />
<br />
You should take this very seriously, you know. She said. They’re probably trying to speak to you. <br />
<br />
But another time she said: It’s the darkness trying to overpower you because it knows you’re strong. Focus yourself when it comes. Gather yourself together, and don’t listen. You would probably be better off if you ate less shell-fish and more greens. <br />
<br />
That was always the trouble with Ursula. She rarely failed to give good advice, but it was never the same from one day to the next. Though she frequently contradicted herself, she never knew it, but then she was so very rarely herself. <br />
<br />
[22]<br />
<br />
Most of the discussions I had with her were about myself , which was natural enough (though nothing to be proud of) considering I had some away to debate myself . From the discussions there came, of course, declared or implied requests for advice, which she always gave. None of her advice was ever bad, though as I’ve pointed out previously, it was often inconsistent or contradictory, especially when she appeared absent in mind or hazy in spirit. There was always plenty of opportunity for these intimate debates, for after we were settled into residence we always seemed to be either sitting around, getting food, or walking about. , hut especially sitting around. Ursula sometimes reminded me of an ancient Christian monastery, for she had the knack of parking herself in the most picturesque places. She had also a pre-Raphaelite talent for profile, and I always seemed to be finding her sitting on rocks staring out to sea, with her hair flowing in the wind. The rock we called ‘The Boat’ ‘was her favourite, for it reached out into the quite deep water, parting the ocean rollers as they broke, sending up walls of spray that rose above on either side without touching. There she would sit for hours, as if looking for the first smoke of rescue, or waiting for the sun to rise in the west, and I always knew when I saw her there that she was good for a chat. 1 would climb up from the beach by the only access I ever discovered (though I never saw her use it) and sit beside her.<br />
<br />
I did this one day when I was feeling rather restless, and after sitting for quite some minutes, I said: <br />
I think I shall have to be leaving for home soon. <br />
<br />
Do you think you’ve been here long enough? she asked. This was, by the way, the only time she ever showed anything like a desire to keep me there. <br />
<br />
Perhaps not, but I don’t seem to be getting anywhere, I replied.<br />
<br />
Where do you want to go? <br />
<br />
I want to know what I should be doing, and then be able to face it.<br />
<br />
Shouldn’t you be doing what you were doing? <br />
<br />
Then why did I feel so inadequate and depressed about it? <br />
<br />
Why not? Jonah was the only one of the prophets who had much success in his life-time, wasn’t he? This made me suspicious, for this very thought had been often in my mind of late, expressed in those very words. She then continued: What you need to do is to work out a theology of failure. If you did so, you would be following in the footsteps of the God you serve, and that, I understand, is one of your stronger ambitions. <br />
<br />
I looked at her sharply, for there again she was reflecting my thoughts, almost precisely. At that time I wondered if it was coincidence. <br />
<br />
[23]<br />
<br />
My look was not acknowledged, so I proceeded to tell her of the suburban horror that was my parish, of the concrete block monotony, or the dreariness of paling fences, scrubby gardens, and low tiled horizons. Of the lonely couples almost broken by their mortgages, yet trying to keep their children up to date as they stamped their sections with the security of garages and paths and clotheslines . And how they became so hooked on the pursuit of settledness that they had no thought of even better things not to be purchased with debts. And I told her of my loneliness as a celibate maori anglo-catholic priest. She listened well, gazing up at me with her great grey eyes, an intense vacancy in her expression, and never a muscle moving. <br />
<br />
I’ve changed my mind already, I said. I don’t think I will go back. <br />
<br />
What’s the alternative? <br />
<br />
To stay here, I suppose. <br />
<br />
Is that the alternative? She asked, and turned from me to gaze out over the sea again. For some time after I stayed with her, saying little, but following the train of thought she had started, but always there danced along at the back of my mind the suspicion that she was playing with me. That was the trouble with Ursula – her seriousness was so passionless, so unmoving, that I could not but occasionally suspect it to be a put-on. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Once I fell into a real trap. It was quite early in our relationship, if I remember correctly. She had not long discovered that I was a priest, and showed an untypical curiosity about my work and my attitudes to it, an untypical curiosity for her, as she more commonly appeared indifferent to the deeper intricacies of my personality, while blandly asking such leading questions that I pored out my hidden self voluntarily, or so it seemed. <br />
<br />
We had taken shelter in a cave as a savage storm of hail and thunder swept overhead, not expecting the disturbance to the day to last for long. During the morning there had been several of these interruptions, but the rain succeeding the hail dragged on and on, so we fell into a more detailed conversation. <br />
<br />
[24]<br />
<br />
A thing that troubles me a lot, I remarked (for she had begun by asking me about myself) is how to present the Christian Gospel. It’s hard to preach in an empty church, and I’m not the street-corner type. No-body’s grabbed by the sacraments much, unless I spice the Body with a healing or two, or serve an exorcism as an hors-d’oeuvre. (Pardon my free expression, Thomas, but you will remember that there was just her and me, and convention meant little in such a place – not that you yourself would mind a profanity or two, but I expect you are surprised that I should so indulge. I’m being honest in recording it now, and admit to having been subsequently penitent.) To get me a congregation, I continued, I must turn myself into an impresario, or else a performer. <br />
<br />
Ursula clasped her knees, opened her grey eyes still further, and leaned towards me, though she still gazed past out the cave to the rain that slanted by. The sea beyond the sand was the colour of her eyes. <br />
<br />
You must give yourself, she urged, in a tone impassioned yet confidential. You must give yourself after your Master’s example, never discounting any discomfort or loss. <br />
<br />
When she got like this she was quite inspiring, and in the past might well have sent many a martyr to a splendid fulfilment, yet I could not help wondering why she said ‘your Master’. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
We had a number of conversations about the meaning of life. Looking back on those days I can see that I was always rather in love with Ursula, probably because she is the only woman who has ever seen me naked, or so I think, though there’s likely to be much more to it than that. However, she never allowed me to express my feelings directly. Mind you, the true nature of my feelings rarely occurred to me, but I have only lately realised the artful manner in which she manoeuvred any situation that could have led to a declaration on my part. The effect of this was to keep me in a state of emotional unawareness, so that whenever I did act instinctively I saw only thoughtless folly in my actions. In my attitude to her, though, there was certainly something of the seducer, and this was marked in our intellectual discussions. I would confront her with a handsome edifice of words and ideas, then try to stir her w with conviction, and then finally try to sooth her with sweet wisdom. Perhaps this is always the way of a man with a maid, but it didn’t work with Ursula; she was singularly unimpressed. <br />
<br />
[25]<br />
<br />
During my City days I had been subject to occasional bouts of depression, proceeding from no certain cause. You may already have diagnosed the origin, but I prefer to think there was a likely connection with my lonely , monotonous , and apparently meaningless life. I described this to her on one wet day, sitting on the floor in her hut, while she worked away with her stones, building a sunburst design with gold quartz centre and mica-flake rays. <br />
<br />
Depression is a fearful thing, I explained , and I never thought it would visit me. It’s so contrary to my whole nature and philosophy, but I suppose it’s a good idea to go through these things. At least you then know what other people go through, but it certainly is hard to put up with. There were some days when I really thought I would end up in hospital, or in a villa, as they call it now. Being all alone in a big vicarage didn’t help, of course, yet I could never bring myself to talk to anyone else about it – not that I was ashamed (though I suppose I was a bit; my people regard illness in a priest as a sign of weakness, and depression is hopelessness, and of what use is faith and charity without hope? Here I laughed intellectually). But when I was depressed, I just couldn’t summon the energy to explain my state to anybody. I seemed to have no reserve of energy at all, no matter what good things happened, nor how sparkling the weather, and I remember being haunted by a phrase of Rilke’s: ‘How is it possible to live when even the elements of this life are utterly incomprehensible to us?’ Have you ever read Rilke? I asked, but Ursula made only a non-committal reply. I’ve got the book with me, I said, and I’ll lend it to you if you want. <br />
<br />
He goes on to say: ‘Men have had for thousands of years to deal with life (not to mention God), yet towards the immediate problems of life they remain helpless novices. ‘ I looked at her in vain for any sign of confirmation or rejection of this statement. As usual at these philosophy sessions, the only expression her face showed was a dignified wish to hear more, and as I had attempted to seduce her into supporting my self-pity, it was necessary to continue to prove I was doing no such thing. I added: When you think about life in any detail, you’re forced to come to the same conclusion as Rilke. I can’t comprehend life, or the reason for my own existence, and when I look at humanity as a whole, there is not one essential area of life in which we have progressed: in love and death, in self-knowledge and the ability to maintain a civilisation, we have probably even retreated, and when compared with an old people, such as the ancient Assyrians, are probably even nearer to the beasts that perish. <br />
<br />
[26] <br />
<br />
She paused in her stonework, and thoughtfully said: You use the language of the Bible, but not its ideas. <br />
<br />
That’s because I’m speaking from my own confusion, and from Rilke, I explained. But not even the Bible tells us why we exist, and humanity doesn’t really seem to be getting on much. <br />
<br />
Why should it be? Is progress any part of human destiny? The reason for your existence is found between you and God, not between you and your brethren. She looked intently at me, with a slight frown, and then said deliberately: There are some things you’ve never come to grips with, you know. <br />
<br />
I felt most abashed, and left the subject, turning instead to the design she had laid out upon the sand, but she shot me down again.<br />
<br />
Your patterns are intricate and lovely, I declared. You must work them out carefully beforehand. <br />
<br />
Not at all, she murmured, without looking at me. I find that they, like life, work out for me as I go, providing I make them bigger than me.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
Our daily routine developed a certain beautiful monotony. Ursula derived such satisfaction, and I such peace from it, that we rarely altered it in any way unless necessity gave good cause. Sometimes it did, as nature is notorious for having a mind of her own, and proving unreliable to those who lean upon her. Neither of us was ever ill, but we were often hungry, and certain food could only be got at low tide. I provided for the both of us, having (no doubt because of my Maori ancestry) a notable talent for searching out the haunts of the finest whelks, oysters, crabs, seaeggs, and pauas. Ursula was good at musseling, finding orchid tubers, and in telling which toadstools and sea-weeds were edible. I usually got the parsley and the kie-kie, as these had to be climbed for.<br />
<br />
[27]<br />
<br />
On every morning I said Morning Prayer at sunrise, and then celebrated the eucharist. A substantial breakfast usually followed, except on Fridays, when I had little to eat until sunset. It was my usual custom to keep Sunday as a feast day, after saying Morning-prayer, the Litany (1928), and the Eucharist, with a solemn intercession for all the world, but it was sometimes difficult to mark the feast especially. The food available was not of the widest range. An occasional fish came our way, trapped in a rock pool or washed up on the beach, and then its condition gave such grounds for suspicion that I could only eat it with trepidation, and no enjoyment at all. Ursula didn’t seem to worry, though she occasionally spoke as if she did. In my initial planning I had quite forgotten fishing gear. At first this omission irritated me, but on reflection I felt relief, for I’ve never liked fishing, having always lacked the patience necessary for stationary hunting. However, the variety fish could have added to our diet was occasionally missed. <br />
<br />
You will understand that such a quiet life as ours can make one slightly petty-minded, and I fear we did come to take our food a little too seriously. To this day I blame Ursula for encouraging such concupiscence. I assure you, Thomas, that greed and luxury are not in my nature now, as they were not when we were together in our student days, but Ursula urged me to regard the Sunday dinners far too seriously. The effort spent in devising the menu was out of all proportion to the food available. I hate to think of the time we gave to perfecting a kelp-based jelly of pounded sea-anemone, or how many experiments were necessary before I discovered the perfect fuel for smoking mussels. Both dishes were remarkably tasty, though. I tried to point out to Ursula how they required a poor use of time, and how I should have been off by my own in worship and meditation, but she liked my cooking so much it was hard to go against her.<br />
<br />
In the lowest and calmest of tides it was occasionally possible to catch lobsters in some of the deepest pools, but both of us preferred crab, even if this was more work. Another variant was the odd eel I caught now and then in the larger creek where it entered Ursula’s bay. It would also have been possible to catch a bird, for the wekas became very tame, and there were penguins too, but neither of us felt much like this sort of meat, and we became so accustomed to looking to the sea for food that we looked nowhere else. <br />
<br />
[28]<br />
<br />
For vegetables we had the parsley I’ve already mentioned, the so-called Maori Potato (the tuber of a ground-orchid), and a trailing spinach-like thing that grew just above high-water. Fern-roots I never much liked. There were also in season the berries of the fuchsia, bush-lawyer, wine-berry, and the fruits of the kie-kie. Only gross negligence could have caused us to starve, for there was enough food about to give us a good balanced diet unlikely to predispose us to cancer, multiple sclerosis, scurvy, arthritis, emphysema, or diabetes, but variety required a lot of searching. <br />
<br />
On me there fell the burden of maintaining both dwellings. Ursula never actually asked me to do this, but whenever I made any improvement to my own set-up, it was only courtesy to be neighbourly, and this took quite a lot of my time. Rough weather often took toll of roof and walls, and during cold weather draughts demanded stopping. The fire-places were never quite satisfactory, neither were the chimneys, for the continual fires we were obliged to burn did damage to both. I was never able to make doors that kept out both wind and rain while letting in the light, so I put a window in my cottage, but Ursula would never let me do the same to hers. Later she softened the plain appearance of her place by planting Easter orchids, lycopodium, white rata, and climbing ferns all over it, and once these had taken well and spread, it came to seem she lived in a ferny bank. <br />
<br />
My major work of ingenuity, however, was the construction of two toilets in private places, out of stones and clay and lime. Each was built upon shingle ground, and once built needed no attention, apart from repairs to the effects of weathering. It is the cleverness of their construction that causes me to mention them. <br />
<br />
We lived, as you can see, quite a complex life for two solitaries, and a certain routine was inevitable if our comparatively high standard of living was to be maintained. Add to the above activities the collection of fuel, other occasional prayers and times of meditation, ablutions, and study. I had with me seven books for study – but more of them another time. <br />
<br />
Generally I’m all for protection of the, environment , but after living in the wilds for a year I have to admit to being glad a lot of them have been done away with. The bush is great to visit, but hell to live in. There’s so little seasonal variation. In early summer the red mistletoe flowers,, and then the rata, and in the late autumn a sprinkling of the orange rata, but otherwise it was the same dull green month after month. It quite got me down sometimes, especially in wet weather. <br />
<br />
During one of these low spells I was lying on the beach, with Urusla sitting beside me. The sun was shining, but the rain that had plagued us for days and days was moving up from the south again in a low dark squall. Disgust grumbled within me, and I was moved to complain: <br />
<br />
Sometimes I wonder why I bother to put so much effort into life. The rain comes, the rain goes. The sun shines, the sun sinks, and things drag so; have you ever noticed that the sun rises so much more quickly than it sets? And how the rain comes with a rush but clears with a slow stutter? It’s the same with life – youth dashes by, but old age limps on. And, you know, the good do die young; I think that’s why old people are so unpopular. I stopped myself just in time to avoid even more atrocious follies, and looked at Ursula. She was holding a disc of amethyst quartz up to the sun to check for flaws , and in the pause she said: <br />
<br />
What do you think is the purpose of life then, Riley? Her question floored me. It’s a very hard one to answer. Most of us have some philosophy on which we’re built, but its much easier to express this by attitude than by words. I, as a Christian, live in an instinctively Christian manner, but I had never tried to reduce this faith to a basic formula of intent. When she asked this enormous question I lay on my back with my hands behind my head, and stared up at the sky. Before I could be reasonably expected to answer the black storm edged overhead and the rain poured down, forcing us to flee for shelter, separately. Later on in the day I saw her again. She was wandering along the northern bay in the drizzle, swinging her hat in her hand. <br />
<br />
I ran after her. Ursula! Ursula! I shouted. I’ve got the answer now! I really had, too, and felt quite excited as I came up to her. The point of life is this, I said, taking her by the arm: to begin here and now a relationship with God that will be everlasting. <br />
<br />
She walked along with me for a minute or two, and then eventually smiled, and said: Well then Riley, that should give you something to do.<br />
<br />
It was all very well for her to be supercilious, Thomas, but she would never let me be so. <br />
<br />
[30]<br />
<br />
One thing that often puzzled me during this year was the complete absence of any other sign of human life, until the end. No Japanese squid-boats turned the horizon into an arc-lit dawn, no jet screamed northwards to Wellington, no aerosol cans were washed up with the driftwood. Our existence might as well have been antediluvian. At fist this was relaxing, but after a while it. corroded my nerves, and I longed for a little reassurance that there was someone else somewhere. Ursula never seemed quite human. She had no antecedents. Also, I could never make any impression on her, and people whom one can scarcely impress are scarcely human. Now and then it would seem that she was beginning to melt, but whenever this happened it would always turn out that she was preparing to make an especial point, or wanted something. <br />
<br />
Usually our mild relationship (strange though it was), the ever-rolling sea, the wood-hens, the rocks, were quite enough, but on the occasions when I had great need for human company there was no alternative but to retire to my books. If that was still not enough, and I still felt restless and disturbed, I went swimming and stayed in the water for blissful eternities, even in the winter for the sea there is very warm. Ursula never swam. <br />
<br />
The sea invited entry on a sunny day. The waves showed their depths in such a warm and rich way as they poured back from the pebbles, then roared up in greens and blues, to crash in a foaming cascade on the beach. Sometimes I swam on rainy days as well, if there was a good fire at home and no wind. Ursula often chose these watery interludes of mine to appear on the beach gathering gem-stones, so often as to make me wonder why. Earlier in our acquaintance I was so ignorant and conceited I supposed she liked to see me come naked from the waves, but it became clear this was not so. She never looked at me, and I concluded, rightly I think, that for some mysterious reason she wished to be seen from that perspective. Whatever the reason might have been, herself seen from the gentle heaving of the far-out waves is forever graven on my mind. Dressed as always in her long flowing print dress and floppy straw hat, carrying a flax shoulder-bag and flitting unsteadily near the water where the stones, being still wet, showed their true colours. Enigmatic, apparently irrational yet intensely creative, self-contained, strangely wise in all her faces; these thoughts with this image of Ursula hold the whole of her forever in my memory. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[31]<br />
<br />
Our staple meat diet was the black rock mussel, which grew in boundless abundance on the limestone shelf at the head of the north bluff. There were other tastier shellfish present, such as a small cockle-like thing with a pure white sweet flesh. It lived in rock pools with sandy bottoms, and was not abundant enough to be used as a main dish. Far out at the edge of the reef there were a few big pauas, and at dead low tide I could get hold of a rock-oyster or two, but only enough for a taste, so it was mussels for tea, dinner, and breakfast if I was unwilling to go to the trouble of catching other food. Mussels are tasty when hot, but never look appetising, and there were times when I was unwilling to make the effort to cook the day’s gatherings. Once when this happened, when I was seized with an unconquerable aversion, I went down to the sea at night to throw away the unwanted shellfish, and to my delight found when I emptied the cooking-pot it was sparkling with phosphorous. Natural phenomena never cease to enthuse me (it must be because of my aboriginal blood) and I hurried off with the pot to show it to Ursula. She wasn’t there. It was a black black night, calm, and clearly preparing for rain. I called and waited and listened, but there was no sight nor sound of her, though her fire was going. <br />
<br />
On several other occasions I went to visit her at night, only to find her absent, and now that I come to think of it, there was no occasion when I found her definitely asleep. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[32]<br />
<br />
What is your favourite book in the bible? She asked one morning. She often showed a desire for exchanges of what passed (with her) as intimate revelation. Sometimes this irritated me, once I had realised how shallow was her real interest. <br />
<br />
I have none. I snapped. The Bible is not the book for personal preferences. <br />
<br />
But there must be one you feel most in sympathy with, she insisted.<br />
<br />
Ecclesiastes. I replied, not wholly truthfully, and after some pretended thought. <br />
<br />
Read me some of it, she entreated, leaning her head on my right shoulder, and looking out to sea with what I assumed to be a soulful expression, for I couldn’t see her face. We were reading the Book of Revelation at the time, but at her request I turned to Ecclesiastes and read the following: <br />
<br />
‘I have put all this to the test of Wisdom, claiming to be wise, but Wisdom has been beyond my grasp. Reality lies beyond my reach, and deep, so deep, who can discover it?’<br />
<br />
Good! Good! She cried, clapping lightly with a very feminine enthusiasm. That man knows what he’s talking about. Read on. <br />
<br />
So I read: I find woman more bitter than death; she is a snare, her heart a net, her arms are chains. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
There was no need for me to read that verse. Some sort of perversity dictated, and had I been in good grace I would never have done such a thing. Yet probably that reading was the will of God. Its effect was that of a blessing upon a witch. Immediately she lost her poise. Her back slumped and her whole body seemed to sag. When she turned to look at me at last there was nobody there at all. Her eyes were two pitch-balls of bottomlessness, and far far within them, so far down that had I not been horrorstruck I would not have seen at all, right down there was something that I recognised. <br />
<br />
But I will tell you what I saw, Thomas, all in proper time. There is an end to all this, as there was a beginning, and there are certain things I shall reserve for the end, as there are certain things that must go before. One may put ham between bread, or bread between ham; either way are the same ingredients, but we all know which is fitting. <br />
<br />
[33]<br />
<br />
To tell you of my spiritual progress during this year would be of little point. It would be another thing altogether, a very interesting thing, but not belonging here. The interior workings of anybody are most absorbing, no matter how important or unintelligent that person be, nevertheless I would rather not tell of myself, and I cannot tell of Ursula. She, as far as I know, made no spiritual progress at all, but her strange layered personality became clearer during the year together, and played upon me with its incalculable influence, to good or bad as you judge. <br />
<br />
In the course of the writing of these letters I have begun to be aware that in writing of her I may be telling of me. You will know, Thomas. You will know better than anyone, for you have always delighted in obliqueness, in the pointedly indirect. As I write this I cannot but reflect that Ursula is more yours than mine for you would have fathomed her, whereas to me she is all confusion, enigma, and sphinx at the gate. <br />
<br />
There were times when her nature would so radically and abruptly alter, that in a moment she was barely recognizable, and my relationship with her would falter in fright. Her eyes would glaze, her features slacken, and all her muscles relax into an appearance of self-indulgent indolence. Usually an amiable geniality would come over her at the same time. However she was more commonly a likeable creature, attractive, exasperating, who knew what she ought to be doing but would only do it if in the mood. Any attempt at any other time would end in collapse back upon a smiling self-deprecating inability, excuses that bore no relevance to truth, and were clearly designed to get me up and away from whatever I was doing (usually praying or meditating) so that I was forced to end a fruitful activity and instead occupy myself with her. Mind you, none of this was obvious at the time, and it’s only now I see it. <br />
<br />
An example of this is an occasion I well remember. Though I was unemployed at that moment, it still illustrates the complex subtleties of this temptress. I had asked her to make a mat for my cottage. <br />
<br />
We were sitting together on the beach, against one of the larger rocks, watching the creaming breakers surging in through a gap in the reef, and run turning up the stones to our feet. Sea-watching was always a favourite pastime of ours, for the sea provided our principal source of variety, changing in colour according to the time of day, the tide, the clouds. Each wave was an entertainment in itself, especially at high tide, when it would rebound off the shingle bank and rush back out to sea, colliding with every other breaker it came to. Occasionally three or four waves would pile upon each other, and then we would stand well back, for these giants were unpredictable. This time, as we watched, the tide was <br />
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[34]<br />
<br />
coming in, and I knew that sooner or later a wave with more ambition than the others would get us. I was growing apprehensive, but the lady lay relaxed and unmoved. <br />
<br />
A mat? She said. Of course I will, Riley. I’ll make you one tonight. <br />
<br />
Not so quickly, surely! I protested. I’ll begin tonight, anyway, she said, smiling lazily. But you haven’t any flax, I pointed out. Yon will pick it for me, won’t you? She murmured, her eyes shut. But the flax will have to be dried first, I protested. She just turned slowly, looked at me, and said: It won’t take long to dry in this weather. I collected the leaves at her request, but that mat was never made. In the end I made one myself, with a most attractive Maori design. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
There were times when she drove me to distraction with her arbitrary moodiness. I just didn’t know where I stood. One day she would be soft and yielding, though with a cutting edge like a nylon fibre that will bend and stretch yet penetrate at certain angles, then suddenly change to be delicate and distant, and on again to winsome and willowy. She would dance on the beach in the moonlight, go into rhapsodies over a bird-song or a particular light on the water, and the next moment cut me down to size with a ruthless double-entendre. <br />
<br />
Early one morning I was sitting out in the new sun, leaning against a flax bush, and privately reading ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’ when Ursula appeared. She walked apologetically as if she feared to disturb the serenity of the sunrise, and deported herself in a strangely graceful double-jointed manner. It was her obvious intention to engage in aesthetic dialogue, most probably relating to the quality of the sunlight, but I wasn’t feeling in the mood for this; I rarely was. Aesthetics of that type bore me, while ‘The Pilgrim’s Progress’ has only a limited appeal to Ursula. It’s a book that has affected me to the depths of my psyche, and is a vital part of my being. I know where I am with it. It’s got me going places and given me directions, and I’m so bigoted with it that I even like Vaughan Williams, so when I saw Ursula coming I put the book down. It was too late. <br />
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[35]<br />
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You’re reading old John again, she piped. (Her voice for this mood was light and high) . An Archetype book in Archetype English – that’s what Somerset Maugham calls it. Do you agree? <br />
<br />
I really wouldn’t know what he means, I countered. It was the only way to deal with her. To attack or to agree was fatal; one could only hedge and fence, but even this had its risks, for it was like trying to stuff up a hole in a feather-bolster – in vain in the end, and strangely confusing and irritating. <br />
<br />
It’s quite clear what Maugham means, she said. Isn’t it? Surely you see what he’s getting at? The essential quality of Bunyan’s work is hard to describe, but Maugham manages more than most, I mean. It’s like trying to describe to someone else, such as you, the colour of that cloud reflecting on the sea. Is it pink, or purple, or a blue, Riley? I think it’s purple, I replied. To me it’s pink, she said, but whatever colour it is is pure, isn’t it? That’s what Maugham is saying of Bunyan, that his spirituality and language are primal. Don’t you agree? <br />
<br />
I suppose so, I said, though I privately thought she had gone wrong somewhere along the line, but aren’t they more scriptural than primal? <br />
<br />
But that is the same thing, dear Riley, she corrected, with the almost weird smile she wore when her patience was wearing thin, compressed a little at the edges and slightly flattened in between. Is it? I asked. Then I would much prefer to call it scriptural than primal or archetypal. Her insistence always made me stubborn, and as incisive as I ever was. <br />
<br />
She looked at me with that same smile, her head a little on one side and her figure daintily poised. Riley, she said carefully, you study truth, I know, and are dedicated to it, I’m sure, but I do hope that your study of professional verities will not blind you to the actual things that face us. <br />
<br />
What an insult! She could deliver a stinger when she wanted, but always my most effective recourse was to humour her. Once or twice I snapped back in most justifiable anger, but always subsequently felt that, when all was said and done, I had been unreasonable.<br />
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[36]<br />
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There were some times when Ursula tried especially hard to be saintly in a martyrish sense. She was always hard to fault , but during these impeccable periods it was a silly fancy of mine that she spoke with an Indian accent. Perhaps it was just because the Yoga freaks I know do this, as a result of the toning-up of their throat and jaw muscles. Who knows? These things are hard to tell, and the Yoga people are forever complaining of the lack of good scientific research on their field. However, when Ursula was saintly she did speak with great precision, and with a throaty tone and undulating inflexion that was quite attractive. Even her facial features were carefully disciplined into a resolute mien that well suited the erect bearing of a mature lady guru. <br />
<br />
I always rather liked her in this mood, for she took herself so seriously that she was her own best superwoman, and didn’t ask much of me at all. I had peace, apart from one thing. She could be very faddish over food, and talk a great deal about the latest discoveries relating to diet, though how or whether she really knew them goodness knows. Our range of diet was pretty limited, anyway, and any pickishness over it amounted to little else than cantankerousness. The food we could catch and find was all there was, and to be choosy seemed a great folly to me. <br />
<br />
During prolonged spells of wet weather, when the rough seas made shell-fish hard to gather, and I felt disinclined to go hunting the bush for tubers or other roots, our meals became monotonous, and it was during these spells that Ursula would occasionally decide to eat nothing but watery vegetable stews. Ostensibly this was to save me trouble, but I doubt it now; they were too inconsistent, and she would suddenly demand finicky seasonings, and odorous herbal teas. Insisting that I join her in her dietary disciplines, she would drag me out into the rain, braving storm and tempest to gather greens that exactly suited her demands, and then to lavish firewood upon unnecessary stews. If she had only left me alone it might not have been quite so bad, but she couldn’t bear to let me eat my simple sea-foods without trying to arouse my conscience to the evils they might cause, chief of which was sexual incontinence. A vow of celibacy meant nothing to her. There would be no need for such things, she would state superciliously, if only man would eat the right foods; vows cause suffering, and can never be wholly kept. <br />
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[37]<br />
<br />
These dietary dogmatics were annoying enough, but I soon ceased to take them very seriously when I discovered their secret inconsistencies, which trailed Ursula like the evidences of a private vice. After a particularly insipid meal one summer evening I went down to the beach to struggle <br />
<br />
against the nausea that rose upon a bitter brew of ground coprosma berries, and as I writhed I pondered my situation, wondering how I could permit myself to be dominated by such a whimsical woman. A half-formed desire to put her in her place urged me to go and demand my freedom, and after the conclusion of my interior wrestling I rose to seek her. At first she was nowhere to be found. She was not on Sail Rock, nor on either side of the bluffs, but the calm mild beauty of the evening encouraged me to wander on, and at length I found her. She was sheltering behind some limestone rocks, eating mussels raw. <br />
<br />
At first I felt furious, but instinct cautioned me to say nothing and to not even let her see me. Later, upon reflection, I thought this was just as well, for I too don’t always practise what I preach, and Ursula would have been the first to point this out in some especially humiliating manner.<br />
<br />
So you see, Thomas, that I have at least made some advance in self-knowledge, if not in any other of the spiritual virtues. Ursula did help me there, though I think she hindered and nearly ruined me in other spheres. Having been alone for so long, with no-one to point out my weaknesses, or follies, it was no doubt an advantage to have company for a year, even though that company has proved to be so very suspect.<br />
<blockquote>
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<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
One cannot go for a year’s retreat into the desert without missing something of the civilisation that has been left behind. Above all, I missed music. I missed many other things too, such as bread, a choice of novels, the Cathedral, and the news, but music most of all. All my life I’ve been very fond of music, in an instinctive rather than intelligent way, and it was at first a relief to find that Ursula occasionally knew something about the subject. This is a remarkable trait of my lady companion’s, that her knowledge of certain subjects was intermittent. Now she would be an overflowing fount on late romantic composers, or French novelists of the early 20th. century; the next day she would be to all appearances illiterate. It was as if she had a fluctuating I.Q. , or even a shifting personality. But I did notice, Thomas, that her knowledge showed a lack of originality, as if it had been derived. Though I was familiar with all her ideas, I could never quite trace their origins. <br />
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[38]<br />
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When in her ‘educated’ days, Ursula was particularly good-humoured, relaxed, untroubled, curious about things she would normally not notice, and more than usually given to keeping me company. In these moods she would often accompany me on food-gathering expeditions, and enjoy going to extreme trouble to find a delicacy, showing all the while an alert, good-humoured interest. She might even tease, or play a joke, and would talk all the while. Occasionally she betrayed an acquaintance with pop science of the doomsday sort, and some paper-back novels with pretensions to serious social comment, especially , those about Roman life and history and antique Eastern vice. She also knew the ‘Australian Review’, and consequently faced contemporary society with a cheap cynicism that was disconcertingly justifiable. The more justifiable it was the more exasperated I became, for I have an intense dislike of cheap cynicism, though at times it is a tempting attitude to take. We often had heated debates that were invariably at utter cross-purposes. My intellectual grounds are laid upon classical foundations, but hers were founded upon jerry-built structures of leftwing journalism and intuition. The left-wing stuff was almost always rubbish, though sometimes attractively humanitarian, but the intuition was very often close to the mark.<br />
<br />
This showed in her attitude to music. She loved it, but knew little. The little she did know was mostly hard rock and blues, but she knew and liked some of Beethoven’s symphonies, ‘Das Rheingold’, the Brandenburg Concertos, some Messiaen, and some Chopin. In her mind the whole lot were equated in worth, and I denied this with the strong argument that some types of music expressed a greater range and subtlety of emotions and thoughts than others, and was therefore intrinsically better music.<br />
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That’s what you say, she would maintain, and that’s the sort of thing the intellectual establishment always says . You only say it because you’ve been taught it. <br />
<br />
Untrue! Untrue! I cried. I thought that one out for myself.<br />
<br />
Yes, but you were taught to think it. People like you were picked and brought up to preserve the intellectual elitist status quo. <br />
<br />
That sounds like ferret-talk! I snapped, because I too had read the ‘Nation Review’. Everything you don’t like you dismiss, as being invented or maintained to preserve someone else’s status quo. <br />
<br />
So it is, she said. The oppressors of the world are people who want to stay where they are, and will stop at nothing to keep there. That was her way – to begin with nonsense, and to end not too far wrong. <br />
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[39]<br />
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However, Ursula really did have a pretty keen aesthetic sense, and on certain rare occasions when these moods coincided with a good sunset, or a notable storm, or some other striking natural exhibition, she would sit down in peace and enjoy it with me, and at times could even match the mood with the right composer, and sing a little. She could be a good companion, and I was often grateful for her presence, and even at times for the muddled rubbish of her conversation, which was likely to range from anal sex to the mystical effects of L.S.D. and the necessity for organic compost. <br />
<br />
In general her experiences (or her evaluation of them) and mine tallied remarkably well, but she still revelled in much that I had put behind me. Nevertheless, in my weaker moments I envied her the relaxed attitude to life and sophisticated ease, but every now and then the lid would briefly lift, and a puff of steam or a discordant clang would betray the chaos beneath the veneer; but more of that later. <br />
<br />
One thing: now though: never for long, but every now and then, she would be nervously preoccupied, barely able to talk, good-natured enough but absorbed within herself, and quite unable to settle to any task. She would walk here. and walk there, pick up something and drop it, begin to write in the sand but stop and stare out to sea while playing with her hair. After several hours of this behaviour she would disappear, and I would eventually stumble upon her sitting on the sand building a castle, or making roads, or playing boats in the creek with sticks. If she noticed me she would look up with a terrible expression, the eyes nearly empty, but around the mouth a smile that pleaded, yet was too bewildered to know what it pleaded for. There was a certain suffering there, but a happiness too, a dreadfully shameful happiness for it knew it oughtn’t to be there but didn’t know why, and was far ton childish to know itself. <br />
<br />
On the several occasions I found Ursula like this I was myself too shocked to speak, for the sight of the nightmarish innocence shook the very grounds of my being, and made me retreat trembling to rest before the sea. Chaos can be borne in the city, with the help of work and company, hut never in the wilderness. There is nothing in the wilderness, and no help either. <br />
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[40]<br />
<br />
Ursula reminded me of my mother. I must be honest about this, Thomas, for if I’m not you might accuse me of concealment. Indeed, the likeness was so strong that I have thought my companion could have been telepathic, but it was impossible to pursue this hunch as our situation did not allow any development of this theory. <br />
<br />
Up to now I have carefully refrained from referring to my own past, as this might have diverted your attention from Ursula herself, so I will only say that my mother was a martyr of considerable ability. Much of her married life was unhappy; she did have to suffer a great deal, but. did so with admirable fortitude and a deep interior enjoyment, all of which my neighbour in the next bay could act out to every detail. The first indication I would have of her being in this maternal mood would be a loud knock at the doorway, in the early sunrise, and a cry to arise for breakfast. There it would be, ready enough, in itself a novel treat for it was not Ursula’s habit to provide any meal. Neither would she now permit it to be enjoyed. As well as arising early to prepare the meal she would have deliberately gathered it that same morning and, if it was a sea-food meal, be still wet and dripping as she served it. Stricken with pity, I would urge her to change. <br />
<br />
Just finish your breakfast, she would briefly reply. I can look after myself. <br />
<br />
After this had happened several times, and I had begun to see the truth, I dared to express my desire to say matins first, for it was never my personal practice to eat before prayers. At the very mention of the thought she looked hard at me, and shivered wetly. She said nothing, for obviously words were unnecessary. A shiver said all, and I ate up thankfully, without further mention of any priority, spiritual or otherwise.<br />
<br />
Mother-Ursula did all that had to be done with a stiff back, . and a good forward stride. In this she was admirable, if one liked the military virtues, but the effects of her heroic strength of character were weakened by her determination to do what had to be done at exactly the moment when it was least necessary and most inconvenient. If in her hearing I expressed the intention of gathering pauas, she might well insist on saving me the trouble by gathering them herself, if possible without waiting until low tide. Inevitably she would get wet and bruised, and then carry her discomfort with an introverted silence that couldn’t fail to make someone of my <br />
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[41]<br />
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temperament ashamed. Maybe she would make it her self-imposed lot to gather firewood in the rain, and the fiercer the storm the farther she would wander, trudging back through the spray grossly overburdened with unnecessary and sodden fuel. <br />
<br />
Once she startled me out of my self-possession by swooping; down upon me with a small flax-basket of hot food. When Ursula swooped she was most disconcerting, for she was normally so poised in her hat and drapery that to see her in sudden motion half-panicked me. <br />
<br />
She dropped the steaming basket upon my lap. What is it? I cried, rather tactlessly, for in situations like this it is much better to taste first and ask after. That is proverbial knowledge. <br />
<br />
It’s an oyster omelette, she said, with a wounded note in her voice already. Seagulls eggs and rock oysters. The achievement of creating such a dish quite overpowered me and I forgot myself , and gently patted her wrist in thanks. She stood erect and drew herself together. <br />
<br />
Eat your omelette, she sternly bade me. Be grateful for the little things. Be content with what the Gods provide. <br />
<br />
Contrite and humble, I let the omelette stand between me and sacrilege. <br />
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<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
On one fine afternoon she found me reading the Letter to the Ephesians, and couldn’t let the occasion pass without making: good use of it. When playing the theologian Ursula always looked rather sad and prim, and had a tendency to hover uncertainly. Sooner or later she would be bound to anchor herself with a doggedness that was never far down in her psyche, and once anchored would winch herself in; at length she would be peering over my shoulder. <br />
<br />
There’s one part in that book that I cannot understand, she said, blinking a little, and had it been a cool morning I’m sure a drop would have hung from her nose. I cannot grasp that ‘Awake thou that sleepest and arise from the dead’. <br />
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It’s a fragment of an early Christian hymn, I replied, surprised at this choice of debate. Do you think so? she asked, talking quietly in a tone of persistent apology, yet quite clearly not to be put off on any account. Don’t you think that it really refers to a Christian doctrine of reincarnation? <br />
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Reincarnation! I snapped with astonishment. <br />
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Don’t you think, said she, sounding more and more confidential, that the Christian church has conspired to suppress the thought of reincarnation out of the Bible? It’s there, all through it you know, if you will only look. Where is it? I asked. Wherever you look, she replied. Just read on from verse 14: ‘walk as wise, redeeming the time” . Well now, what could be plainer? That means: make yourself worthy of your future incarnation. The next verse even has a warning against the misinterpretation: ‘be ye not fools, but understand what the will of the Lord is.’ It’s sinister, isn’t it, that the church could so consistently ignore even that warning. And what else? I asked, with mounting indignation. Rebirth. She! hissed. What do you think ‘being born again’ means? Here, give me the Bible and I’ll show you. But I couldn’t. Her folly so angered me that I couldn’t bear to let the book into her hands, but hedged, and eventually turned her off into other subjects, which was never hard to do. She was a natural rambler. <br />
<br />
The Bible obviously quite intrigued her, but there was no sign that she had ever more than dipped into it, and this same deficiency lay in all her argument. When pressed, or in the mood, she could supply an explanation to every problem about her, but rarely any indication that she seriously thought. On one or two occasions she floored me by exhibiting areas of knowledge and logical thought to entirely confound her more usual state of dreamy confusion. Once she must have read and studied, but that part of her was never alluded to. When I think of it, no part of her past was ever alluded to, and only God knows how long she had been there or where she had come from. Those were two questions I never dared to ask her, and I don’t know why. <br />
<blockquote>
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<b>*</b></blockquote>
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[43]<br />
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There was a dream I think I had. It must have been a dream; it could hardly have actually happened. You are the better judge of this, Thomas. It’s hard for me to tell, for that whole year hard a dreamlike quality about it, strengthened by the numerous gaps in my memory, and if I did not possess so much evidence for those twelve months I might well doubt I ever owned them. As it is, unless you can clear up some of the mess, I might never be able to sort out what might have from what did happen.<br />
<br />
In general neither of us roamed far from our respective bays, which was perhaps strange, at least on my part, as I am not a settled man by nature. I’ve always been fond of walking, so my lack of initiative during this year is in some respects remarkable. It can be partly explained by our geographical isolation. An almost sheer escarpment, several hundred feet high, rose from behind the beach And cut us off from the interior. It was covered with unattractive bush and scrub. To the north and south was bluff after bluff into the sea-wracked distance. Normally I would have regarded these sorts of surroundings as a challenge to explore, but now I just stayed where I was and strayed not at all. <br />
<br />
Occasionally Ursula, however, would disappear inland, always returning with a basket-full of sweet orchid tubers for the evening meal. An far as I could observe, the route to this kitchen garden was a narrow ravine that cut the cliff behind her cottage, and I am amateur botanist enough to know that she most probably gathered those tubers from the mossy floor of the tall bush beyond the top of the cliff. I became curious to know what it was like up there, and so early on one sunny restless morning I set off on my own, not telling her where I was going. At least that is what I think I did.<br />
<br />
I soon found myself in a dark jumble of slimy rocks, where water ran out of sight below. Konini, pungas, screw-pine, and nikaus darkened the little gorge, and there was hardly a bird to be seen or heard. The silence was like a primaeval curse. For about an hour I clambered up through this dark quietness, until at length I had left even the sound of the sea behind, and came into a more level place where the trees, no longer stunted by salt gales, grew to a fuller size and there was much less undergrowth. I appeared to be walking on a confused plateau. From the little I could see about me, it was evident that several hundred years before this land had been visited by a tremendous earthquake, and had collapsed <br />
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upon itself. Limestone, and its types, was the base rock, and had been worn over the centuries into caves, sink-holes, and all the other aspects of erosion; the cataclysm had caved these in and turned some over, so the land now presented a singular sight. It was entirely without pattern of valley, hill , or river. The creek I was following disappeared into a cave; I climbed the hillock above the cave, to find myself looking down into a deep depression. At its centre another rivulet briefly wound from one dark subterranean source to another hole, while along the cliff above there lay an exposed cave, like a drain-pipe cut longitudinally. Further on were small hillocks turned into arches by truncated tunnels, and short canyons holding still black rivers that came from and flowed on into the hill. Some of these locked large and long, but as I had no light I couldn’t explore them; however I looked into several as far as the pale daylight permitted, and discovered stalactite halls, glow-worm lit in their distant recesses and dimly coloured in pastel tints. In one was a colony of bats, and in all huge-legged spiders lurked behind the stones. <br />
<br />
Silence prevailed everywhere. In the highest tree-tops some parrot-like birds created a remote disturbance, but otherwise all was held in an empty, uncreative silence, still and old like an archetypal hush. Nothing stirred, not even the sound of running: water brightened the greenish gloom, and any noise there might have been was absorbed in the thick moss that hung from every trunk. It was an oppressive place, but fascinating, and I wandered about its wonders for an hour or two. There were great colonies of ground-orchids growing in the moss, but they had long finished flowering and were beginning to die back. Numerous kinds of toadstools now took their place, brightening the forest floor with azure, scarlet, gold, and some other rather nauseous shades. One I remember as being large and black, and another was wine-coloured on top and green underneath, or a sort of pale green. There were some very delicate small specimens of a translucent whiteness, and others larger and of an ugly dirty cream. I couldn’t but wonder at their beauty or their vileness, and speculate on their edibility, and whether if I ate them I might receive some Castaneda-like experience. <br />
<br />
At length it was time to return, hut then I couldn’t find the way. For one as used to tramping as I am it was a ridiculous position to be in, and in reality it could surely not have happened. Still, my frustration was logical enough, even if not real, for none of the accepted means of finding one’s way could be use; the rivers disappeared underground, and there were no continuous valleys; none of the tall trees were climbable, and I had <br />
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[45]<br />
<br />
left no tracks in the moss. To my credit I felt no panic, but on the other hand it was impossible for me to sit and do nothing about my lostness, so after praying for strength and guidance I set about finding; what river-fragments I could, and assessing their average direction of flow. That should indicate downhill. However, before I could find enough flows to get a reliable average full night fell, and there was nothing to do but try for sleep on a shady shelf under a limestone overhang. It was a cold and uncomfortable shelter, with dryness its only advantage. Every creeping and crawling thing the bush nurtures smelt me, out, and tried to use me under over of darkness. As my irritation increased, the previously un-noticed shrillness of whistling frogs slowly enveloped all other frettings, and I covered my ears with my hands, but their high-pitched chirpings cut into my brain like a dentist’s drill. I pulled some moss and tried to stuff my ears with it , but that made no difference at all except to increase the crawlings and creepings of the night things that had made their home with me. Eventually I could stand it no longer, and got up from my couch determined to make an escape in some way, when there echoed from the rustling and squeaking darkness the distant sound of a human voice. It was Ursula, instantly recognisable, calling me with a gentle well-modulated cry that carried beautifully. Glad relief flooded over me. Here I am! I called. Come this way!<br />
<br />
In the direction of her voice there at length appeared a pale bluish glow. At first it was so faint that I doubted my eyes, but it slowly increased; soon I could see a slender form within it, Ursula, swinging a basket of phosphorescence before her as if it was a censer. <br />
<br />
How did you find me? I asked, rather awed by her ghostly appearance. You answered when I called, she said, and that was the only explanation she gave. It must have been a dream, Thomas, mustn’t it? Something like this could not really have happened, could it? It seems more than a dream, though, too vivid, and yet it has some of the erratic characteristics of a dream, for there is no recollection of our return together. None whatsoever. My memory resumes in a most embarrassing manner outside Ursula’s hut. She was inside, and I wanted her. <br />
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[46]<br />
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Only my honesty makes me tell] you this, for whether it is a nightmare or not the implications are clear, and entirely undesirable. I had no love for Ursula, not sexual love. In a Christian sense I probably loved her, but to do that was not so easy, for her personality was so kaleidoscopic that I could barely find anybody to centre affection upon. As to desiring her physically – well, in one or two of my earlier letters I might have mentioned that this thought did briefly enter my head now and then, but it never made me do anything silly, and only on this one single dreadful occasion brought me near to breaking my vows. A perverted gratitude for her rescue of me no doubt provoked the outburst , and there must have been other contributory factors, such as tiredness, hunger, and admiration. There must have been. <br />
<br />
The faint blue light betrayed her presence in the hut, but she was silent and completely unresponsive, with never a stir or a sound. I was knocking at the door, and whispering: <br />
<br />
Ursula, Ursula, my dear, Ursula my darling. Do let me come into you. How can I ever do without you! Or words to that effect, lots and lots of words to that effect, loads and loads of rubbish. But whatever was poured through that door, and wreathed around that hut as I roamed about and about it, there was no effect upon the occupant, or none that was noticeable. Though I knocked, whispered, called, and muttered my panting path around and round, she never stirred, until at last the darkness of the night forced itself upon me, and I dragged myself off to bed, my desire dimming, thank God. <br />
<br />
I hope that was a dream. Ursula never alluded to any misbehaviour on my part, or acted as if a nuisance had been committed. Perhaps she wasn’t even in the hut, and all my importuning: was to a blue light. However, the shame persists, and I only tell it to you, Thomas, to help your understanding of my unusual tale. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[47]<br />
<br />
It’s all very well to encourage me back to society. I protested. But I haven’t any place there. <br />
<br />
Are you sure? She asked. <br />
<br />
I haven’t found any place yet. I’m an anachronism, like the farmer, the book-shop, and the history professor. Most of my day is spent wandering round the parish looking for some place to fit. <br />
<br />
Are you jealous of your parishioners? <br />
<br />
Once I was, but not now, except in my worst moments. Not long ago I began to see that most other people seemed to think that I was the well-off one and they didn’t belong. When they spoke they often implied envy of my position, much to my surprise. <br />
<br />
Why should you be surprised? <br />
<br />
I had never thought I was socially blessed to an enviable degree, and the suggestion that I might be quite shook me. Strange, isn’t it’? <br />
<br />
Not at all. She sharply asserted, half-turning her be-hatted head towards me. You were just being conceited, that’s all. You’ve been by yourself for too long, and you’ve reverted to adolescence. It’s time you had another view of yourself . It’s time you got married. <br />
<br />
Will you marry me? I asked, but only to please. <br />
<br />
Certainly not! She snapped. And the fact that you could ask such a thing is a sign of your criminal lack of self-perception. It’s high time you grew up and took yourself seriously – that is, saw yourself as part of society, which you are, whether you’re sitting solitary in a hut, or contacting solo parents in a housing estate. <br />
<br />
No man’s an island etc. …..<br />
<br />
There’s no need to excuse my ideas by veneering them with literary allusions! Just listen to what I say, and take it on its own rights. I’m quite correct; you may be sure of that, and sooner or later you’ll be convinced, and do what I say. <br />
<br />
She stood up and walked off without any parting look. As she made her way over the pebbles towards the bluff and her own beach, I reflected how graceful she was when angry, how erect and light in her walk, how purposeful and undeniably omniscient. How beautiful are the feet of her who brings good tidings and comfort, I mused. How beautiful are her feet, how comely her form.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
[48]<br />
<br />
One of the most remarkable features of’ my little home bay was the close approach of the deep sea; it has left me with memories and impressions that strengthen as time goes by, whereas many others of this last year will, I’m sure, fade. <br />
<br />
My hut was built in a grove of Nikaus just out of reach of the sea. On either side were two large low granite rocks, both partly covered with kie-kie and flax, and projecting at an even height out into the ocean. The Tasman rollers poured into the small cove these rocks formed, were compressed to a greater height, and broke thunderously upon the shingle beach. At low tide a sandy flat was exposed, and the sea was much safer for swimming, but at high tide, especially in bad weather, the immensity of the waves was almost appalling, and one hesitated to sit to watch for fear even the rocks would be unable to stop their foaming approach. If I sat out at the head of the little bluffs the waves there swept past unbroken in unfathomable green-ness, and I could so easily imagine myself on the prow of a ship ‘lost in the sea of vast eternitie’. <br />
<br />
It was very rarely a cold sea, and in its more modest moods had a warm maternal aspect, inviting, comforting, inscrutably repetitive, and very, very deep. When wild it was terrifying, whining as it sucked back over the gravel; a surging sea of phosphorescent foam at night , heaving in blue-white light like an arising fungoid monster. In the evening it was at it very best, delicate and lovely to receive the setting sun. <br />
<br />
On the whole, though, the sea is a frightening thing. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
When it did rain, which was frequently, it was often very hard to tell how much rain had fallen. There were no receptacles to measure it in, and no puddles to flood, and no gutters to run. After a while I was able to make some mental gauge by examining some small pools in the rocks, but these soaked quickly away, and also seemed to be affected by the wind direction. All but the heaviest cloudbursts were soaked up by the bush. Even the sound of the rain was no reliable indication of its intensity, for sometimes the silent thick downpour would produce quite a flood, while the rattling spouts would pass by, leaving nothing hut a memory behind. <br />
<br />
[49] <br />
<br />
After particularly heavy rain, the tiny creeks that usually pattered down to soak away under the nikaus, would surge forwards and pour over the sand down to the sea, quickly cutting deep gorges in the beach. Then, as the rain eased off and the waters sank, the creeks would dwindle <br />
<br />
from a brown torrent to a thin clear film, washing the grey sand in braided channels, until the next high tide banked the beach up again, and the creek returned to its normal end under the palms. <br />
<br />
Ursula was especially fond of the latter stages of these flooded creeks, when the waters were clear and thin. She would bring out her stones by the bagful, and crouching ankle deep in the running stream pattern out the gems. These designs were usually only very short-lived, for the force of the flood (weakening though it was) would soon wash the stones away or cover them with sand, but on one memorable occasion conditions were ideal, and she was able to create a most remarkable assembly. <br />
<br />
In any case she collected only the most perfect stones, or very unusual ones, and they were always well polished by the action of sea and sand and other tidal forces, but when put in water they shone like coloured glass. After this particular flood her home creek had been forced into a long and oblique channel across the beach, so that it ran with little force and limpid waters that barely moved the sand. I found her quite early in the morning, crouching in her crystal fountain, bathed in the glow of the rising sun, working away with her jewels. She pretended not to notice when I walked quietly to the edge of the creek to lock down upon her, so I was able to watch without feeling an intruder. <br />
<br />
Her virtuosity astonished me. It was as if she captured the mounting sun itself, and laid it dissected beneath the water. Ripples caught the waves and darted them out from the design which was, if I remember rightly, diamond-shaped, and several feet across. Flame-coloured stones edged the form, and in the centre was a perfectly oval piece of jet or coal. Radiating from it were four equipoised L-shaped arms of greenstone marbles, contained within a diamond line of white limestone coins. At each corner of this were four red carnelian pieces, and about the whole was a circle of local pink marble. Flakes of mica flickered over it. <br />
<br />
[50]<br />
<br />
I stared at the creation, transfixed by the glory of it. Whenever I think of it now those lines of Henry Vaughan come to mind: <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
“I saw eternity the other night<br />
Like a great ring of pure and endless light , <br />
All calm, as it was bright, <br />
And round beneath it, time in hours, days, years<br />
Driven by the spheres <br />
Like a vast shadow moved. In which the world<br />
And all her train were hurled.”</blockquote>
<br />
O wondrous glory! O glory of light!<br />
<br />
When I came to my senses, Ursula was gone, and the sun stood almost overhead. The little torrent glided past, slowly taking the remains of the gem-stone diamond out to sea, turning over a stone here, sliding away another there, burying another. I thought it curious that she had left them behind to be lost like this, but Ursula’s ways were always unlike her, so wondering no more I turned slowly home, grateful that at last I had seen almost what I came to see. God’s ways are strange, and sometimes worked through the most imperfect means. However, as I walked home, I rather regretted the washed-out noonday end to it all. <br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
If I remember rightly, the end of it all came not long after that pattern in the pool, but it’s so hard to be sure. The sea-mist that obscured the view seems to have crept into my mind as well, and curls and coils in there still, first blotting out and then partially revealing. From one day to the next now I’m uncertain as to what I remember, what is forgot, or what imagined. In any case, what I imagine to be true is so strange, so explicitly impossible, that you must just accept it in the sincerity with which its told, and believe that it is at the very least true in intention. <br />
<br />
I see myself, late one lone and sunny afternoon, lying on the beach, reading, when Ursula came tripping along the gemstones, her floppy straw hat looking like a tattered parasol. <br />
<br />
Riley, Riley, she called, Come and have some dinner with me. I was so surprised I nearly dropped the book. We had been together for over a year now, and this was the first time she had invited me to a meal. At other times I had invited myself, always with tact and courtesy, of course. <br />
<br />
The day was a Sunday , and I had made and eaten a reasonably festal mid-day meal, but another wouldn’t do any harm, so I jumped up with enthusiasm. A most unexpected honour, my dear, I replied. Your attention flatters me out of my wits. She gave me one of her brief smiling looks, took me by the arm, and escorted me around the bluff to her little cottage. <br />
<br />
[51]<br />
<br />
Oh dear me! She exclaimed. Just look at those wekas! But I couldn’t, for the meal itself put those little brown scavengers quite out of notice. To this day I cannot understand how she gathered and prepared that food. The trouble she must have gone to!<br />
<br />
It was all set out in buffet splendour, on a flax mat before her cottage. In the centre of the mat was a towering arrangement of blue sun-orchids, rata, and brown sedge. Around this marvel was a carpet of sphagnum, and ordered upon it on woven platters were dishes fit for a gourmet: crab-meat seasoned with shredded kelp, mussels lightly stewed with wild parsley, paua-steaks simmered in winkle soup, two whole crayfish, a sort of orange-coloured stiff jelly, and a small pyramid of sea-eggs. Crowning all, and delicately wreathed with maidenhair, was a huge and whole John Dory. I was astounded. <br />
<br />
It was stranded on the reef, she explained, pleased at my reaction. That gave me the idea for the dinner. <br />
<br />
Only on one or two occasions had we ever before eaten a fish, and each time they were caught stranded in a rock pool or washed up on the beach. We had them raw, and always made a celebration of the meal, but never had there been anything quite like this. <br />
<br />
We sat down side by side, cross-legged as she liked; I said Grace, and we began the meal. The sun was low over the western horizon, still warm and quiet, but moderated from its earlier strength by distance and a dim white cloud that reflected on the sea in pearly shadings. No wind stirred the bush, and the only sound was the cracking of small waves upon the beach, and evening bell-birds in the Nikau Palms. All was so idyllic, and the food so good, that several moments elapsed before I realised I had just heard a rifle shot. <br />
<br />
Surely that wasn’t a shot? I asked, in astonishment. <br />
<br />
Was it? said Ursula, paying, no attention whatsoever. Another shot sounded from over my bluff.<br />
<br />
Visitors! I cried. The first we have had. Carry on while I go and see. Ursula continued eating, apparently quite uninterested, but I was anxious at this unexpected threat of intrusion, and also felt shy about being discovered at table, so I hurried off around the rocks. <br />
<br />
Trudging towards me along the beach were two men, each with a pack and a rifle, and looking unkempt, but not yet with that tired dazed look of men who have been out in the bush for a week or two. As I watched unseen from the rocks, they noticed my footsteps, and then looking about saw the hut. My good sense prompted me forward, but what could I do? What <br />
<br />
[52]<br />
<br />
could I do that was natural and unforced? If I waited I would look furtive. If I waved from where I was I would look like that picture from Captain Cook’s Explorations. If I hid and didn’t show myself at all Ursula would think me a coward, and the visitors might damage my property. I decided to act with decision, and walked forward to meet them. <br />
<br />
Jesus Christ, burst out the younger and shorter shooter, who had his hair tied back in a pony tail. A savage! Where’s the canoe? <br />
<br />
They stood still, so I stayed where I was, superior and reserved. Good evening, I smiled. Are you gentlemen going north? <br />
<br />
We’re looking for a camp, said the taller and older man, who had long greying fair hair, and steel-rimmed glasses on a bearded face. And some food, he continued. We’ve shot nothing all day except one sea-gull that came down in the bush. <br />
<br />
By now they were almost up to the rocks, and looking, at me with suspicious curiosity. They looked like university people, perhaps a professor and his most promising pupil. Just my luck, I reflected bitterly. My first human visitors for a year, and they have to be intellectuals. <br />
<br />
The tall one looked at the hut. You look pretty settled, he said, and eyed me over for signs of secret vice. <br />
<br />
I live here, I replied. I’ve been here for over a year now, in perfect ecological harmony; I live here with a friend. <br />
<br />
Hell! Exclaimed the shorter man. A Pa! You’re not the lost tribe, are you? <br />
<br />
Nothing~ like that, I assured him, with commendable courtesy. She lives round here in the next bay. Come and meet her. I got down from my rock to lead them round, thinking it would be rather pleasant to invite them to the meal. We could have a leisurely civilized chat amidst all this wilderness, and I could learn of the past year in the world outside. Imagine my amazement to find that Ursula and the dinner had gone. I stood where we had sat, confused, confounded, speechless, while the guests looked at me, bewildered. There was not even a mat, and no sign of anyone having been there except myself. Note that carefully, Thomas. I now distinctly remember that there was no trace of recent human presence at all – no footprints, disturbance, objects, nothing, but this didn’t occur to me at that moment. My thoughts were of Ursula. <br />
<br />
Where has she gone? I asked of nobody in particular. She was here just a minute or two ago. We were having dinner when we heard you.<br />
<br />
Dinner? Queried the grey-haired one. Has she taken it with her?<br />
<br />
Yes, I replied stupidly. She’s very shy. <br />
<br />
Your wife? Asked the short one. <br />
<br />
[53]<br />
<br />
No; a friend, I repeated. Ursula. She lives over there in the hut. I took them to her cottage, but even as we approached it I knew there was something wrong. There was un sign of life at all. No smoke, no stir, no smell of food, and when we looked in, no Ursula. <br />
<br />
No-one’s lived here for months, said the pony-tail, and had I not known the truth I might have thought him right. All the mats and all the stones had gone, moss grew in the fire-place and grass in the doorway, but I thought it was some trick of hers.<br />
<br />
I’m afraid you’ve called at a bad moment, I lamely relied. She’s very shy. Call in again on your way back, and you’ll certainly meet her then.<br />
<br />
Sure is shy, said pony-tail. Shied off some time ago, if you ask me. But they took my hint and began to move off, though I could see unflattering suspicion on their minds. I went with them for the short way to the next bluff , good-naturedly chatting (though to little response) and then I said goodbye and returned. <br />
<br />
As I expected, there had been some trick of Ursula’s, for now life had returned to the hut. Astonishing, isn’t it, Thomas? Could an imagination really play such tricks? There before my eyes, where all had been dead before, was life again. Smoke was now coming from the chimney, and there was a mat at the door, but there was still no Ursula inside. I went out again and called repeatedly, but there was still no response, so I returned to the cottage to see if any clue to her flight could be found. This time there was some sound of movement. Apart from the low fire, and the doorway (which I darkened) no light entered the room, so it was hard to tell what was rustling on the floor, and I had to feel around to find it. A funny little thing it was, bare, and it made no sound as I picked it up and took it out to the light, not even when the horror overcame me and I dropped it on the sand. It crawled for a while there, and snuffled a bit, but made no other sound. I stared at the pink and lumpy thing, and the more I stared the more I had to admit that the little animal was more like a baby than anything else, so I got down on my hands and knees to look it in the face. The features were curiously distorted, so poorly made as to be almost deformed in fat wrinkles and asymmetry, and it had two great pitch-black eyes that locked out at me with sombre steadfastness. You will know what I mean. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYCEggR5rMlmHPtT6LdBR8xFRFWpgtDgMS95cgKe5iLJ0tDAqdXcJrl4H-0AHwEEE1tNa8l4umrz99h3OnCoIFuwszkEe4m0jE88bctCbRv3FrSb1GpOrc0VI3s64s7toasf67VErLmMV/s1600/F3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615967768881333842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiYCEggR5rMlmHPtT6LdBR8xFRFWpgtDgMS95cgKe5iLJ0tDAqdXcJrl4H-0AHwEEE1tNa8l4umrz99h3OnCoIFuwszkEe4m0jE88bctCbRv3FrSb1GpOrc0VI3s64s7toasf67VErLmMV/s400/F3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 289px;" /></a></div>
<br />
[54]<br />
<br />
On my hands and knees in the sand, I gazed into the eyes of this snuffling half-formed child. The sun set behind me and shone redly into its face. In a trance I stared as the glow deepened, then suddenly I knew what I was seeing in those black depths. I had seen the same in Ursula’s eyes, but hadn’t stopped to think. With a crack, like a blow on the side of the head, the truth hit home, and for the first time in all these months I knew what a terrible thing I was seeing. As recognition dawned on my face the dreadful little beast licked its lips with a thick sloppy tongue, and smiled at me. Oh horror upon horror: I leapt to my feet and ran down the beach, choking with fright. That such a nightmare should fall upon me, so wise and well-informed!<br />
<br />
The sun had set as I set off walking southwards along the coast, but a dull red glow still lay upon the bluffs, which for the first time in all that year now fell in series before me, clear and sharp in cliff after cliff into the long and hospitable distance.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>*</b></blockquote>
<br />
So there we are, dear Thomas. Though this recounting is for my help, it is also a gesture of friendship, for I know you will enjoy it. With your love of irony, your almost Jungian erudition, your self-involution, how could you fail to derive vast entertainment from my remarkable nightmare? Even I myself, when I think over what has happened, must profess to feeling an amused amazement, tinged, of course, with horror. All turned out so unexpectedly; nothing as it was planned.<br />
<br />
I went to so much trouble for the sake of a longed-for experience; and all I had was Ursula. Sometimes I gasp at the audacity of it all, but to have audacity there must be someone audacious, and who was it? Was it God? Was He the one who defrauded me? Or did I do it myself? You might be able to help me with the second part of that question, but you can’t help me with the first. Why did God deny me the blessings I sought, and give me something so unsatisfactory and unsought-for instead? However, my thoughts make mockery, and boil my patience away into madness.<br />
<br />
Madness? The term should be destroyed, and I stand by that Thomas, right to the bitter end, no matter how much you might try to argue me away.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfWssZ6qjgZ5YZPQj4T0AD8Y5D3AKNh_c67g9j6lMVc7CL_5FVHrHBE_gKoh23Zdcnbxnp3Fua6TtSUxTOoKXdRdJavYgwciNIEt1zWHKOxsbHxKjXV3qDnvcfH_JuL0kXUXZn8z9arlE/s1600/Flowersbc.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615967266439490946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfWssZ6qjgZ5YZPQj4T0AD8Y5D3AKNh_c67g9j6lMVc7CL_5FVHrHBE_gKoh23Zdcnbxnp3Fua6TtSUxTOoKXdRdJavYgwciNIEt1zWHKOxsbHxKjXV3qDnvcfH_JuL0kXUXZn8z9arlE/s400/Flowersbc.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I got me flowers to straw Thy way,<br />
I got me boughs off many a tree;<br />
But Thou was up by break of day,<br />
And broughtst Thy sweets along with Thee.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
George Herbert</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
© Leicester Kyle (c.1975).</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfWssZ6qjgZ5YZPQj4T0AD8Y5D3AKNh_c67g9j6lMVc7CL_5FVHrHBE_gKoh23Zdcnbxnp3Fua6TtSUxTOoKXdRdJavYgwciNIEt1zWHKOxsbHxKjXV3qDnvcfH_JuL0kXUXZn8z9arlE/s1600/Flowersbc.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615967266439490946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisfWssZ6qjgZ5YZPQj4T0AD8Y5D3AKNh_c67g9j6lMVc7CL_5FVHrHBE_gKoh23Zdcnbxnp3Fua6TtSUxTOoKXdRdJavYgwciNIEt1zWHKOxsbHxKjXV3qDnvcfH_JuL0kXUXZn8z9arlE/s400/Flowersbc.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-28018872850870537012012-01-17T07:41:00.012+13:002017-11-26T10:54:38.970+13:00Miscellaneous Poems<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi7rsq5HVL5EtqjSt3sfkCDoJAEWwDHdEp40i3J5pnXw05CM2-7gdAPdBxEfHFcJ0iRs6Cd6dg4R-wgjfnwDngES91T717NZ5jsNyO8R8k7t1q5a5P48qWXVBpToTDrfY7cT1XLpAU8I/s1600/01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714017295388891586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKi7rsq5HVL5EtqjSt3sfkCDoJAEWwDHdEp40i3J5pnXw05CM2-7gdAPdBxEfHFcJ0iRs6Cd6dg4R-wgjfnwDngES91T717NZ5jsNyO8R8k7t1q5a5P48qWXVBpToTDrfY7cT1XLpAU8I/s400/01.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-thirty-three.html">Uncollected Poems</a></span></div>
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">After They Left</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Blue Orchid</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Braided River</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">By Hand</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Clearance</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Close-up</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">From the Dam, the Day After</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Give to the Flower</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Grace on the Plateau</a> [25/12/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">In a Secular Time</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">My Amiable Mate</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">Our New Snail</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">Photograph</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">Porphyry Reef</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">Potter’s Coil</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Rising Damp</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Sunday Late at Grafton</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">Tai Poutini</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">The End of the Day</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">The Hairdresser and the Hat</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">The Last Day</a> [31/12/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">Uncomfort Rock</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">Utu</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">Weak Before You</a> [n.d.]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8b3o6nF3i9Cu9SzsJf3UVoDyi1vu0eOF3pht_ISayWTckRLE8nxXVJXaqXHuf2AH61rTiFKWZBH-WTvARNtL6rRssaoHdo5gY0_b3tFwVT-quBOIZE9ImJQYh8ZaAF21JJSKyEJZdus/s1600/scan0054.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014961816230274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgR8b3o6nF3i9Cu9SzsJf3UVoDyi1vu0eOF3pht_ISayWTckRLE8nxXVJXaqXHuf2AH61rTiFKWZBH-WTvARNtL6rRssaoHdo5gY0_b3tFwVT-quBOIZE9ImJQYh8ZaAF21JJSKyEJZdus/s400/scan0054.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 151px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>After They Left</b><br />
<br />
When the miner went to live<br />
down by the sea<br />
he took his house with him<br />
<br />
he left the sheds<br />
some steps<br />
the gate<br />
the paths<br />
and the outdoor loo<br />
<br />
he left<br />
two wrecked cars<br />
a bike<br />
two fire blocks<br />
a concrete tank<br />
a pine<br />
a macrocarpa<br />
and some bulbs<br />
<br />
There was no letter box<br />
for nothing was delivered<br />
<br />
The bulbs kept on growing<br />
the pine tree blew down<br />
the macrocarpa bent with the wind<br />
and the natives began<br />
to creep out from the bush<br />
and come back —<br />
<br />
a rata lodged in the front door step<br />
some kamahi down at the loo<br />
coprosmas sprang where the garden had been<br />
and under the macrocarpa<br />
where the kereru perched<br />
rimu and miro seedlings grew<br />
broadleaf where the grass was long<br />
and manuka<br />
<br />
sun orchids grew where the coal had been<br />
microtis on the fire blocks<br />
bracken on the compost heap<br />
<br />
soon the past was back again<br />
and botanical<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVnVkLlyLOXq0mJIrUg0HDGJxGmaq-ADOPKPi9E0ZK-upHvmekGng5FOhUStOeI3o5tBE0A2M1l8j8vflBOc5C_F5S8ur53T00Rb0MujnvYEzGRwuy4Fkx2oHQ64KVA_m4P-I_3X2bNs/s1600/scan0055.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014909273681026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcVnVkLlyLOXq0mJIrUg0HDGJxGmaq-ADOPKPi9E0ZK-upHvmekGng5FOhUStOeI3o5tBE0A2M1l8j8vflBOc5C_F5S8ur53T00Rb0MujnvYEzGRwuy4Fkx2oHQ64KVA_m4P-I_3X2bNs/s400/scan0055.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 168px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Blue Orchid</b><br />
<br />
A blue<br />
to please<br />
the critics of blue<br />
<br />
with grey in it<br />
a grey of the view<br />
<br />
escarpments of grey<br />
the sand in the sky<br />
and blue of the eye<br />
<br />
an infinitude<br />
a baby blue<br />
<br />
fog<br />
with tussocks in it<br />
mud<br />
<br />
a past change blue<br />
<br />
a modesty<br />
of deepness<br />
like the sea<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLlV-gtfHl7Wggo1m2BmXL50bcd7lakRgv24kDuaEN4Ayq1JfVsCnFbLqtOnOiMWyM_zlkVJjzTyOyhRQpKw1rXfsz_cPzX-tHTvATYKD3W8Q_AmyzGqQ1nrpY0Tv1rJslC0oPj1_Di4/s1600/scan0056.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014855402646770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNLlV-gtfHl7Wggo1m2BmXL50bcd7lakRgv24kDuaEN4Ayq1JfVsCnFbLqtOnOiMWyM_zlkVJjzTyOyhRQpKw1rXfsz_cPzX-tHTvATYKD3W8Q_AmyzGqQ1nrpY0Tv1rJslC0oPj1_Di4/s400/scan0056.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Braided River</b><br />
<br />
Though they have no land now<br />
they can at least see what they once owned,<br />
simply by walking to the end of the lane<br />
to the lip of the gorge<br />
and looking ---<br />
<br />
That was once theirs:<br />
blue hills clear hills<br />
the river<br />
and the snow behind<br />
<br />
the sound of water remains<br />
<br />
They enjoy each other’s company<br />
only at church <br />
are they not together<br />
there they sit on their own sides<br />
as if to comfort the other’s memory<br />
As if to say:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">‘This was our doing;</span><br />
we may not be all there is<br />
but we are the first cause.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDARn-o_xdFB46qdQVsJ39b0rKD0-9zbQPI-9Jc1iFDh3KnTK5Aw-z22WGCN-Cfa8gkQa9Q2prNXXctjxGd5pzePV4FIyBRU7rZAo5Iar-7kZixOAEZhRpwkssPd_jZgF2LPVFgzVdHg/s1600/scan0057.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014797758262514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPDARn-o_xdFB46qdQVsJ39b0rKD0-9zbQPI-9Jc1iFDh3KnTK5Aw-z22WGCN-Cfa8gkQa9Q2prNXXctjxGd5pzePV4FIyBRU7rZAo5Iar-7kZixOAEZhRpwkssPd_jZgF2LPVFgzVdHg/s400/scan0057.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 178px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>By Hand</b><br />
<br />
to Fat Boy<br />
c/o Shane,<br />
In the House Next to the Blue Pub,<br />
Granity,<br />
<br />
was sent certain to arrive,<br />
<br />
that on this side<br />
someone would know,<br />
<br />
that there are two houses<br />
next to the Blue Pub<br />
and Shane would be the right,<br />
<br />
that he would get the box<br />
to Fat Boy<br />
who lives in the hills,<br />
<br />
who looks fat<br />
only from behind<br />
on a thin bike,<br />
<br />
and is innocent<br />
(like the others)<br />
of intention to confuse,<br />
<br />
who sees this life<br />
in social significances,<br />
webs of trust.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirj3iy1BeXAzh-CwWIWtJYe3Wp6juo9ruWS8gd-UBfRPOsepfG-E_XcN3vs7egyytItHhWGsk1E1RoHvip1RWEi02Cojr8L-ItGRndvrUmsr9CToRmwF2gkMylrMEFiiNqeMaYUg0vY5k/s1600/scan0058.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014746878882082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirj3iy1BeXAzh-CwWIWtJYe3Wp6juo9ruWS8gd-UBfRPOsepfG-E_XcN3vs7egyytItHhWGsk1E1RoHvip1RWEi02Cojr8L-ItGRndvrUmsr9CToRmwF2gkMylrMEFiiNqeMaYUg0vY5k/s400/scan0058.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 198px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Clearance</b><br />
<br />
monday,<br />
Spring One.<br />
<br />
The whole town<br />
is sniffing the air<br />
and glancing over fences.<br />
<br />
The first faint hint<br />
of life to come.<br />
A flip of the hip,<br />
a lilt in the talk<br />
on the telephones,<br />
of freedom.<br />
<br />
Light lingers.<br />
<br />
Soft on the glow of the setting sun<br />
floats the talcum dust<br />
of infant lust,<br />
pollen gold.<br />
And laughter.<br />
<br />
A shiver as the sun goes down.<br />
<br />
Darkness brings necessity.<br />
Cruel chill.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaMQ5kQYkTh9XRwfm5uF-H9r7RY5iMGWvfbXKPV91gp0BKSTDoWQkcOqfZ7L3n7I50oX88mNUkIQy2JqBCmI7lku9Vj-Fep8tbSOYQtBoRXX_OvU3E4oE-Z8iVkwLDWw6fsmGreFxryE/s1600/scan0059.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014692720975170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLaMQ5kQYkTh9XRwfm5uF-H9r7RY5iMGWvfbXKPV91gp0BKSTDoWQkcOqfZ7L3n7I50oX88mNUkIQy2JqBCmI7lku9Vj-Fep8tbSOYQtBoRXX_OvU3E4oE-Z8iVkwLDWw6fsmGreFxryE/s400/scan0059.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 214px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Close-up</b><br />
<br />
There’s nothing between us<br />
at last<br />
nothing<br />
<br />
words<br />
speech or paper<br />
<br />
sight<br />
visual aids<br />
<br />
clothes<br />
on the floor<br />
<br />
just space between<br />
so close we are<br />
<br />
there’s still the space between<br />
<br />
can someone build a bridge<br />
or lay a line<br />
or send a signal somehow<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzUwxbv2YBieV5w-JCHgcvMruJWTEEDO_cxawJQ53hRhsGzHwesqMvUeDWwH6JCiIdglF_64ngvHcQCb_JKCttQ29HexbN_VpDK8VhpnMuGgZwbNz7B9E2z6Rcu589IbMPzWIM_o0gg4/s1600/scan0060.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014629116607874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhzUwxbv2YBieV5w-JCHgcvMruJWTEEDO_cxawJQ53hRhsGzHwesqMvUeDWwH6JCiIdglF_64ngvHcQCb_JKCttQ29HexbN_VpDK8VhpnMuGgZwbNz7B9E2z6Rcu589IbMPzWIM_o0gg4/s400/scan0060.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>From the Dam, the Day After.</b><br />
<br />
There was a house on the other side<br />
but that burned down a night ago<br />
in a cloud of orange fog<br />
and a hiss of rain.<br />
<br />
Today there’s a conspiracy to peace:<br />
the trees are as rigid as pines on the Rockies<br />
the lake is a pewter plate,<br />
the sky has no content at all;<br />
<br />
it rests upon a rim of moor,<br />
of heath grey cliff and sandstone,<br />
but holds no cloud no smoke or whiff<br />
of the night before<br />
the fear and the grief.<br />
<br />
The lake the bush and sky together<br />
hold all that happens here,<br />
take it and distil it<br />
into this capacity;<br />
we never did and it never was —<br />
all’s air and weather.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSRnjPfmBhwIfwr2Gs-mYkhW0cMF7xSBtuSei5_waJKAb7r5kLLUwoRwU_-0BQIDSGLDcfPnS-2z-2JiygExnAw6OVrx56p6y5UBBnTzPyFCRcHAuoQhRAoAZGlrWs2rSwqCAtIh11Lps/s1600/scan0061.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014566969415938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSRnjPfmBhwIfwr2Gs-mYkhW0cMF7xSBtuSei5_waJKAb7r5kLLUwoRwU_-0BQIDSGLDcfPnS-2z-2JiygExnAw6OVrx56p6y5UBBnTzPyFCRcHAuoQhRAoAZGlrWs2rSwqCAtIh11Lps/s400/scan0061.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Give To The Flower</b><br />
<br />
The power to take<br />
and put in a place<br />
where those who love<br />
may trust the grace<br />
and growing gracefulness,<br />
<br />
may lift it off the page,<br />
translate it to the<br />
rock the moss the scree,<br />
<br />
into a disposition<br />
in the soul,<br />
an elegant use<br />
of space provided,<br />
<br />
and sharp at the edges,<br />
where it’s put <br />
to grow.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOqlNq93OiySKQxzawWZX3Z1FOHI3P6ky-nBaRmIh1qe2Kh4xjRr6ug63BpiXOSwmx4FeN6_RJMVuHdiIyl02W5h2Wiy5xTlR0hRE5Lb0AerzHWZCAsWB5AMpb_vCMO3YEuYSaePrLUg/s1600/scan0062.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014508912173698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQOqlNq93OiySKQxzawWZX3Z1FOHI3P6ky-nBaRmIh1qe2Kh4xjRr6ug63BpiXOSwmx4FeN6_RJMVuHdiIyl02W5h2Wiy5xTlR0hRE5Lb0AerzHWZCAsWB5AMpb_vCMO3YEuYSaePrLUg/s400/scan0062.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 173px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Grace On The Plateau</b><br />
<br />
Thanks<br />
for the manuka<br />
and its flowers<br />
that keeps the sun off us<br />
<br />
for the moss<br />
that gives comfort<br />
<br />
that the wind does not reach us<br />
and there are no clouds<br />
<br />
for the big bush by us<br />
and its birds<br />
<br />
for the river in the gorge<br />
the flowers on the pakihi<br />
<br />
that the air is from the mountains<br />
that there’s enough food<br />
<br />
like<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">chicken ham salmon</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">rye bread good cheese</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">olives caviar</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">pate and crackers</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">cake port and sherry</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">chocolates wine</span><br />
thanks for the doobies and stogies<br />
<br />
thanks for each other.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[25.12.99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Kr6uaRe1SYd1p3VgFKGvaaCW0R_rPpUIdsneQ98xyQVkJW2QoVDMHzujMwbaPC9O5Epy5nuStCTfpA15mGZsRFU_pNfisnitI_CKMHdG6geRc0JJHHvAzok-4thR6DCJbsoRNybMOJk/s1600/scan0063.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014439105006274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_Kr6uaRe1SYd1p3VgFKGvaaCW0R_rPpUIdsneQ98xyQVkJW2QoVDMHzujMwbaPC9O5Epy5nuStCTfpA15mGZsRFU_pNfisnitI_CKMHdG6geRc0JJHHvAzok-4thR6DCJbsoRNybMOJk/s400/scan0063.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 178px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>In a Secular Time</b><br />
<br />
Grant we do not question:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>The Divine Legerdemain.</i></span><br />
<br />
Nor permit doubt:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Of any major excellence.</i></span><br />
<br />
High attainment in the arts:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Measures maturity.</i></span><br />
<br />
Which is a preventive:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Of self-doubt and malnourishment.</i></span><br />
<br />
That plague the idiosyncracies:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>On new people.</i></span><br />
<br />
Grant us confidence:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>At the metaphor of bleakness.</i></span><br />
<br />
To put the wrong question:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>To the wrong time.</i></span><br />
<br />
To overcome naivety:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>And risk the ignorance.</i></span><br />
<br />
For sake of greater:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Abnegation.</i></span><br />
<br />
A colloquy with ancestors:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>And insufficiency.</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLQ1edVJo2vRAJRyzXuwQfp5hYJfAux4XtCUpolLeRwcG1wWLvJxa6kjzqa91mt1HHvyv4I9Onb745DE-F3BJXfHFXrtUuOdVfgp6KD-wLM00QDxqSZ5e3Hx4pbnkD1Tlsx0N0xvo6d8/s1600/scan0064.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014376034489762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdLQ1edVJo2vRAJRyzXuwQfp5hYJfAux4XtCUpolLeRwcG1wWLvJxa6kjzqa91mt1HHvyv4I9Onb745DE-F3BJXfHFXrtUuOdVfgp6KD-wLM00QDxqSZ5e3Hx4pbnkD1Tlsx0N0xvo6d8/s400/scan0064.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 188px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My Amiable Mate</b><br />
<br />
the sun<br />
has no waste<br />
on its face<br />
<br />
it is lean<br />
and clean<br />
<br />
it is honed to the job<br />
of irradiation<br />
<br />
perfectly<br />
<br />
like you<br />
your warming smile<br />
bright cheeks<br />
<br />
with never a hint<br />
of boil beneath<br />
<br />
of burnish<br />
or the blaze<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYY9m3JrBrObW_a7_yE64_eIG_Ebv1iTZ9WwSMrRVgrYdTmLGtT0FZxSxGQd4ZL3U5Q9CTIFMY19R83qmxkJp4MIFX74SRcdHUvpL7LE8eN_XfUhjG457zrdHWpTdS6VWT3hG-7pHy58/s1600/scan0065.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014296605354882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEYY9m3JrBrObW_a7_yE64_eIG_Ebv1iTZ9WwSMrRVgrYdTmLGtT0FZxSxGQd4ZL3U5Q9CTIFMY19R83qmxkJp4MIFX74SRcdHUvpL7LE8eN_XfUhjG457zrdHWpTdS6VWT3hG-7pHy58/s400/scan0065.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 158px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Our New Snail</b><br />
<br />
Trish found it,<br />
crossing the road —<br />
the snail, that is.<br />
<br />
She was going for a walk<br />
to calm herself,<br />
for there was trouble with the plumbing,<br />
It was early,<span style="padding-left: 10em;">again.</span><br />
and had been raining.<br />
<br />
I had told her:<br />
‘If you see a snail shell<br />
please bring it to me,’<br />
for I’m interested,<br />
so she brought me the creature,<br />
‘At least you’ll have the shell,’ she said,<br />
but it was too important to keep.<br />
<br />
I could see it was an entity<br />
so I rang Kath Walker in town.<br />
‘Measure it,’ she said,<br />
‘and describe it to me,’<br />
but how to do that —<br />
<br />
it’s so old<br />
it’s out of my authority;<br />
exactness is absurdity<br />
with a thing like this,<br />
and words are gauche.<br />
It antedates statistics by an aeon.<br />
Chromosomes and categories<br />
slip off down its trail.<br />
<br />
‘Look’, I said,<br />
‘It’s uncomfortable.<br />
I’ll ring you back.’<br />
<br />
‘Give it a worm,’<br />
she told me.<br />
‘They suck them in<br />
like spaghetti.’<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxicYg34tlFJD-_lpV7qXbPmZZoBE747D5i70nwmrnMIYA-NYqnsFE1dVxSGVIbw3TNLDDSLoQq0oLpayeMsgCqCqb8OoULMYF7Udw4ErGDwx5A2T0vZ9ft5jpnqrUpzA0g4Cf-CNyaI/s1600/scan0066.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014192328075570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAxicYg34tlFJD-_lpV7qXbPmZZoBE747D5i70nwmrnMIYA-NYqnsFE1dVxSGVIbw3TNLDDSLoQq0oLpayeMsgCqCqb8OoULMYF7Udw4ErGDwx5A2T0vZ9ft5jpnqrUpzA0g4Cf-CNyaI/s400/scan0066.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 121px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Photograph</b><br />
<br />
smile<br />
<br />
to be seen on film<br />
objectified<br />
and recognised<br />
<br />
turn<br />
a little<br />
look and set<br />
<br />
your head<br />
before the pointed door<br />
the cenotaph beside<br />
<br />
your eyes<br />
to smile too<br />
<br />
compose yourself<br />
relax<br />
<br />
your hands<br />
and look at me<br />
as if<br />
I am<br />
a spirit being bearing gifts<br />
of contemplative use<br />
<br />
gaze further on<br />
the signs<br />
sidereally<br />
<br />
as if you see<br />
a life beyond<br />
<br />
be dead<br />
(if you must)<br />
to me<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQC7W0R0mtOVjiGI0GHMizHVuMyxLBhs25UHJ2464nhWRgeAUr3EHAaNOuPvtKGrzRzMihyphenhyphenhhsDxhlJkySb7C_FEOXoAsQC7nmFQsTH9b6toc2z-dxaVin__B_M938H3wctq15eKNkrY/s1600/scan0067.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014122345835602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRQC7W0R0mtOVjiGI0GHMizHVuMyxLBhs25UHJ2464nhWRgeAUr3EHAaNOuPvtKGrzRzMihyphenhyphenhhsDxhlJkySb7C_FEOXoAsQC7nmFQsTH9b6toc2z-dxaVin__B_M938H3wctq15eKNkrY/s400/scan0067.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 180px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Porphyry Reef</b><br />
<br />
The Seraphim stood in the dusk<br />
under the cedar<br />
at Porphyry Corner<br />
<br />
where the road switches down<br />
to the last mine beneath the southern range<br />
<br />
Its wings were innumerable swans<br />
made of snowflakes<br />
they arched as high as the tree<br />
<br />
The choir came up the creek to him<br />
in double file<br />
the first playing high-pitched fifes<br />
the last guard <br />
a cardboard coffin<br />
torn and bent<br />
<br />
They sang<br />
and stamped their feet<br />
under the gowns<br />
white as the Lord in the shade<br />
was grey<br />
<br />
to whom<br />
they gave<br />
the empty box<br />
<br />
Then from my diary <br />
one blank page stood alone<br />
<br />
The Lord sounded in the tree<br />
and was gone<br />
<br />
but the music diminished<br />
in distant marches<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFM2Ihyphenhyphen4TwvQpHkZaq13MDF7Fno_NTVMMQfdBp2dEoMGiR_wWEmsnVnnhaVnrCKvEAM-8au1yppvuFEK8lXRPzSqXkVrkxa-fonv_NAXQ4TSAXuJ6Ps4eyUf1mx0dSZRuo_XXrs0tBAXo/s1600/scan0068.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714014051069317826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFM2Ihyphenhyphen4TwvQpHkZaq13MDF7Fno_NTVMMQfdBp2dEoMGiR_wWEmsnVnnhaVnrCKvEAM-8au1yppvuFEK8lXRPzSqXkVrkxa-fonv_NAXQ4TSAXuJ6Ps4eyUf1mx0dSZRuo_XXrs0tBAXo/s400/scan0068.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Potter’s Coil</b><br />
<br />
For the larger<br />
differently-angled works<br />
a coil is laid<br />
to the form<br />
<br />
Another on the next day<br />
and each after that<br />
<br />
until the height and size is reached<br />
and the work begins<br />
to fit the expectation<br />
<br />
each coil a day<br />
each day resting on the other<br />
<br />
founding shaping<br />
gathering intention<br />
<br />
as history is made<br />
<br />
as a creature<br />
<br />
as an incidence matures<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRvsIhgZM2PeYJvOwd5jzoX8Wb3qiqOg2cjHUjUS4vKZhw0CRa3J8dNtJ-fmwoqEYWpRV4jNV8updy5k2yzI9sy8LeIffCy0zNeUsPkK_St9aYehl6zYSc7TIHBdRjVmrd-ZMhEh70fM/s1600/scan0069.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013987400932418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlRvsIhgZM2PeYJvOwd5jzoX8Wb3qiqOg2cjHUjUS4vKZhw0CRa3J8dNtJ-fmwoqEYWpRV4jNV8updy5k2yzI9sy8LeIffCy0zNeUsPkK_St9aYehl6zYSc7TIHBdRjVmrd-ZMhEh70fM/s400/scan0069.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 207px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Rising Damp</b><br />
<br />
Since you died<br />
the weather’s got in<br />
to the cupboards<br />
and the implements<br />
tarnishing the pans<br />
misting every trace of you left<br />
in the house<br />
<br />
the fog<br />
makes echoes<br />
bounce in my mind<br />
damp after-shades<br />
to linger<br />
in the back room<br />
of my eyes<br />
<br />
puts<br />
moss on the cloth<br />
mildew on the memory<br />
of you<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBBYOy4RQ7YoZ2chmHLAC8o9DNejGKY4Ej_wAOK069os-jTEcaYHb3bAxejWZ80YZXXAUz6qrhudxim_7fvIG_pBtYSBgHG-JM-G8LWNBm6XvkqlSXMv3YEC8G62kE6y2pdu4UfrZxqQ/s1600/scan0070.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013919429026530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJBBYOy4RQ7YoZ2chmHLAC8o9DNejGKY4Ej_wAOK069os-jTEcaYHb3bAxejWZ80YZXXAUz6qrhudxim_7fvIG_pBtYSBgHG-JM-G8LWNBm6XvkqlSXMv3YEC8G62kE6y2pdu4UfrZxqQ/s400/scan0070.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 175px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Sunday Late at Grafton</b><br />
<br />
a city dress<br />
of underpass<br />
and lotus<br />
<br />
of leaves<br />
and tombs of the fathers<br />
<br />
traffic<br />
like a pack of dogs<br />
and angry parents<br />
back from sport<br />
choke the question why<br />
<br />
it stills<br />
<br />
plastic lights<br />
ask old requests<br />
<br />
the ladies at entrances<br />
say yes<br />
<br />
and gentlemen<br />
sit thinking in their cars<br />
for answers<br />
more furtive<br />
and patrician<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolkdeuW3FdZ43zwLVaHYp-0v5m5gHepfGANPrHPT3XFIYgBbPi5Bu7pv0X3JzVk6Pz8TIEWVFzqHHjWKYpHssSj4AXR6LzDrxsUOg7YjDf2clE-59sVsMuQR3eQyJQYRdIsktQ2Oqees/s1600/scan0071.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013845222284450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjolkdeuW3FdZ43zwLVaHYp-0v5m5gHepfGANPrHPT3XFIYgBbPi5Bu7pv0X3JzVk6Pz8TIEWVFzqHHjWKYpHssSj4AXR6LzDrxsUOg7YjDf2clE-59sVsMuQR3eQyJQYRdIsktQ2Oqees/s400/scan0071.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 163px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Tai Poutini</b><br />
<br />
She boils to birth on a grey sea<br />
with dust of other continents<br />
and ice<br />
<br />
From sea comes the power<br />
from the south the ice<br />
and strength of solitude<br />
<br />
No part’s been used before<br />
not wind nor rain —<br />
she’s new-born<br />
like these hills she pours upon<br />
<br />
Crumbles rock<br />
eats the shore<br />
<br />
and we live with her<br />
undomesticate<br />
<br />
You can see her in the setting sun<br />
as patterns on the sea<br />
on wind-pruned bush<br />
sculpted rock<br />
white clouds that go before<br />
and her companion storms<br />
<br />
We’re the people of first choice<br />
and are tested<br />
we watch her cross<br />
to the other side<br />
in privilege of knowing<br />
<br />
over range after range <br />
of outstretched arms<br />
and bush like a deep green sea.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGALUd2DFt9nZF6jW4eY9CAY0jlaYyhey7aKunZvPd7-hqIOipFxsaPWBjcHH3gowMMWVIzvD-C5xUJ69TTQ_0US61y87deymN5BX423ocYjCMKsAWzRVyqi2Lsrf3lC7TVvW4-ugsY60/s1600/scan0072.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013777072804274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGALUd2DFt9nZF6jW4eY9CAY0jlaYyhey7aKunZvPd7-hqIOipFxsaPWBjcHH3gowMMWVIzvD-C5xUJ69TTQ_0US61y87deymN5BX423ocYjCMKsAWzRVyqi2Lsrf3lC7TVvW4-ugsY60/s400/scan0072.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 338px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The End of the Day</b><br />
<br />
The golden brackens on the hill<br />
The sunlight into dews distil,<br />
And pollen-filled miasmas rise<br />
To drape the tree-tops, gild the skies.<br />
<br />
Clouds of twilight insects fly<br />
To taste the nectars, then to die;<br />
So I this evening home have sped<br />
To sip your sweetness, rest my head.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQgQbwOzCNQZuoMc3lvIWKXlsnFF0G7HH0mgSHRZvHAsLjDFGO0daZ2mxBJy9562P4mGlm19EVEFQaxG669zLAAruczw3xYJ5XPzv_Ymgz4hSs0vAxAV-9OfrrMOhFrnNSpo41broCeE/s1600/scan0073.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013703082655826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIQgQbwOzCNQZuoMc3lvIWKXlsnFF0G7HH0mgSHRZvHAsLjDFGO0daZ2mxBJy9562P4mGlm19EVEFQaxG669zLAAruczw3xYJ5XPzv_Ymgz4hSs0vAxAV-9OfrrMOhFrnNSpo41broCeE/s400/scan0073.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Hairdresser and the Hat</b><br />
<br />
My Word! She said,<br />
there’s a hat;<br />
real leather too!<br />
That’ll outlive you.<br />
<br />
Not a good idea,<br />
to be outlived by my hat.<br />
<br />
It’s an appurtenance,<br />
like an umbrella, watch,<br />
or a prosthetic device.<br />
<br />
Let it go first,<br />
and let me be survived<br />
by something that has<br />
its start from me,<br />
<br />
like a child, this poem,<br />
or some great consequence<br />
from wise words dropped<br />
to a friend.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqz3r5SOgFrW8XRCdqqjQX5PbYGe-TWxA2SdmD5AihCh4NxP2fGf7s9wvDaI3ZcaviSVBXGoWg39Srn9Tbd1JvK67lL_EGDO3IEq_WMWBw2hLnyXh_3l1hqO80qNxpb-pt7M58H9g26c/s1600/scan0074.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013635239012466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmqz3r5SOgFrW8XRCdqqjQX5PbYGe-TWxA2SdmD5AihCh4NxP2fGf7s9wvDaI3ZcaviSVBXGoWg39Srn9Tbd1JvK67lL_EGDO3IEq_WMWBw2hLnyXh_3l1hqO80qNxpb-pt7M58H9g26c/s400/scan0074.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Last Day</b><br />
<br />
The skies are still<br />
the sea is low<br />
there’s no excitement in the wind<br />
no grinding of tectonic plates<br />
no gale<br />
<br />
on this hill,<br />
so liable to storm<br />
<br />
there’s pale cloud cover<br />
<br />
no breeze to shift a leaf<br />
<br />
and all the folk are quiet at home<br />
in this end of a time<br />
<br />
as if we expect<br />
in air and ground and sea<br />
a sigh of exhalation<br />
the last breath out<br />
<br />
then it’s the end<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31.12.99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzBDO4LsVh7H6mKUdEXeqNzSURm06IzueqTRIk637Ptdge56oAKBQ356b9UiXAhtXX9LxOurw1pxn95eN6GKRYsYZdY62tsr56y810Bq0hCN-4hGUT7_OzK0F31vkNNBIRIyPBCyGfXE/s1600/scan0075.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013568644327234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMzBDO4LsVh7H6mKUdEXeqNzSURm06IzueqTRIk637Ptdge56oAKBQ356b9UiXAhtXX9LxOurw1pxn95eN6GKRYsYZdY62tsr56y810Bq0hCN-4hGUT7_OzK0F31vkNNBIRIyPBCyGfXE/s400/scan0075.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 224px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Uncomfort Rock</b><br />
<br />
at the top of the hill<br />
<br />
at the right height for sitting<br />
<br />
flat for my pack<br />
<br />
with lunch of sandwich one banana<br />
two boiled eggs an orange and<br />
a thermos of hot sweet tea<br />
<br />
there’s the whole world under the sun<br />
<br />
hill and flat bush and track<br />
rivers and cataract<br />
<br />
and a past that hasn’t happened yet<br />
hopes that were lost way back<br />
grief that sorrows on and on<br />
anger that stops the tears<br />
<br />
and cold wet clothes<br />
that a winter sun won’t warm<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pZGwD-U78M0clYOvyj2d_cKuk6vIqp0965Hbcz1rYAWxGYGkAZXUbvh5WLVkpM_E3qxuN20pdc02Qm_7m3_l0qOWwsvcrGv7wcol-axj3l6JkZlGRRl6uFzO_R8rGlav3JXG0E5VDrI/s1600/scan0076.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013507945528770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1pZGwD-U78M0clYOvyj2d_cKuk6vIqp0965Hbcz1rYAWxGYGkAZXUbvh5WLVkpM_E3qxuN20pdc02Qm_7m3_l0qOWwsvcrGv7wcol-axj3l6JkZlGRRl6uFzO_R8rGlav3JXG0E5VDrI/s400/scan0076.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 390px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><b>Utu</b></span><br />
<br />
I should’ve shot that dog<br />
when it ate the kid’s sandwich,<br />
but you don’t know what’s going to happen,<br />
do you.<br />
<br />
I would never have thought it would have gone like that.<br />
<br />
I would never have thought it could have done it —<br />
the kid, I mean.<br />
<br />
I didn’t know he knew what to do —<br />
he must have watched me;<br />
but even so, I mean,<br />
how did he know how to manage the thing?<br />
And Christ —<br />
how did he know how to aim?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/miscellaneous-poems.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_BoU1RU2moOG4tTVlsZEC2Vjui6DiWzW1KbVZ8jUFAco_544KWF97tPF4bUnVTFMuSmlqA8ueMklRgqbMtHV01uvyL330sxCG4qOhlMJIY56CSxuGptBiJMOwVMFWIfFpcMoUhhVdOI/s1600/scan0077.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714013428326735506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc_BoU1RU2moOG4tTVlsZEC2Vjui6DiWzW1KbVZ8jUFAco_544KWF97tPF4bUnVTFMuSmlqA8ueMklRgqbMtHV01uvyL330sxCG4qOhlMJIY56CSxuGptBiJMOwVMFWIfFpcMoUhhVdOI/s400/scan0077.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 287px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Weak Before You</b><br />
<br />
I took neither stick<br />
Nor hat<br />
<br />
The sun warmed my head<br />
The wind pushed at my feet<br />
<br />
The city swept around<br />
Until the road heaved under me<br />
<br />
And the whole earth spun<br />
me a pupa<br />
into birth<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-84779283496814864262012-01-12T08:11:00.000+13:002017-11-26T10:54:51.377+13:00Message from a Lightboard (1996)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqD3UjqyyzZQVk-2DELbBW8VFiCEpCunfPtSth-YGrjdBTD-3naym5tqBsnr_Z509PCg46tNdvoOac4gc9wJZnk4rBihAb3AzP3TessoYyvfjV4lMzcoVsTbMzssqjdrt24QEjSFPwIcE/s1600/cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqD3UjqyyzZQVk-2DELbBW8VFiCEpCunfPtSth-YGrjdBTD-3naym5tqBsnr_Z509PCg46tNdvoOac4gc9wJZnk4rBihAb3AzP3TessoYyvfjV4lMzcoVsTbMzssqjdrt24QEjSFPwIcE/s400/cover.jpg" width="291" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-thirty-two.html">Message from a Lightboard</a> (1996)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEIcSatZ2rVQHQgzHTEF5orTkn0ZEm4A4vVWgnQT5XXP6lmtBAKeWE2dfh2WIe6EkqMOFDJxHvPS7bBNCiJu0IUmwwYvUe4cnUiMmLElz-DZkwDMJ9vMo0XbuWI5SxU0DY31xtPegoqM/s1600/title.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglEIcSatZ2rVQHQgzHTEF5orTkn0ZEm4A4vVWgnQT5XXP6lmtBAKeWE2dfh2WIe6EkqMOFDJxHvPS7bBNCiJu0IUmwwYvUe4cnUiMmLElz-DZkwDMJ9vMo0XbuWI5SxU0DY31xtPegoqM/s400/title.jpg" width="290" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
_________________________________<br />
>>ENJOY OUR MINI-SMORG LUNCHES><br />
_________________________________<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 180%;">MESSAGE FROM A<br />
<br />
LIGHTBOARD</span></b><br />
<b><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">POEMS BY<br />
<br />
<i>LEICESTER KYLE</i></span></b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
_________________________________<br />
YOUR HOST TONIGHT IN CASE OF FIRE><br />
_________________________________<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAQxT7JD-IjhfsmQSgbLDHuln-crWbI4cXIrB7KRb81bZhXmMfPEb0s4q575Yxpe5xVxSscxD5VQQ202YKQW7WuHqIrs4caYw-KJM9Y5HgEz5bAUGFAYLjYO39uQpRbnNjo9g6y1F2kI/s1600/m1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZAQxT7JD-IjhfsmQSgbLDHuln-crWbI4cXIrB7KRb81bZhXmMfPEb0s4q575Yxpe5xVxSscxD5VQQ202YKQW7WuHqIrs4caYw-KJM9Y5HgEz5bAUGFAYLjYO39uQpRbnNjo9g6y1F2kI/s400/m1.jpg" width="363" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">This collection of poems is taken from those written over the last two years, up to May of this year, 1996. Most were composed during a residence in northern Northland. During that time we often had to drive down for business to Auckland, staying in the city for several days at a time. The contrasting attractions of both these environments proved creative.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Another creative source is the tension between that part of me that is celebratory, and that part that is depressive. In the one I am intrigued by life, and in the other irritated by it. This polarity finds expression in a religious faith, which is pervasively present in all my poetry, though in different guises.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">For many reasons, mostly to do with personal freedom, I prefer life in the city, so these poems, though often romantic, do not reflect an imagery of ugly urban set against pure rural. I profoundly enjoy the country, but also much appreciate living amongst many people.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">As we now live in Auckland, urban themes predominate. My southern origins are sometimes evident. The wide range of poems in this volume is deliberately chosen, to represent a broadness of interest and attention. This seems important to me at present.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">My thanks to Miriel Kyle and Catherine Mair, for patiently editing this collection. Nothing included in it has appeared in a commercial publication, but quite a few of the poems have previously seen print in 'Spin' and in 'Micropress N.Z.'</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Julian Oliver, my nephew, created the front cover, and, for reasons they will understand, the book is dedicated to Mary and Lindsay Johnson of Kaikohe.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
Leicester Kyle,<br />
<br />
August, 1996.</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU3a2OKBNoSki4sPNFJVyWP-dUvSSLEFSZSR2-Tb3nBnORyk6FlWghzmq1VI6euRI0yHzyNXF3fvx32RHUlnwO_jSWUuHjCh0hQnNhjb33oQudflF_Hzf4HkdjpONZD83taKEjovt7nQ/s1600/m2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="395" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU3a2OKBNoSki4sPNFJVyWP-dUvSSLEFSZSR2-Tb3nBnORyk6FlWghzmq1VI6euRI0yHzyNXF3fvx32RHUlnwO_jSWUuHjCh0hQnNhjb33oQudflF_Hzf4HkdjpONZD83taKEjovt7nQ/s400/m2.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>CONTENTS</b></span></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<ol>
<li>Private Eye<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">[3]</a></span></li>
<li>Tonight, the Moon<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">[4]</a></span></li>
<li>Gioia Said<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">[5]</a></span></li>
<li>Close-up<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">[6]</a></span></li>
<li>Fledgling<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">[7]</a></span></li>
<li>Driving Down<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">[8]</a></span></li>
<li>Ombrage<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">[14]</a></span></li>
<li>Sunrise<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">[14]</a></span></li>
<li>Viva Visa<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">[15]</a></span></li>
<li>Closed Shop<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">[15]</a></span></li>
<li>Trouble at Returns<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">[16]</a></span></li>
<li>You're the Best<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">[19]</a></span></li>
<li>At Peria I found My Love<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">[20]</a></span></li>
<li>For a Dark Day<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">[21]</a></span></li>
<li>The Soul is an Agaricus<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">[22]</a></span></li>
<li>State House Sonnets<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">[23]</a></span></li>
<li>Last Day Last Year<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">[25]</a></span></li>
<li>From a Shed in Simon Urlich Rd.<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">[26]</a></span></li>
<li>Sunday Tea<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">[27]</a></span></li>
<li>Mycophile<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">[28]</a></span></li>
<li>The Hydra<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">[29]</a></span></li>
<li>Stare Cat<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">[29]</a></span></li>
<li>The Old Bach<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">[30]</a></span></li>
<li>Bee Business<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">[30]</a></span></li>
<li>Trooping<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">[31]</a></span></li>
<li>Convergence Zone<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">[32]</a></span></li>
<li>Cumulus<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn33" name="_ftnref33" title="">[33]</a></span></li>
<li>Picking Paua<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn34" name="_ftnref34" title="">[34]</a></span></li>
<li>Macrocarpa<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn35" name="_ftnref35" title="">[35]</a></span></li>
<li>Self-Diagnosis<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn36" name="_ftnref36" title="">[36]</a></span></li>
<li>Home for Tea<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn37" name="_ftnref37" title="">[37]</a></span></li>
<li>The Certain Uneasiness of Holiday<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn38" name="_ftnref38" title="">[38]</a></span></li>
<li>Conned<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn39" name="_ftnref39" title="">[39]</a></span></li>
<li>Ode to a Word Processor<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn40" name="_ftnref40" title="">[40]</a></span></li>
<li>Venus in a Hot Bread Shop<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn41" name="_ftnref41" title="">[41]</a></span></li>
<li>Polly at the Cello<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn42" name="_ftnref42" title="">[42]</a></span></li>
<li>Anzac Days<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn43" name="_ftnref43" title="">[43]</a></span></li>
<li>Telephone Tiger<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn49" name="_ftnref49" title="">[49]</a></span></li>
<li>Wagner in the Park<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn51" name="_ftnref51" title="">[51]</a></span></li>
<li>A Visit to the Doctor<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn52" name="_ftnref52" title="">[52]</a></span></li>
<li>Monday, Spring One<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn53" name="_ftnref53" title="">[53]</a></span></li>
<li>Treat<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn54" name="_ftnref54" title="">[54]</a></span></li>
<li>About Florence<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn55" name="_ftnref55" title="">[55]</a></span></li>
<li>Desperate Remedy<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01//message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn56" name="_ftnref56" title="">[56]</a></span></li>
</ol>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YBHBuPL0h-QOOwQAIbuYiuoJMDJf7f70zTXg8k0x3pCabG7i8EiqB9ZKmXoqIW9dH_yPeQtkPOzF2ZTLQsWulvE8l6cZixFOsS2oVIqaCqpldiV4mA_1ytMwJvoUXaSzGdMGN6IsZbE/s1600/scan0002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_YBHBuPL0h-QOOwQAIbuYiuoJMDJf7f70zTXg8k0x3pCabG7i8EiqB9ZKmXoqIW9dH_yPeQtkPOzF2ZTLQsWulvE8l6cZixFOsS2oVIqaCqpldiV4mA_1ytMwJvoUXaSzGdMGN6IsZbE/s400/scan0002.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>PRIVATE EYE</b><br />
<br />
<br />
I've been <br />
to the other side of the sun. <br />
<br />
She said it. <br />
I didn't. <br />
<br />
She said, <br />
so I let her articulate. <br />
<br />
(These expeditions<br />
are very individual. ) <br />
<br />
And what was it like? <br />
<br />
She saw the backside of the universe, <br />
in black, <br />
with price-tags tattooed on the buttocks. <br />
<br /></blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7M-E72Q-WnGDRVd00TTTyk9by8pNrE7ChVnQWZkcZHPKseF2vp_5s7qK8PS5A5GSvXFCnJzRlOQIjXNOgNgcgVdsYjfaU7i3_IX6eBOrqvNurxDpaRfzyt0yVx4aF33Aj91k4VGAaLaA/s1600/scan0003.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7M-E72Q-WnGDRVd00TTTyk9by8pNrE7ChVnQWZkcZHPKseF2vp_5s7qK8PS5A5GSvXFCnJzRlOQIjXNOgNgcgVdsYjfaU7i3_IX6eBOrqvNurxDpaRfzyt0yVx4aF33Aj91k4VGAaLaA/s400/scan0003.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>TONIGHT, THE MOON</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Tonight, <br />
the moon <br />
is soft and round and blue <br />
in full <br />
<br />
observance <br />
of the sun arising <br />
in the morning <br />
with pieces off <br />
<br />
It's the end <br />
of the ages <br />
<br />
age <br />
after age <br />
of waiting <br />
<br />
millennia <br />
of readiness <br />
for this <br />
<br />
all the people <br />
all the death <br />
for this <br />
<br />
any day <br />
<br />
just waiting <br />
for a sponsor <br />
now. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WLWuU60c70zIGMkfsLu3w18uaIDMExR-h8n8pYmfzW-PbMey_HMVEEZNDtrOWq5jw_7oB1Gv09MNcR706qiJ6AYLIeVYgWCyEfnMdjdbu6aYHlmrx25McxrJgdXsfRk7Klz7RpOTGQE/s1600/scan0004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2WLWuU60c70zIGMkfsLu3w18uaIDMExR-h8n8pYmfzW-PbMey_HMVEEZNDtrOWq5jw_7oB1Gv09MNcR706qiJ6AYLIeVYgWCyEfnMdjdbu6aYHlmrx25McxrJgdXsfRk7Klz7RpOTGQE/s400/scan0004.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>GIOIA SAID</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Do you love me, <br />
Gioia asked <br />
from the bed. <br />
No, I said. <br />
<br />
Feel guilty, <br />
she asked. <br />
At not feeling guilty, <br />
I said. <br />
<br />
Resolve it <br />
before you come back, <br />
she said <br />
<br />
from the bed, <br />
bright as a last <br />
cicada day <br />
at summer's end. <br />
<br />
She didn't enquire <br />
before we began, <br />
and she's not easy led.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6OYjVVeeNHIfnDKDgzxUmVy7QUGvpqmut0IamuTzmAfmKboZ5_MGdiBRQlNdlHFu6cZ5G-bPGpNMpx8zBpqstoyjI3MJuvT86aRATU7fL5gwxdRiD2cJLQGcWd2zVcxWs-d_0iW-ctU/s1600/scan0005.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiH6OYjVVeeNHIfnDKDgzxUmVy7QUGvpqmut0IamuTzmAfmKboZ5_MGdiBRQlNdlHFu6cZ5G-bPGpNMpx8zBpqstoyjI3MJuvT86aRATU7fL5gwxdRiD2cJLQGcWd2zVcxWs-d_0iW-ctU/s400/scan0005.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>CLOSE-UP</b><br />
<br />
<br />
There's nothing between us <br />
at last <br />
nothing <br />
<br />
words <br />
speech or paper <br />
<br />
sight <br />
visual aids <br />
<br />
clothes <br />
on the floor <br />
<br />
just space between <br />
so close we are <br />
<br />
there's still the space between <br />
<br />
can someone build a bridge <br />
or lay a line <br />
or send a signal somehow</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSC_lZiS5_Ava4qsXS90uRVInmt15TVrje-pJOaCJljr8wTbaw8f3mcghLnfSQl9UnxM7y4D1ldI9U9R4IpMrGu69J2xrYy8sQYVWYSJ5K7LfKFu52RX1ckYuHUcnm-S3zrJj13RTsMA/s1600/scan0006.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvSC_lZiS5_Ava4qsXS90uRVInmt15TVrje-pJOaCJljr8wTbaw8f3mcghLnfSQl9UnxM7y4D1ldI9U9R4IpMrGu69J2xrYy8sQYVWYSJ5K7LfKFu52RX1ckYuHUcnm-S3zrJj13RTsMA/s400/scan0006.jpg" width="174" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>FLEDGLING</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
In my arms, <br />
a bird. <br />
<br />
Last night, <br />
a preening pet <br />
<br />
that I could teach, <br />
correct. <br />
<br />
Now <br />
all I fondle's <br />
feathers. <br />
<br />
What did I do <br />
to ruffle you <br />
<br />
or say <br />
<br />
or fail? <br />
<br />
You pick at me <br />
unmercifully, <br />
<br />
play new tricks <br />
untaught, <br />
<br />
scratch and mess <br />
the nest. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHV-oy6oROTfScBF92E5l9DCFaHYF9nku_YbCZnE1VHMm2B-NBFClrcJ9_POAzjJFgeUYwh4Erh38MPUwzhYvFEHIxvgAPW1q2YTYR-K4mC4OYOILqxLJP7gCB7O4muTlFmd6unGsopZU/s1600/scan0007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHV-oy6oROTfScBF92E5l9DCFaHYF9nku_YbCZnE1VHMm2B-NBFClrcJ9_POAzjJFgeUYwh4Erh38MPUwzhYvFEHIxvgAPW1q2YTYR-K4mC4OYOILqxLJP7gCB7O4muTlFmd6unGsopZU/s400/scan0007.jpg" width="243" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">DRIVING DOWN</span></b></div>
<br />
<b>1.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
I'm driving down to glory, <br />
<br />
storm before, <br />
sun behind, <br />
and me, <br />
in a dazzling littoral <br />
<br />
as the storm retreats, <br />
trailing a rainbow <br />
<br />
for hope, <br />
a hope as firm, <br />
certain, <br />
as my hope can be. <br />
<br />
Appointment made, <br />
evening set, <br />
I race the sun <br />
and chase the storm.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmmZqQmYo_7BKXQt9w-DUdM9v3QMbtzLhj4bPb6hErQqQ_GNpf3g-UdfDMiV3xlqcn6iAZtU6Dulfo6LkQhAg1_hq3dNJJEkRoGCU9_UOISA6lODZlZyEfGVGUcnuMysM8D8T9XQ6ZMM/s1600/scan0008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMmmZqQmYo_7BKXQt9w-DUdM9v3QMbtzLhj4bPb6hErQqQ_GNpf3g-UdfDMiV3xlqcn6iAZtU6Dulfo6LkQhAg1_hq3dNJJEkRoGCU9_UOISA6lODZlZyEfGVGUcnuMysM8D8T9XQ6ZMM/s400/scan0008.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>2.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Around the mangrove swamp <br />
and there: <br />
it hovers on the water, <br />
towers and turrets <br />
softened by sea-drift <br />
to pastel shades of illustration. <br />
<br />
It's a dream, <br />
left over <br />
from a traveller's mirage. <br />
<br />
It lies still. <br />
The cloud behind is black, <br />
puffed up by a heavy hand, <br />
and threatens. <br />
I won't see, <br />
but rush in the race <br />
to the shelter <br />
that will house and feed <br />
and set me <br />
for reward.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXH-2SQNZOjV2K8Tu-gD8mIsT4Hs05CgzycQAAdJeyCU_SvvYe8Mb7tWQu3k0cRWFvp_CxMipDzSLi8NZa3hzA1VYl6c4TmWM5J53kZD8QRIG112rUe89IMDvGm6cUptuxWLr9OYUZHY/s1600/scan0009.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJXH-2SQNZOjV2K8Tu-gD8mIsT4Hs05CgzycQAAdJeyCU_SvvYe8Mb7tWQu3k0cRWFvp_CxMipDzSLi8NZa3hzA1VYl6c4TmWM5J53kZD8QRIG112rUe89IMDvGm6cUptuxWLr9OYUZHY/s400/scan0009.jpg" width="245" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>3.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
A cold wet wind blows <br />
mean and moaning <br />
off the Manukau. <br />
<br />
My flat's my defence; <br />
I close it about me. <br />
<br />
It's a still life: <br />
curtains hanging, <br />
bed made, <br />
fruit in the bowl. <br />
The clock's ticking. <br />
<br />
I leave, <br />
cleansed, refreshed. <br />
Before me wintry west <br />
and narcissistic night. <br />
I shrink, <br />
and half decide to stay, <br />
hanging at the door, <br />
loyal to the last convention, <br />
fearing loss, <br />
frightened <br />
at the frightful chance <br />
of gain.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyP6MxObbcS58XrhNcGbpc4mrLqd6BNTe4zlaXk9ssRka6ZGt7vOGDgujWlujbB4naR-EguB6LkN_xHrUR9OR4Ai6wd9YrOquCxl8rUyD-NAYLAPbNOWJfZGqg-_HxmvjAkoS-_i_xVQ/s1600/scan0010.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQyP6MxObbcS58XrhNcGbpc4mrLqd6BNTe4zlaXk9ssRka6ZGt7vOGDgujWlujbB4naR-EguB6LkN_xHrUR9OR4Ai6wd9YrOquCxl8rUyD-NAYLAPbNOWJfZGqg-_HxmvjAkoS-_i_xVQ/s400/scan0010.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>4.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
The table's at the window. <br />
I watch the people <br />
passing in the rain, <br />
shouldering the wind. <br />
<br />
Mozarella's in my beard. <br />
I can't see myself <br />
but must be a mess, <br />
with the sauce. <br />
<br />
Appetites compete. <br />
one declines, <br />
the other erupts <br />
with impatience. <br />
<br />
It's a shame <br />
they don't cohabit <br />
more equably. <br />
<br />
It's a shame <br />
it's so wet <br />
that I can't <br />
see the faces <br />
passing by. <br />
<br />
I skip the rest <br />
and pay the bill. <br />
Coffee will come <br />
when I want it.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsNRIQZoo2rJl8-OHRzpysQPHCju65d9741siGjgv5VEyd-MRlkf4mC19leEl5ahQjFqn-pGxsTcJLhlg9zIGHZ-cS6ikpKfJETJzxczUUHJPRDcjN9mXKacOAKvYLG962EMnaOJC-Ew/s1600/scan0011.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbsNRIQZoo2rJl8-OHRzpysQPHCju65d9741siGjgv5VEyd-MRlkf4mC19leEl5ahQjFqn-pGxsTcJLhlg9zIGHZ-cS6ikpKfJETJzxczUUHJPRDcjN9mXKacOAKvYLG962EMnaOJC-Ew/s400/scan0011.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>5.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
It stands across the road, <br />
dark against the city lights, <br />
trees before it <br />
masking shape and line. <br />
<br />
Before me a torrent <br />
of storm and traffic, <br />
full flood from the west <br />
raging <br />
<br />
like a mountain creek <br />
rolling boulders. <br />
There's lightning in the west <br />
now <br />
<br />
it's time for me to cross. <br />
I told her I would be there. <br />
She might, she said. <br />
<br />
I'm not used to traffic <br />
like this, <br />
and I freeze at the crossing, <br />
too scared to walk <br />
even when it says to, <br />
<br />
until the window says to. <br />
It glows behind the curtain. <br />
her curtains, <br />
her room. <br />
<br />
WALK <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">it says.</span><br />
CROSS <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">it says.</span><br />
COME <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">it says.</span><br />
ready.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmWLXS-qkcU5j1HpZyii4IsplXTUADxtaEwaKTr-EIDcoaYlsy8NZnjTos86t8NZ1I3pZ5A-_hbBmOYBtm9pCd0KTPCFcCtVRyyL0CMFe2Cxk1XyhP18GQBg2USHtSyUBXQ4Jg6nml74/s1600/scan0012.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimmWLXS-qkcU5j1HpZyii4IsplXTUADxtaEwaKTr-EIDcoaYlsy8NZnjTos86t8NZ1I3pZ5A-_hbBmOYBtm9pCd0KTPCFcCtVRyyL0CMFe2Cxk1XyhP18GQBg2USHtSyUBXQ4Jg6nml74/s400/scan0012.jpg" width="160" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>6.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
In her arms, <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">– warmly.</span><br />
<br />
Make me a poem, <br />
she says. <br />
<br />
A poem? <br />
No pen. <br />
<br />
Say it then, <br />
she says. <br />
A nice one. <br />
<br />
A poem? <br />
Now? <br />
Not a line. <br />
Not a title. <br />
<br />
Her every line's indelible – <br />
her hips, her thighs, her lips; <br />
but mine are washed away, <br />
in the flood. <br />
<br />
I'm overwhelmed. <br />
A castaway <br />
stranded on the shore. <br />
I'm wrecked. <br />
Let me rest, <br />
then I'll think <br />
of something. <br />
<br />
I'll get coffee, <br />
she says. <br />
You rest. <br />
Then we'll talk <br />
<br />
There's something in her voice. <br />
A tone. <br />
Finality. <br />
<br />
Her coffee's late, <br />
and comes with pain.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_65yt94vXT7Sr860U6gkhyJvdUFUiLgSSizAs3DzOm5Yp-HK6Lzdu5XhesSY2AgVrRF74uB6-bZ24JoLwYoFNqrPaLHVqWmox4tGEX9DMQALhFuEpRmVftMRwvThe7KB1yprXDjI7kY4/s1600/scan0013.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_65yt94vXT7Sr860U6gkhyJvdUFUiLgSSizAs3DzOm5Yp-HK6Lzdu5XhesSY2AgVrRF74uB6-bZ24JoLwYoFNqrPaLHVqWmox4tGEX9DMQALhFuEpRmVftMRwvThe7KB1yprXDjI7kY4/s400/scan0013.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>OMBRAGE</b><br />
<br />
<br />
When we sit <br />
you lean away from me. <br />
<br />
Is it your mind, <br />
or do I make you? <br />
<br />
I'm ragged now <br />
from loss of sleep <br />
<br />
and fear, <br />
that someone else, <br />
or death, <br />
will take you. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br />SUNRISE<br />
FROM THE BEDROOM WINDOW</b></div>
<br />
<br />
The sky's so clean <br />
no cloud could stain it. <br />
<br />
A fresh-ironed shirt, <br />
a new-spread cloth <br />
a Sunday sheet. <br />
<br />
It's acting up. <br />
Before the day's out <br />
it'll be washed. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3MU0m1dLumipwrw7yMtg0RhPPBxFpSZdZjhMP3u4bEt6djU13yLRd4TvnmZ_bRTq1ui_2Psp7T0aJ_EA3_DltmpO31XNKquGjpBcwxE3WTdOAD6eBmAU3oMGgv6bltAMkvhtfs8i7Pc/s1600/scan0014.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEic3MU0m1dLumipwrw7yMtg0RhPPBxFpSZdZjhMP3u4bEt6djU13yLRd4TvnmZ_bRTq1ui_2Psp7T0aJ_EA3_DltmpO31XNKquGjpBcwxE3WTdOAD6eBmAU3oMGgv6bltAMkvhtfs8i7Pc/s400/scan0014.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>VIVA VISA</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Our passport says: <br />
The kiss of love, <br />
the two of us, <br />
when leaving; <br />
<br />
a document <br />
we both obey, <br />
the two of us, <br />
believing. <br />
<br />
The kiss of love, <br />
the one for two, <br />
when lost, <br />
or when receiving.<br />
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />CLOSED SHOP</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
whispering <br />
in the sun <br />
<br />
green <br />
to the grass <br />
<br />
blue <br />
to the sky <br />
<br />
and white <br />
to the people next door <br />
<br />
blinded <br />
<br />
to its inhabitants <br />
black</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Y5-kHRJ8AOEKBFfIiKSKnRi-9ra2hRKiKUvyqLW85_xtsbuDGWAL2IRbn5HnB84uaY_uYcvRIMLPtSShd9S5ZFSHd3Uz1NEfRWHqS1xwLoqJ4IM3PBTxfeIgtQptPVzHK6XwIrSKpbM/s1600/scan0015.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9Y5-kHRJ8AOEKBFfIiKSKnRi-9ra2hRKiKUvyqLW85_xtsbuDGWAL2IRbn5HnB84uaY_uYcvRIMLPtSShd9S5ZFSHd3Uz1NEfRWHqS1xwLoqJ4IM3PBTxfeIgtQptPVzHK6XwIrSKpbM/s400/scan0015.jpg" width="146" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>TROUBLE AT RETURNS</b><br />
<br />
<br />
On Monday morning, <br />
as soon as the library opens, <br />
I go straight to 'RETURNS'. <br />
I'm sorry, I say, <br />
but all the books I last borrowed <br />
have disappeared. <br />
Name please, the man asks, <br />
and how many? <br />
Thirteen, I say. Due today. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">1 romance,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">2 Eng Lit,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">4 novels,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">2 S.F.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">1 biography,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">& 3 from Philosophy.</span><br />
And you've lost them? <br />
No, 1 say. They've disappeared. <br />
Same thing. <br />
Not in the least, I say. <br />
he looks at me <br />
as though I'm a damaged volume. <br />
Which is as might be. <br />
<br />
Tell it all, he sighs, <br />
to say he's heard it all before. <br />
But he hasn't. <br />
<br />
I begin: <br />
We were on holiday. <br />
We went out last Sunday <br />
to take some fish <br />
to a friend at Koke. <br />
Koke? he asks. <br />
Yes, I tell him, <br />
in the Hokianga, <br />
on the North Shore. <br />
We cut across country <br />
through Back River there, <br />
and at the end of the day, <br />
on our way back, <br />
we took a wrong turn <br />
and came out at Kareponia. <br />
<br />
All these names, he says, <br />
they mean nothing to me.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJPkO2ZTywX5o0TBcxi_PgBWQ3c_BZl6k4T9l2vQqOb3yPy1VMfjs0GLLNLFVZdIUAkw378C8NsmVrYCzHjFCDAnNADw2ME2S4OMjrEYszxbp0vh-kuAJJSJjV9vEB1rr0eXxngzCfe8/s1600/scan0016.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieJPkO2ZTywX5o0TBcxi_PgBWQ3c_BZl6k4T9l2vQqOb3yPy1VMfjs0GLLNLFVZdIUAkw378C8NsmVrYCzHjFCDAnNADw2ME2S4OMjrEYszxbp0vh-kuAJJSJjV9vEB1rr0eXxngzCfe8/s400/scan0016.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
They're important for the evidence, <br />
I explain. <br />
They locate us. <br />
Because of this, you see, <br />
we had to drive back <br />
down State Highway Ten. <br />
Then, as we looked ahead, <br />
we saw that the peninsula had gone. <br />
That's where our beach was, <br />
our batch was, <br />
I tell him. <br />
It had gone. <br />
It wasn't there. <br />
<br />
How do you know that? He asks. <br />
We waited a while, <br />
and it didn't come back, I say. <br />
How do you know it wasn't there? <br />
Did you test to see? <br />
How do you test something <br />
that isn't there? I reply. <br />
I'm very patient. <br />
<br />
So is he. <br />
He has no choice. <br />
He thinks a bit, <br />
and says, with a smile: <br />
We must assume, I suppose, <br />
that your books <br />
have been taken <br />
by God. <br />
Indeed, I agree. <br />
Nothing else <br />
would have the power. <br />
And what if I don't <br />
believe in God? <br />
Don't worry, I say. <br />
Just have faith. <br />
<br />
Have faith in a God <br />
who takes library books! <br />
He's angry. <br />
The incident has to be defined, <br />
I observe, mildly, <br />
with dignity. <br />
Call it an act of God. <br />
You don't have to believe in God <br />
to believe in the things God does.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBDTBC9hS6uJQa1Z8KsdgJdgYMxIuU-FB2DWic7tKT9UncwnJVDTgEDPOy5TZlyFFRHAoFRya_Gxv_Zwr6Qm8EUzwdUsB69Ho5YUrohzNnS0IhceciGTNlD28WVOV7RX8wOGFIGJAWSo/s1600/scan0017.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijBDTBC9hS6uJQa1Z8KsdgJdgYMxIuU-FB2DWic7tKT9UncwnJVDTgEDPOy5TZlyFFRHAoFRya_Gxv_Zwr6Qm8EUzwdUsB69Ho5YUrohzNnS0IhceciGTNlD28WVOV7RX8wOGFIGJAWSo/s400/scan0017.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Things do break through. <br />
Things happen. <br />
<br />
He's angrier, <br />
and I'm in a lot of trouble. <br />
The Peninsula hasn't come back. <br />
Some farms and some people <br />
and a meter reader from the power board <br />
are still missing, <br />
but it's the books <br />
that are the bother. <br />
I'm under suspicion, <br />
and they're giving me <br />
a hefty fine. <br />
<br />
It's a thin, uncertain world.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcL6DTYPuz5SteUL_Kh3NrO0ovxIOsuvVLbMWBhe4QLenDeLe1pajaaxpc4u1zB9FTWSQujbF09WPvPjcvB34yHBuBGPRUbXTbTtnHtoOw-xd_uh_qfY3KuqXwqlaXpkJYG_6YARBktI/s1600/scan0018.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGcL6DTYPuz5SteUL_Kh3NrO0ovxIOsuvVLbMWBhe4QLenDeLe1pajaaxpc4u1zB9FTWSQujbF09WPvPjcvB34yHBuBGPRUbXTbTtnHtoOw-xd_uh_qfY3KuqXwqlaXpkJYG_6YARBktI/s400/scan0018.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You're the best! <br />
You're my Sunday vest; <br />
my boots, my belts, my hat – <br />
You're my leather jacket! <br />
You'll pass the test. <br />
<br />
You're simply tops! <br />
Take all I've got – <br />
my sound, my wheels, my dog; <br />
Take my tatts! My artifacts! <br />
Take all my props. <br />
<br />
You're just ace! <br />
You're in my space – <br />
my house, my sheds, my farm. <br />
You'll do no harm. <br />
Just take the place.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxi6g48ep8A_ZNZdRdHFbopezWosGfDLvxeK-vPi4RPSHoAv0Fjunx8Cgp08Gx0jBICSQGKg5l6wuEO19KwRtF5nq8nzidtdQfj_bJfd9H3-fWATri4Ke31c14AisuJ6S7pu8xr9QADe0/s1600/scan0019.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxi6g48ep8A_ZNZdRdHFbopezWosGfDLvxeK-vPi4RPSHoAv0Fjunx8Cgp08Gx0jBICSQGKg5l6wuEO19KwRtF5nq8nzidtdQfj_bJfd9H3-fWATri4Ke31c14AisuJ6S7pu8xr9QADe0/s400/scan0019.jpg" width="281" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
At Peria I found my love, <br />
at Hoteo I crossed her; <br />
at Nunguru she's found again, <br />
at Panguru I lost her. <br />
<br />
From our brief union there was born <br />
a son for us, at Taipa. <br />
He wandered too when he grew up – <br />
Aurere to Otaika. <br />
<br />
Then time did tempt him to retire, <br />
far from the fuss and bustle. <br />
He settled it to settle down, <br />
at Rawhiti, near Russell. <br />
<br />
And now it's he, at home for me, <br />
giving me company, gladly, <br />
while I grow greens and fruiting things <br />
still pining for Peria, sadly.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWJqBcRu4Ly2w2YXthVpYHOvZ723uOc5sRtS2G_r873cnRxKuCgFjC_dbmst80xUtPm_Q1vFCNJ6NOop2MShFZYTEwsEA96e8uJHAf5llJKFmWEDB3J6qj2F9aNdHcX-YlTKI_sRWEdY/s1600/scan0020.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWJqBcRu4Ly2w2YXthVpYHOvZ723uOc5sRtS2G_r873cnRxKuCgFjC_dbmst80xUtPm_Q1vFCNJ6NOop2MShFZYTEwsEA96e8uJHAf5llJKFmWEDB3J6qj2F9aNdHcX-YlTKI_sRWEdY/s400/scan0020.jpg" width="340" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>FOR A DARK DAY</b></blockquote>
<br />
Smile with me my love, and come <br />
Down into the woods once more, <br />
And swim the river, as we did <br />
On hot and summer days before. <br />
<br />
When rushes lined the bank, unmoved, <br />
And ferns grew tall and straight and green, <br />
And tuis sang the tree-tops still. <br />
The river ran as quiet and clean <br />
<br />
As new-made glass or glacier ice, <br />
Or liquidness of light unused. <br />
Then time stood true for we who loved, <br />
And summer strong its strength infused.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnf-uXlEJtmd1IGKvQjdgRVKGi7wLhnRnqdOnQMRZOyOLXRj2kVeraiVEpuCtDmjuSFwDtPZxZclYYmfI1qtvMe0ranodtQgvNFOUKfEC1RXhgJZ6ixWkeX6aAzAGgTpIs11Em6yvR7ik/s1600/scan0021.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnf-uXlEJtmd1IGKvQjdgRVKGi7wLhnRnqdOnQMRZOyOLXRj2kVeraiVEpuCtDmjuSFwDtPZxZclYYmfI1qtvMe0ranodtQgvNFOUKfEC1RXhgJZ6ixWkeX6aAzAGgTpIs11Em6yvR7ik/s400/scan0021.jpg" width="391" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>THE SOUL IS AN AGARICUS</b></blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">It pushes up unlooked-for from the ground,</span><br />
forgotten for a season, hardly known. <br />
With unexpected strength it makes its way <br />
against all obstacles that overlay. <br />
Invisible mycelia from the soil, <br />
that reach out far in search of nourishment <br />
and flourish in the basement of the being, <br />
combine as if from air to make the fruit, <br />
and form a thing corporeal, complex, good. <br />
Once grown it spreads its spores about, and then <br />
Dissolves, and turns invisible again. <br />
Though living, it will go unseen until <br />
the season's right; cool weather brings the rain, <br />
to start the growth, and make its presence plain.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXu4tX0k7iqt2P6MuNPBYlbPrhVy5YiDpY0a_HlPUj2C7WIlT0-JiwsmnRA_CGumHzU3oU2ebp7R5WCaI8bYRRdQwiz2nbItMDFJCvllRstu-jCR1my8-obnvqt3EyTfC5uCJQMjc7Jk/s1600/scan0022.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbXu4tX0k7iqt2P6MuNPBYlbPrhVy5YiDpY0a_HlPUj2C7WIlT0-JiwsmnRA_CGumHzU3oU2ebp7R5WCaI8bYRRdQwiz2nbItMDFJCvllRstu-jCR1my8-obnvqt3EyTfC5uCJQMjc7Jk/s400/scan0022.jpg" width="189" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">from TWELVE STATE <br />
HOUSE SONNETS</span></b></div>
<br />
<b>1.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Shining, <br />
on the corner of the avenue. <br />
First finished <br />
it shivers, empty <br />
in the winter sun. <br />
Orange tiles <br />
and yellow weather boards. <br />
No paths, no fences. <br />
A small shed out the back. <br />
Building rubbish erupts around. <br />
<br />
One door out, <br />
another in the front. <br />
Three bedrooms. <br />
One room for living. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
No paths, no fences. <br />
Grass all around <br />
and into next door, <br />
which has two bedrooms <br />
and no windows yet. <br />
We look into it, <br />
and wonder who will come. <br />
Ours is bigger, better, <br />
and holds us warmly, <br />
with holes in the carpet. <br />
<br />
My mother worries <br />
about the hole in the carpet <br />
and her stomach ulcer. <br />
It might trip the doctor.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUMHAnF2zXz-kIlbwDIhVswqmxL31_DAWvPCf7NelYLa4pSonfhJJMg38KqduJ2UFk69ckwC79MiAXse_2N420WxVP4-7fryY3dfqn47xprIGbQQ8iYiSy1HKGj_hV4jmRjXvC6PJfHo/s1600/scan0023.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIUMHAnF2zXz-kIlbwDIhVswqmxL31_DAWvPCf7NelYLa4pSonfhJJMg38KqduJ2UFk69ckwC79MiAXse_2N420WxVP4-7fryY3dfqn47xprIGbQQ8iYiSy1HKGj_hV4jmRjXvC6PJfHo/s400/scan0023.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<b>3.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
We make gardens and lawns, <br />
signs of our worth, <br />
outside evidence <br />
of the home we've made, <br />
controlled and tended, <br />
a signal and request <br />
to the middle-classed <br />
in the new streets <br />
at the end of ours, <br />
where the berry farms had been. <br />
<br />
Paddocks and bushes bulldozed into <br />
muddied wounds that rot for weeks <br />
until surveyors come to mark out <br />
sizeable, saleable sections. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>4.</b>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Every time it's Christmas <br />
there are rows. <br />
The money's gone. <br />
Work parties, drink – <br />
we don't know why. <br />
There are rows <br />
up and down the street. <br />
Ours is at night <br />
when we're hanging decorations <br />
in the passage. <br />
<br />
It's new every time. <br />
There's hope in it. <br />
A sort of dawn; <br />
first in a different day.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyT5QqfLCZtOUpHVswjmemVa4GPI201tMwfTKFel_l0hmUDWxiHBogOQ-PkuN_0y3QLcbI9x1SjcYT-IGiJoVzrFToQWcncjbFSivGFA4wQscch6G5B94S_ct804sxesyx5XeUk05LgdM/s1600/scan0024.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyT5QqfLCZtOUpHVswjmemVa4GPI201tMwfTKFel_l0hmUDWxiHBogOQ-PkuN_0y3QLcbI9x1SjcYT-IGiJoVzrFToQWcncjbFSivGFA4wQscch6G5B94S_ct804sxesyx5XeUk05LgdM/s400/scan0024.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>LAST DAY LAST YEAR</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
In the cafe <br />
in the morning. <br />
The roads are quiet. <br />
People come and go <br />
for breakfast, <br />
and the small things <br />
that are talked here. <br />
<br />
The staff are slow. <br />
They talk among themselves, <br />
not serving much. <br />
There's more to talk of <br />
than to eat, <br />
they think. <br />
<br />
No-one minds; <br />
something's cooking. <br />
It smells like the end <br />
of an ordinary year.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKHtpKZhRmQhdXdBi6gyTES9dfRBMQhgKCksE7o6aAiF2VHtuDOzvDQYnsgc5hJ6_ioUgtsIeBFH7AtR2YyM81dLaK8zSlTLvtW1SUZIDMn3J7MDe9Hu9pdRGpsXTdFwQLnQnABuOsSg/s1600/scan0025.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEKHtpKZhRmQhdXdBi6gyTES9dfRBMQhgKCksE7o6aAiF2VHtuDOzvDQYnsgc5hJ6_ioUgtsIeBFH7AtR2YyM81dLaK8zSlTLvtW1SUZIDMn3J7MDe9Hu9pdRGpsXTdFwQLnQnABuOsSg/s400/scan0025.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>FROM A SHED</b></span><br />
IN SIMON URLICH ROAD</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
I'm sitting in the garage, <br />
trying to be easy <br />
in a hard-backed chair. <br />
My feet are on the stool, <br />
books beside, <br />
and my parrot, <br />
excited at the sound of the sea. <br />
<br />
I'm looking out the big half -door, <br />
out over the rough-mown lawn, <br />
the porch, its sloping slanting steps, <br />
maimed ngaios at the fence, <br />
and clacking flaxes. <br />
<br />
The road, <br />
a small park with a crooked sign, <br />
a cut-out Norfolk pine. <br />
<br />
The sea <br />
through a saddle in the sand, <br />
grey today, <br />
at odds with itself. <br />
<br />
Behind the sea some hills, <br />
scarred and wounded <br />
under a rain-set sky, <br />
houses on their lower slopes <br />
quiet and attentive, <br />
like nurses.
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FIAosCRdyo50eoHFoyBrvm1xIaYEwHPSHFtJgN-UssmDCg4pLm-QB5zaZ8VvMki7HZ2S4njHXNssI-9S4po_cBaiASjjh6Pdlf21eYupCoXWQJ8lOF14yVaeFt3-e1A3Y8-LMbKrWkM/s1600/scan0026.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-FIAosCRdyo50eoHFoyBrvm1xIaYEwHPSHFtJgN-UssmDCg4pLm-QB5zaZ8VvMki7HZ2S4njHXNssI-9S4po_cBaiASjjh6Pdlf21eYupCoXWQJ8lOF14yVaeFt3-e1A3Y8-LMbKrWkM/s400/scan0026.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>SUNDAY TEA</b><br />
<br />
<br />
White and frail, <br />
discreetly dusted, <br />
she takes the pew in front. <br />
<br />
The vicar speaks <br />
of life and pain <br />
here, and in Dunblane. <br />
<br />
She smells of tea, <br />
<br />
and sends me <br />
to briared river beds <br />
and toru scrub, <br />
manuka, <br />
a burning sun, <br />
a boiling pot. <br />
<br />
Amen, the vicar says, <br />
and I come back <br />
to the book. <br />
I've lost my place.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmWyv5z5eORA9GMCLn9uLaJ7B5hmD_eyHSsFIh-RfHL_p2WCugHupfRryzuNvpurEYtknj7ZZ4Suiu-D_26zN1C5FPSzHZZaGij3Swc_zJoIYr1ocVpZOIFKVPs6nREk0O9R3RvT80BA/s1600/scan0027.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPmWyv5z5eORA9GMCLn9uLaJ7B5hmD_eyHSsFIh-RfHL_p2WCugHupfRryzuNvpurEYtknj7ZZ4Suiu-D_26zN1C5FPSzHZZaGij3Swc_zJoIYr1ocVpZOIFKVPs6nREk0O9R3RvT80BA/s400/scan0027.jpg" width="247" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>MYCOPHILE</b></blockquote>
<br />
Ring me, ring me, ring me round <br />
the time when mushrooms crowd <br />
into the mind. <br />
<br />
Ring me, ring me, ring me round <br />
the time when mist <br />
and dew and life <br />
compost into <br />
the rich fertility from which <br />
the numberless of gill and spore <br />
ring in. <br />
<br />
Ring me, ring me, ring me all <br />
you fruiting bodies from my earth. <br />
Dial, encircle, <br />
troop your line, <br />
engage, <br />
then – name please, first.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1AgkyZsfMZzCTr9vumsqgJF_UZ73kAnYVWvVyUSbyNVzd-TUoN-ucWIHfrO86YRHtYRGZH6mzMVYgyMJJxbRpYtcRke9FwhUorGC70Zn8jgK1qSzYtf2E4JpWYnTdg4zN5tJOfIM35rU/s1600/scan0028.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1AgkyZsfMZzCTr9vumsqgJF_UZ73kAnYVWvVyUSbyNVzd-TUoN-ucWIHfrO86YRHtYRGZH6mzMVYgyMJJxbRpYtcRke9FwhUorGC70Zn8jgK1qSzYtf2E4JpWYnTdg4zN5tJOfIM35rU/s400/scan0028.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>THE HYDRA</b></blockquote>
<br />
Within the waterweed and murk <br />
the many-headed hydras lurk, <br />
disguising their unbridled greed <br />
with their sinuous sensitive sensual speed <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">of feeding.</span><br />
<br />
Should ever glancing sunbeam slant <br />
upon this animalish plant, <br />
the hydra, sensing primal need, <br />
with a furious fulminant frantic heed, <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">starts breeding.</span><br />
<br /></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>STARE CAT</b></blockquote>
<br />
The octopus has slept too late. <br />
The tide has gone, has shut its gate. <br />
She finds out now she can't escape, <br />
and lurks here, <br />
to be stared at. <br />
<br />
She waves her arms (but not for help), <br />
pretending she's a piece of kelp; <br />
from underneath a rocky shelf <br />
she stares back. <br />
I'm a scared cat.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFev25IWjZSTyRx_anBB-3jCKhwT8Z-MoM0KgGK1lvNOCVyWSTheWLEqINg_uQfgjqmRb7yqY-1x-kHBu-a92vN2KZPxAethRf8shZoUlHXBIFXKmTQjj-5ZIjFRbPU3w-1y27mo4njR0/s1600/scan0029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFev25IWjZSTyRx_anBB-3jCKhwT8Z-MoM0KgGK1lvNOCVyWSTheWLEqINg_uQfgjqmRb7yqY-1x-kHBu-a92vN2KZPxAethRf8shZoUlHXBIFXKmTQjj-5ZIjFRbPU3w-1y27mo4njR0/s400/scan0029.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>THE OLD BACH</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Someone put it all together, <br />
cobbled it <br />
from pieces of his past, <br />
gates and steps and tanks <br />
and doors, <br />
stitched and tacked <br />
to fit, <br />
<br />
and hasn't touched it since, <br />
<br />
leaving it, <br />
a comment on the corner, <br />
casting doubt on either side <br />
of the street. </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br />BEE BUSINESS</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
In this out-house <br />
there are bees building <br />
in the wall <br />
<br />
they shame me <br />
about their business <br />
<br />
they are so deliberate <br />
regular <br />
sociable <br />
<br />
I so solitary <br />
instinctive </div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU75RQOIz1xFQlxbeOFMzqQIJKWyQadp0yXM5RlV_odqPhpfKirM3tS7BdPdtQwm7qpK1z3xtmfVNIxx7cnScA0kYNBJhmsaHbVIbvogbpSAVtyH4FmIU5yXxHZhKv6B_uC0JhgX42woc/s1600/scan0030.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU75RQOIz1xFQlxbeOFMzqQIJKWyQadp0yXM5RlV_odqPhpfKirM3tS7BdPdtQwm7qpK1z3xtmfVNIxx7cnScA0kYNBJhmsaHbVIbvogbpSAVtyH4FmIU5yXxHZhKv6B_uC0JhgX42woc/s400/scan0030.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>TROOPING</b></blockquote>
<br />
Orchids on a ledge, <br />
assembled <br />
in the clear <br />
above the flood, <br />
<br />
precisely placed, <br />
as if their leaves have touched <br />
to judge the space, <br />
and each has shuffled <br />
in parade. <br />
<br />
Each takes its own direction. <br />
<br />
No danger here, <br />
no need to guard <br />
so, face the front, <br />
stand tall, unite, <br />
and show yourselves. <br />
<br />
Then, be at ease. <br />
there's no-one here commanding, <br />
or to please.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZRUwIBW2Tr6WzXbxfXolqLiBGw_1RmsIn9gmf1LB3q4QhkS_Eq4nQ905FJapxV_4UKC8g4hBMEbsq2JCX29qKSSU0Z3fVJJOUaxXDc4RgQbmcFBDI9_Aj0LRYLlg_zJw6VHm1TIs8YU/s1600/scan0031.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZRUwIBW2Tr6WzXbxfXolqLiBGw_1RmsIn9gmf1LB3q4QhkS_Eq4nQ905FJapxV_4UKC8g4hBMEbsq2JCX29qKSSU0Z3fVJJOUaxXDc4RgQbmcFBDI9_Aj0LRYLlg_zJw6VHm1TIs8YU/s400/scan0031.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>CONVERGENCE ZONE</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The rain's <br />
not the same <br />
anymore. <br />
<br />
It had a soft centre. <br />
<br />
Now there are bits in it <br />
that rattle on the tops <br />
of leaves and cars, <br />
and bite. <br />
<br />
Once it was beneficent. <br />
<br />
Something's changed. <br />
<br />
Clouds used to gather. <br />
Now they gang up.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnzEREIJThNMN8Napze2IlepSHV53FNIEz7Daywv5PfQMl524KwZxVObgF_KlpTghZ9YdoHxBjofa6ItSimQY6RDo8GQvItKP4jDHbQWiR60a7BIPN8aOjjsf-YsSOBGP-4MkI6OpTEw/s1600/scan0032.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDnzEREIJThNMN8Napze2IlepSHV53FNIEz7Daywv5PfQMl524KwZxVObgF_KlpTghZ9YdoHxBjofa6ItSimQY6RDo8GQvItKP4jDHbQWiR60a7BIPN8aOjjsf-YsSOBGP-4MkI6OpTEw/s400/scan0032.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>CUMULUS</b><br />
<br />
<br />
This cloud <br />
gives me time. <br />
<br />
I think I've earned <br />
a perk or two <br />
so, <br />
<br />
stop still, please. <br />
Kill the shadow, <br />
hide the sun, <br />
<br />
and let me make repairs <br />
to a hurried past, <br />
<br />
then go again. <br />
<br />
Shake up the clocks. <br />
<br />
Let day move on.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jTVQgun5pH8fqv7BZ2TyMC81fw6GI_Ab62jlIpObdFRPkUgoeMfWhrgpUu8ZNMa6LHY4G8b2ggY8sgt27q-N15iNwThRimozitP-eZzaNKhfiGycoszFDhqqAc1Q513bTCncn7pNTI8/s1600/scan0033.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6jTVQgun5pH8fqv7BZ2TyMC81fw6GI_Ab62jlIpObdFRPkUgoeMfWhrgpUu8ZNMa6LHY4G8b2ggY8sgt27q-N15iNwThRimozitP-eZzaNKhfiGycoszFDhqqAc1Q513bTCncn7pNTI8/s400/scan0033.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>PICKING PAUA</b></blockquote>
<br />
Down the long brown ridge we tumble, <br />
rolling in the grass, <br />
Joseph & Michael, Anna & Ruth, Miriel & Me. <br />
<br />
Grass tiger brown, <br />
green under from the autumn rains, <br />
where mushrooms grow. <br />
<br />
A tiger's arm, <br />
the ridge slopes down, <br />
reclining in the slow blue day <br />
<br />
as we tumble and roll and jump and play, <br />
Joseph & Michael & Anna & Ruth & Miriel & Me, <br />
from the heights at the road <br />
to the reef at the sea, <br />
<br />
where the paua live in the pools, <br />
by the ngaio tree at the foot of the cliff <br />
which we climb from the ridge to the sea, <br />
<br />
where the paua grow in the pools, <br />
to pick with a flick <br />
and a twist of the knife, <br />
<br />
for tea.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrpgnvr64XXuOWVAjgivMki5YgUH7NJwac7OJ8UOZzzW_GcP-BfEkahSQwJ-g8b1kqcmW_kjQx85CkQMOZ8PTy3h8KUcDUM5zGWKolsRGqpO-bBhw5hWecSTJGHs1UH3vOHDt09TaL3I/s1600/scan0034.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigrpgnvr64XXuOWVAjgivMki5YgUH7NJwac7OJ8UOZzzW_GcP-BfEkahSQwJ-g8b1kqcmW_kjQx85CkQMOZ8PTy3h8KUcDUM5zGWKolsRGqpO-bBhw5hWecSTJGHs1UH3vOHDt09TaL3I/s400/scan0034.jpg" width="125" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>MACROCARPA</b><br />
<br />
<br />
It smells of sandsoap <br />
in the hedge. <br />
The trunks are warm. <br />
Night leaks in all round <br />
from some other place. <br />
<br />
Their light's on. <br />
They're arguing. <br />
She breaks a plate <br />
on the table <br />
and he kicks her <br />
<br />
and <br />
she calls out, <br />
quickly. <br />
A sad sound. <br />
Night cry of bird. <br />
White sound of moon. <br />
No-one else will hear. <br />
It's for me. <br />
<br />
It stays in the garden <br />
a long time, <br />
phantom of parental pain, <br />
softly telling me things, <br />
and then it goes. <br />
<br />
I must go after, <br />
to a safer place. <br />
<br />
I get down. <br />
Branches break loudly <br />
so I stay hidden. <br />
<br />
If I come out <br />
I'm me. <br />
<br />
I must find <br />
another thing <br />
to be.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_ENB6Ra_ks64sY5YI5fClAGvV0DZz50DoRNt7lyR5psKtgU6reIuAIRVRiGx-x_iYmzBpZgW9MuKwnATQ2EHfzCl-Y1Vdav6TFqw4W6Y9U-XVoQxut3OKhGOgKNWtOZ-vvN6mDZJ6g0/s1600/scan0035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7_ENB6Ra_ks64sY5YI5fClAGvV0DZz50DoRNt7lyR5psKtgU6reIuAIRVRiGx-x_iYmzBpZgW9MuKwnATQ2EHfzCl-Y1Vdav6TFqw4W6Y9U-XVoQxut3OKhGOgKNWtOZ-vvN6mDZJ6g0/s400/scan0035.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>SELF–DIAGNOSIS</b></blockquote>
<br />
She says I have a cold. <br />
The very naming of the ill <br />
gives it more potency, <br />
as will the definition of a deed <br />
or act. <br />
<br />
What do you do <br />
when someone says <br />
you're this or that? <br />
The definition makes a fence <br />
that shortens vision, <br />
keeps out sense. <br />
<br />
To say I have a cold! <br />
How does she dare! <br />
It's that I overtalk and overbear. <br />
<br />
You, O God, <br />
implant in us this passion <br />
to name, <br />
and in naming graft oppression. <br />
<br />
To say I have a cold! <br />
What does that tell, <br />
but that I am bad-tempered <br />
and not well.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-n616MyxbnjqYa00tw7zNHGJE9abeYyODv717Dgyaag1bIuW_G365kH2WwPnX2N3gB-Ci369wgXH8X85OIcQPe3kUa5edUsllRDlK2T2z9XrOCHM3cLX0Pnbp_5ozCVvqCnr2chnyWA/s1600/scan0036.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg-n616MyxbnjqYa00tw7zNHGJE9abeYyODv717Dgyaag1bIuW_G365kH2WwPnX2N3gB-Ci369wgXH8X85OIcQPe3kUa5edUsllRDlK2T2z9XrOCHM3cLX0Pnbp_5ozCVvqCnr2chnyWA/s400/scan0036.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>HOME FOR TEA</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Did you have a good trip <br />
she asked, <br />
off-hand, <br />
Did you have a good trip today? <br />
<br />
Yes, I said, as easily, <br />
Nothing went wrong today. <br />
I survived, <br />
I said, as easily, <br />
I'm alive, l'm living, today. <br />
<br />
I drove a distance or two, <br />
I think. <br />
A world or two, maybe. <br />
A continent, <br />
an island, a strait, <br />
a reef, <br />
and a galaxy. <br />
<br />
Did you! She said. <br />
You've had quite a time; <br />
do you think you feel ready for tea? <br />
Thank you, I said, <br />
I'll then take a nap. <br />
Driving's a bore <br />
when you haven't a map.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwglhYw7nD81RZfylFE8ArZ2s36jK3iiRPqcg1InhtWJcRopcERnA8aBRNZy_EseXjV7zNohJT3UjICJGaBmX22XXSH34Nwabyw86_DWPZSVH0Q3yOFA9D4NWJg2HMFEqpBiphYHuNBk0/s1600/scan0037.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwglhYw7nD81RZfylFE8ArZ2s36jK3iiRPqcg1InhtWJcRopcERnA8aBRNZy_EseXjV7zNohJT3UjICJGaBmX22XXSH34Nwabyw86_DWPZSVH0Q3yOFA9D4NWJg2HMFEqpBiphYHuNBk0/s400/scan0037.jpg" width="336" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>THE CERTAIN UNEASINESS OF HOLIDAY</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The sun's come at last. <br />
It's been raining, <br />
and we're bored. <br />
<br />
Let's go for a walk, <br />
she says, <br />
along the beach. <br />
<br />
The sea's far out, <br />
withdrawn, <br />
<br />
and the wet sand shines, <br />
stretching far ahead of us <br />
<br />
forever, <br />
it might be; <br />
the end is fogged <br />
by sea mist. <br />
<br />
Behind us another storm. <br />
The birds are pointing into it, <br />
already.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Qp4bzwVTTDmcabQhKubd15fPEXnGmsVjz7LWzpxoBx1dRjNcwm5etAlxlz_jO3R_k7eUPYa7_1PAK-bYxim4sT8r2HIvHK0sSA_3Be_IZjiG5GMybicu7TPjXQfTyBso26KRNqgUyM/s1600/scan0038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6_Qp4bzwVTTDmcabQhKubd15fPEXnGmsVjz7LWzpxoBx1dRjNcwm5etAlxlz_jO3R_k7eUPYa7_1PAK-bYxim4sT8r2HIvHK0sSA_3Be_IZjiG5GMybicu7TPjXQfTyBso26KRNqgUyM/s400/scan0038.jpg" width="299" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>CONNED</b></blockquote>
<br />
You say you love me much, my dear, <br />
But do you love? I rather fear <br />
You know, and much misuse. <br />
You say you truly read my face, <br />
And every line, you say, embrace, <br />
And oft of me enthuse <br />
That I'm an open book to you, <br />
My very soul laid to your view; <br />
Why then this trust abuse? <br />
You say that now you know me well, <br />
But when I ask you cannot tell – <br />
Your love I must refuse. <br />
I fear I'm but your oft-bought book, <br />
Scanned and conned and soon forsook, <br />
Much bartered and perused.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-3rVzXi4Yr3HM8VUviGjhD2jAH5KdF6cn-N2jyvMGCiuJjsKIqFGE2B1pEXmCq8istNgVCNSu42rJMZR7nQxcFVqXkLbPpEkJG8mpwP6pw1_YSQ28ogZUbhRtBvYCDbCwlTJV3XDi_w/s1600/scan0039.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-3rVzXi4Yr3HM8VUviGjhD2jAH5KdF6cn-N2jyvMGCiuJjsKIqFGE2B1pEXmCq8istNgVCNSu42rJMZR7nQxcFVqXkLbPpEkJG8mpwP6pw1_YSQ28ogZUbhRtBvYCDbCwlTJV3XDi_w/s400/scan0039.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>ODE TO A WORD PROCESSOR</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Word breather! <br />
<br />
Your dark and light <br />
in silken space <br />
precisely place <br />
created works, <br />
prosodic play, <br />
profundity, <br />
and wit. <br />
<br />
New creatures <br />
of my mind <br />
you put in order <br />
on the screen. <br />
Delete, insert and justify <br />
a meaning <br />
from my touch. <br />
<br />
With sign and stop <br />
you take my lines <br />
and breathe into them; <br />
punctuate <br />
and constellate <br />
from module, keyboard, <br />
printer, mouse. <br />
<br />
Into your universe <br />
you take my thoughts <br />
and fix them <br />
in your space. <br />
Electrical infinity! <br />
Eternity on floppy disc! <br />
O Muse Domesticate! <br />
<br />
Take me, friend. <br />
Screen me clear, <br />
image and inspire. <br />
Print me out <br />
in Dot Matrix, <br />
save me, <br />
script and soul.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpK9NCzVTzFT8RRYjJxInMzxSGOfHSHEhvq50KdD9Fx8OLkMOz_KijEDRjM69KWDQOM6TC-BFiodY7pUOnt6NCzCYx3JmmNoDivwXvP548K5suyz-OCshueQm7yRnpzImmwRoxPdHYaEA/s1600/scan0040.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpK9NCzVTzFT8RRYjJxInMzxSGOfHSHEhvq50KdD9Fx8OLkMOz_KijEDRjM69KWDQOM6TC-BFiodY7pUOnt6NCzCYx3JmmNoDivwXvP548K5suyz-OCshueQm7yRnpzImmwRoxPdHYaEA/s400/scan0040.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>VENUS IN A HOT BREAD SHOP</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Don't get me wrong. <br />
I like them. <br />
When they turn up <br />
I feel good about it. <br />
<br />
So when Liz says: <br />
go down to the Hot Bread Shop <br />
and get some buns; <br />
I've got nothing <br />
to give them <br />
for tea. <br />
I go. <br />
<br />
She walks in before me. <br />
It's not much of a shop, <br />
but when I see who she is <br />
there's no dirt, <br />
no cooking smells. <br />
There's incense in the air. <br />
No body else, <br />
just She <br />
upon a forest floor <br />
with parroquets <br />
in sunlight. <br />
<br />
Liz asks after: <br />
What happened to you? <br />
Did you go to the pub? <br />
Weren't you thinking straight? <br />
They were our guests, <br />
you know. <br />
<br />
I met someone, I say. <br />
<br />
(I was still doing my duty. <br />
Even a god can be a guest.)</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HYxs0JBDVsfazEH-tHQ1_HoF3fIXxFH2sOnzJHQ4BQnnXHT76yk0YJLa-beEcYCyocqFtgBp6DSlGpUfNhBcHBoUbYIlARLz2HZXYLy32CwSeCtgNh7GtgsO9jp2sdG7jSvj4CuDWhw/s1600/scan0041.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1HYxs0JBDVsfazEH-tHQ1_HoF3fIXxFH2sOnzJHQ4BQnnXHT76yk0YJLa-beEcYCyocqFtgBp6DSlGpUfNhBcHBoUbYIlARLz2HZXYLy32CwSeCtgNh7GtgsO9jp2sdG7jSvj4CuDWhw/s400/scan0041.jpg" width="157" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>POLLY AT THE CELLO</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Polly is practising the cello <br />
next door. <br />
<br />
She's not bad. <br />
She plays good stuff, <br />
but she still pisses me off <br />
<br />
because it's her noise, <br />
not mine, <br />
<br />
and another thing is that <br />
it says she's there. <br />
<br />
I don't want to know. <br />
<br />
I've my own life, <br />
I don't want her coming into it, <br />
<br />
putting me on a track <br />
that's not my own. <br />
<br />
If I want to see her <br />
I'll knock. <br />
<br />
If I want to talk, <br />
I'll ring. <br />
<br />
I don't do it all day, <br />
she says. <br />
<br />
That's not the point – <br />
every second's a part <br />
of being alive. <br />
<br />
At least it's not the drums, <br />
she says. <br />
<br />
Stuff the instrument. <br />
it's her I'm on about.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwbNSbVoomJwk5f0CdYMcEU8tonrkMKsga7-0h5TmHHe2LUyEMmfL-Tjzv0c6T-YKvwJezfUZ1jvV8bPsieCi6JVCw1-tLZ8A9HiYRd2LYb0MidiIZMXDD3i8pii6dKGgH2KMX4Xur_c/s1600/scan0042.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPwbNSbVoomJwk5f0CdYMcEU8tonrkMKsga7-0h5TmHHe2LUyEMmfL-Tjzv0c6T-YKvwJezfUZ1jvV8bPsieCi6JVCw1-tLZ8A9HiYRd2LYb0MidiIZMXDD3i8pii6dKGgH2KMX4Xur_c/s400/scan0042.jpg" width="163" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">ANZAC DAYS</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>1. the procession. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Culverden.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
The road <br />
goes out of sight, <br />
dips and rises, <br />
never bends. <br />
<br />
The town <br />
jumps from the trees, <br />
surprising. <br />
<br />
I'm stopped. <br />
<br />
I'd forgotten the day. <br />
<br />
Everyone <br />
is on the road <br />
marching, <br />
or watching, <br />
<br />
on this blue-grey morning, <br />
with the nor-west arch <br />
on the Hanmer Hills. <br />
<br />
The wreaths are placed, <br />
<br />
bright presents <br />
for a past <br />
that's all but lost <br />
among these rocks and hills <br />
and darkening plain, <br />
<br />
and unending road.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXijQIxfUYepM48760CV7OlALkYqpMEIQh2L9O3Z1bY5sMF-93zB52GUqjj7XgROFmn2et3nXw-Xs-Vo6InrTHwgOtMpMLm39I6M6y-hcp4YWfyXMSxj0uCEhQo4wZKQki1iX2wQSwWec/s1600/scan0043.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXijQIxfUYepM48760CV7OlALkYqpMEIQh2L9O3Z1bY5sMF-93zB52GUqjj7XgROFmn2et3nXw-Xs-Vo6InrTHwgOtMpMLm39I6M6y-hcp4YWfyXMSxj0uCEhQo4wZKQki1iX2wQSwWec/s400/scan0043.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>2. the silver band. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Akaroa.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
waiting <br />
<br />
serious in the shade <br />
by the obelisk <br />
<br />
music <br />
on a quiet sea <br />
<br />
before it's seen <br />
<br />
far off <br />
<br />
glinting <br />
on the march <br />
<br />
a river running on the road </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<b>3. effects. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Stoke.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Murphy Simpson leads the donkey <br />
to the hall. <br />
<br />
A soldier with a bandaged head <br />
is balanced on the donkey's back. <br />
<br />
The others look well enough, <br />
<br />
except the Mayor, <br />
our many-medalled Mayor. <br />
<br />
He's engaged on his own campaigns, <br />
and looks at Murphy from Gallipoli <br />
with sympathy.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNPSu6ue4pA6BRnxQ2RItyXTToYbq-uBIUzBw_HTTDgvgnrZO42K1oAZJ6oywf4GswWRRxkzZvS1n50MUeMQSuEI00X5XQ6E7rtvWgR5nqCEa76MvKDCA1-qc3tq7ttb36ODHCE9l2gk/s1600/scan0044.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuNPSu6ue4pA6BRnxQ2RItyXTToYbq-uBIUzBw_HTTDgvgnrZO42K1oAZJ6oywf4GswWRRxkzZvS1n50MUeMQSuEI00X5XQ6E7rtvWgR5nqCEa76MvKDCA1-qc3tq7ttb36ODHCE9l2gk/s400/scan0044.jpg" width="300" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>4. the officer. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">the Square.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
They stand before the cenotaph, <br />
ranked and waiting. <br />
<br />
A soldier guards each corner. <br />
It's half light. <br />
<br />
The trumpet does its bit. <br />
<br />
The colonel whispers: <br />
what do I do now? <br />
<br />
The Ode. the Ode. <br />
<br />
He leads the Lord's Prayer, <br />
again. <br />
<br />
It's as well. <br />
So many mistakes at the cause of it all. <br />
It can't all go right, <br />
now.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ageYotzRSBGzFizfBiaxea0VPtfqEH1uVQzITHOqtyuNqVrWSGNFpvu384PDJVofpvx2Avx8yl2FcLd9cKhOTlTHR8No1MKfO1v9c4Jz8DJ-g8zAd0m781MYBezVuER2VZCODNFEYOs/s1600/scan0045.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9ageYotzRSBGzFizfBiaxea0VPtfqEH1uVQzITHOqtyuNqVrWSGNFpvu384PDJVofpvx2Avx8yl2FcLd9cKhOTlTHR8No1MKfO1v9c4Jz8DJ-g8zAd0m781MYBezVuER2VZCODNFEYOs/s400/scan0045.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>5. the hall. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Hobsonville.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
We march <br />
down the hill; <br />
it's not far <br />
and it's fast. <br />
<br />
First the flag <br />
and the veterans, <br />
services, <br />
police; <br />
young people <br />
in uniforms, <br />
neighbourhood groups. <br />
<br />
Into <br />
the rusting old hall <br />
we go crowding, <br />
sombre and serious, <br />
children up front, <br />
<br />
awed at the chaplain <br />
in black <br />
and the officer, <br />
telling us something <br />
that Churchill <br />
once said. <br />
<br />
He reminds us <br />
of bravery, <br />
good deeds to imitate, <br />
even in peace, <br />
when they don't seem <br />
of use.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ccjBwqoFTcujzbuDU_kGLPvkreo3bjeJjioM-xkQnU0tkR0GxhIF_QYg9G4I9wJSTmt7VJQDEHQb9zx1zNU1qz53LgYbAICQLIPQUuxAPy1H9JGkMmESJGg6hUtjUfnsbLLfwbVxCEs/s1600/scan0046.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ccjBwqoFTcujzbuDU_kGLPvkreo3bjeJjioM-xkQnU0tkR0GxhIF_QYg9G4I9wJSTmt7VJQDEHQb9zx1zNU1qz53LgYbAICQLIPQUuxAPy1H9JGkMmESJGg6hUtjUfnsbLLfwbVxCEs/s400/scan0046.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>6. the speech. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">the Bridge of Remembrance.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
I'll tell you what the Hero said: <br />
<br />
Throw them in the river. <br />
We don't want those types <br />
in our city. We didn't fight <br />
two world wars for louts <br />
like that. Our lads didn't die <br />
so this sort of thing could <br />
go on. We fought for a de <br />
cent society. They're dregs. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<b>7. breakfast. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Rawhiti.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
A shower in the wind. <br />
We're on the verandah, <br />
crowded. <br />
<br />
Everything's wet. <br />
Mist whips the burnt hills, <br />
snaking. <br />
<br />
He brings the food around: <br />
bread and saveloys. <br />
Ash drops from his cigarette. <br />
<br />
He does that in the shop, <br />
they say. <br />
It gets in the meat.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvA1UBOr3qAq9GfW7wYn1eHy7hXBmiu0pUqVHUjRmtIAEAIixqFUh2-Tu0Eo6hJNzAupXofNXV4MoWVXuW3BDTiMh13ChzH0yE-VBihAx49M-aChRxggJKx_jkJxsSjycBYaemb6Rvx8/s1600/scan0047.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqvA1UBOr3qAq9GfW7wYn1eHy7hXBmiu0pUqVHUjRmtIAEAIixqFUh2-Tu0Eo6hJNzAupXofNXV4MoWVXuW3BDTiMh13ChzH0yE-VBihAx49M-aChRxggJKx_jkJxsSjycBYaemb6Rvx8/s400/scan0047.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>8. the trumpet. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Russell.</span></b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
The buses take us to the top <br />
and we straggle, <br />
tired from early rising, <br />
<br />
to gather <br />
near the flagstaff, <br />
around the graves. <br />
<br />
No-one quite knows <br />
where to stand, <br />
to be respectful, <br />
<br />
but we manage, <br />
grouping on the grass, <br />
<br />
blinking at the brightness <br />
of the bay <br />
on either side, <br />
<br />
uneasily reminded: <br />
here we began <br />
this cult of force. <br />
<br />
The trumpet's taped, <br />
and slips, <br />
<br />
but the graves, the sea, the past, <br />
have call enough.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9S97Ol0-JxTg8tIwDa7UltKyFtbNCgsnfXuWvCrNxpfvJkm_SygoP_NU-yi3uK-ZJcvjUZ_Gv-o34qGPJ-huKoUHUBONZATSTT4irxanE4yNWK8D2yZH6nH4o3ETGvfLInIun66qqONM/s1600/scan0048.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9S97Ol0-JxTg8tIwDa7UltKyFtbNCgsnfXuWvCrNxpfvJkm_SygoP_NU-yi3uK-ZJcvjUZ_Gv-o34qGPJ-huKoUHUBONZATSTT4irxanE4yNWK8D2yZH6nH4o3ETGvfLInIun66qqONM/s400/scan0048.jpg" width="167" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>TELEPHONE TIGER</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
They gave him three years. <br />
He's been gone for months, <br />
but he's all over the place, <br />
everywhere I look, <br />
with her, in her, <br />
bruising still. <br />
<br />
She sits in silence at the table, <br />
thinking what to do, <br />
she says. <br />
<br />
I look out the door, <br />
over the gorse and wild kanuka <br />
to the sea at the bottom of this world. <br />
His hill's there, <br />
a green breast by the beach, <br />
terraced from a time before this law. <br />
<br />
Scattered, seeded from the coast, <br />
islands sleep in powdered sunlight, <br />
soothed by the monotony <br />
of early summer day. <br />
<br />
He farms the scrub; <br />
prohibited produce, <br />
hidden in the taller stuff. <br />
<br />
Inside, he's here, <br />
in the photos, <br />
smart couple and three kids, <br />
on dresser, window-sill and wall, <br />
in the plaque he carved <br />
when last in jail. <br />
His are the Most Promising Player trophies, <br />
tarnished , dusty, insect-spotted, <br />
lost from love, <br />
forgotten in the crises. <br />
On the wall <br />
a tiger-rug from Singapore, <br />
prowling from a bamboo thicket, <br />
front paw raised in papier-mache limpness.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7qynajzmXORVgz7RzDnSQXHFgv-mY0nVUfQT_8nGoF7uD05e1kBiPQr6Bwdpx7i1PQuk6iLFbJ4psFVMQ9BTuIRqQ_E_ibUln2MyAl4NNud7RW-2dL4K5OxuUZ1xT_CeMPBv0dw-CaY/s1600/scan0049.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI7qynajzmXORVgz7RzDnSQXHFgv-mY0nVUfQT_8nGoF7uD05e1kBiPQr6Bwdpx7i1PQuk6iLFbJ4psFVMQ9BTuIRqQ_E_ibUln2MyAl4NNud7RW-2dL4K5OxuUZ1xT_CeMPBv0dw-CaY/s400/scan0049.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
She's asking. <br />
<br />
What can I say? <br />
He's ringing every day <br />
from the prison down the line, <br />
and she can't pay the bill. <br />
I just want to get on with things, <br />
she says. <br />
<br />
Say no. <br />
<br />
She looks, and smiles. <br />
I see my stupidity. <br />
A sad game this, <br />
hunting and hiding, <br />
with pain in it, <br />
but it's their life, <br />
ail they've got, <br />
their only defiance of those tricks <br />
poverty plays. <br />
<br />
There's quietness in her, <br />
silence on her face. <br />
Say no to him? <br />
If she says that <br />
the telephone won't snarl any more. <br />
<br />
His every word is worth a thousand dollars. <br />
<br />
She wants him stalking <br />
through the thickets of her mind, <br />
as present as the wind <br />
that's always blowing here, <br />
hunting her on wire and line. <br />
The land, the sea, <br />
the growl of the sea <br />
is his. <br />
Every turn of fate's arranged by him, <br />
she hopes. <br />
She'll never say no to that.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn51">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn51" name="_ftn51" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">51</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVINtFqpemK84Q0saaam8yNQv9EiLhrh9eK-2xsvQt1dMYyivIJGKgSRKO_WIP-BV0lmQhXej_9F5E6fO_YkDT6sbLrMCQJfeauKLTPgB6zuSH5Q6PZ4pQ2XJNuOJ4Iq_lOwyLeG82Ck/s1600/scan0050.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMVINtFqpemK84Q0saaam8yNQv9EiLhrh9eK-2xsvQt1dMYyivIJGKgSRKO_WIP-BV0lmQhXej_9F5E6fO_YkDT6sbLrMCQJfeauKLTPgB6zuSH5Q6PZ4pQ2XJNuOJ4Iq_lOwyLeG82Ck/s400/scan0050.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>WAGNER IN THE PARK</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The sky! <br />
From sea to sea, <br />
looking south. <br />
<br />
Sun and shower, <br />
stored and stacked, <br />
messages from sponsors of power. <br />
<br />
Clouds give the word, <br />
winds make evidence, <br />
news-bites on a bulletin of blue, <br />
spelling out the opera, <br />
arias and laughter, <br />
writing them in moving script <br />
for distant viewers <br />
<br />
who, <br />
retired for lack of work reward, <br />
surprised by public overture, <br />
are tempted out <br />
at night <br />
<br />
to laser light, <br />
gunpowder stars, <br />
cataracts of sparks, <br />
canons, smoke-bombs, rockets, <br />
wheels of fire, <br />
<br />
and come, <br />
vast horses in the strobe-struck smoke, <br />
stampeding all this startled crowd <br />
by prancing in the flickering fire-work glare. <br />
But just a glimpse. <br />
When all have run, <br />
and only panic's left, <br />
and darkness, <br />
and rubbish strewn in horror on the grass, <br />
<br />
they go to rest, <br />
half sorry for their fun, <br />
like adults who, <br />
when wild play is done, <br />
see their children looking on, <br />
amused.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn52">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn52" name="_ftn52" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">52</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4daSvC-5VsD5xyb-Dxfxlq0OixVIstcDMsDamHoewdGJGxsDk7zmTmhO0h6DmLNUCczo_Xkr6QMtxAMtN2N8OG77hMulfaFc2Te5ldGaQKxq3AcvAjlZqTWxQh0ccF14cCfST5MLKuw/s1600/scan0051.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf4daSvC-5VsD5xyb-Dxfxlq0OixVIstcDMsDamHoewdGJGxsDk7zmTmhO0h6DmLNUCczo_Xkr6QMtxAMtN2N8OG77hMulfaFc2Te5ldGaQKxq3AcvAjlZqTWxQh0ccF14cCfST5MLKuw/s400/scan0051.jpg" width="142" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>A VISIT TO THE DOCTOR</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Doctor, <br />
I get headache. <br />
Every morning, <br />
after breakfast, <br />
so bad <br />
it puts a hole <br />
through my soul <br />
you could look through. <br />
<br />
A vortex of pain, <br />
Doctor, <br />
whirling so fast <br />
it drags me <br />
so fast <br />
there's nothing else. <br />
Black dizziness. <br />
All the world's around me, <br />
spinning. <br />
<br />
I crouch myself in, <br />
Doctor, <br />
and scream, <br />
in a corner. <br />
Nothing else but me <br />
and pain. <br />
Partnership. <br />
<br />
There's comfort for you, <br />
Doctor. <br />
A thought for you. <br />
In pain so great <br />
there's place for nothing else – <br />
no thought, <br />
no energy to spend <br />
on distraction. <br />
<br />
No other pain. <br />
Analgesic agony. <br />
<br />
Doctor, <br />
I have headache. <br />
Diagnose, please. <br />
Advise. <br />
Be God's eye, <br />
for me.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn53">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn53" name="_ftn53" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">53</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoWmRupKeuNn0_Wne6594llT4botkAxtMYh7dAYpmik4D3QwXgq8-PCc0SIVuBKO7Odw3NTxyUOkmfTP8SBvXTma4bM5feZamSA_PqnstdwXvtcBfOtXgb-Tk-koFCkhvMxdKLvNIdyM/s1600/scan0052.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdoWmRupKeuNn0_Wne6594llT4botkAxtMYh7dAYpmik4D3QwXgq8-PCc0SIVuBKO7Odw3NTxyUOkmfTP8SBvXTma4bM5feZamSA_PqnstdwXvtcBfOtXgb-Tk-koFCkhvMxdKLvNIdyM/s400/scan0052.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Monday, <br />
Spring One. <br />
<br />
The whole town <br />
is sniffing the air <br />
and glancing over fences. <br />
<br />
The first faint hint <br />
of life to come. <br />
A flip of the hip, <br />
a lilt in the talk <br />
on the telephones, <br />
of freedom. <br />
Light lingers. <br />
<br />
Soft on the glow <br />
of the setting sun <br />
floats the talcum dust <br />
of infant lust, <br />
pollen-gold. <br />
And laughter. <br />
<br />
A shiver as the sun goes down. <br />
Darkness brings necessity. <br />
Cruel chill.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn54">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn54" name="_ftn54" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">54</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvj-VNoVquUxQS6_u9wUBl4582CgNJs_WtixH5ee0rf05hyphenhyphenI4kZvOnJ3gofTNS41p3bv8fl0HoScos2G0zlagkphk1nTdOrKHbZzsq3WIi0e5342a1sk2F3f1FWYAX2j_KWWPVAVPgsY/s1600/scan0053.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUvj-VNoVquUxQS6_u9wUBl4582CgNJs_WtixH5ee0rf05hyphenhyphenI4kZvOnJ3gofTNS41p3bv8fl0HoScos2G0zlagkphk1nTdOrKHbZzsq3WIi0e5342a1sk2F3f1FWYAX2j_KWWPVAVPgsY/s400/scan0053.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>TREAT</b></blockquote>
<br />
Wake up, <br />
she said. <br />
It's your birthday. <br />
<br />
So it is, <br />
I said. <br />
Let's do something special. <br />
<br />
(The sun shone, <br />
and the birds <br />
were well on the way <br />
to making the most <br />
of another day). <br />
<br />
Like what, <br />
she said. <br />
Let's live somewhere else, <br />
I said. <br />
<br />
We got up, <br />
packed up, <br />
drove south through paradise <br />
to town, <br />
and haven't been back home since.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn55">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn55" name="_ftn55" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">55</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFHWaf-YWp7xQ_6_gsQTqGvjUy4DytMVxC_-j1j11c31GeEDSjpt9OU9608oiuVgduI5WYXMVsbjgmL75avrnuOLtfCbwcbcY32jlZhdn-YaoJM4v3HnginOQxdesvJ_PUxZ202dwPI8/s1600/scan0054.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHFHWaf-YWp7xQ_6_gsQTqGvjUy4DytMVxC_-j1j11c31GeEDSjpt9OU9608oiuVgduI5WYXMVsbjgmL75avrnuOLtfCbwcbcY32jlZhdn-YaoJM4v3HnginOQxdesvJ_PUxZ202dwPI8/s400/scan0054.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<b>ABOUT FLORENCE</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
b. 1908. Expelled from <br />
Pupuke Valley school <br />
at the age of 7. Buried <br />
at Green Lane ceme <br />
tery, Kaeo, Easter '95. </blockquote>
<br />
I wonder, Florence, what you did, <br />
so young, and such a harmless kid. <br />
So harmless? Could that really be? <br />
Or truthful, tidy, scholarly? <br />
<br />
Expelled from school when only seven! <br />
From environs, friends, & all your brethren. <br />
For talking, was it, or for teasing, <br />
Inattention, raucous sneezing? <br />
<br />
Rude letters or salacious verse, <br />
Murder, treason, something worse? <br />
Whatever crime, you lived and married. <br />
I wonder at the guilt you carried.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn56">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn56" name="_ftn56" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">56</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlL0RIlr9KFnXJXTMlflUzxRxN9qCwlI5AYpdmOXkZo0KvRHI0zoJryu2mlYS9JNOLj_oD8o2u-U0pBNFYGVw9VsmZ_mmSbBP3uvaJT-IpJ-w8cBUOjP5MUd2bCly8e8IcSR3QJ5IWfY/s1600/scan0055.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlL0RIlr9KFnXJXTMlflUzxRxN9qCwlI5AYpdmOXkZo0KvRHI0zoJryu2mlYS9JNOLj_oD8o2u-U0pBNFYGVw9VsmZ_mmSbBP3uvaJT-IpJ-w8cBUOjP5MUd2bCly8e8IcSR3QJ5IWfY/s400/scan0055.jpg" width="302" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>DESPERATE REMEDY</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I'll sit, <br />
mermaid on a rock, <br />
combing my hair <br />
and singing. <br />
<br />
I'll stop the traffic on Tamaki Drive, <br />
make yachties stare <br />
swimmers sink <br />
and prices rise on Bastion Point. <br />
<br />
Then <br />
you'll come, <br />
enticed by song, <br />
encircled in my seaweed net, <br />
<br />
and be <br />
surprised <br />
by me <br />
disguised.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn57">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/message-from-lightboard-1996.html#_ftn57" name="_ftn57" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">57</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmOn4M4w-v7ytcvT-xruA9DN8CV4uTb4dt-sYQGE3OWzRWSGY-Vy6o_KO2FGQSEf0g-Yq6MBLNsmNkJiH1yweZ-E7r5OqvbJG34K5PHQi_apasYOso62ve4zKE9NeVteq3RSobtknrW8/s1600/m57.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAmOn4M4w-v7ytcvT-xruA9DN8CV4uTb4dt-sYQGE3OWzRWSGY-Vy6o_KO2FGQSEf0g-Yq6MBLNsmNkJiH1yweZ-E7r5OqvbJG34K5PHQi_apasYOso62ve4zKE9NeVteq3RSobtknrW8/s400/m57.jpg" width="227" /></a><br />
<b><br />DAY 'DESTINY'. UNCLAIM</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>THE <i>D</i>ARVILLE R.S.A. WE</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">WELCOME TO THE DARVILLE R.S.A. WE HOPE YOU ENJOY</span><br />
<br />
<b>S<i>E</i>LF YOUR HOST TONIG</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">YOUR HOST TONIGHT IS BRIAN. ENJOY OUR MINI-SMORG</span><br />
<br />
<b>NJOY OUR MINI-<i>S</i>MORG</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">LUNCHES TUES-SAT CATCH THE SUPER 12 ON OUR BIG</span><br />
<br />
<b><i>T</i>HE "SUPER-12" ON OUR</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">ACCOMODATION? TRY THE SOMME MOTEL. BEST BED IN</span><br />
<br />
<b>OMMODAT<i>I</i>ON? TRY THE</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">TOWN. USE OUR FREE COURTESY COACH. DON'T DRINK &</span><br />
<br />
<b>T BED IN TOW<i>N</i>. USE OUR</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">DRIVE. KEEP OFF PARAPLEGICS' PARK. PAY YOUR SUB BE</span><br />
<br />
<b>FREE COURTES<i>Y</i> COACH</b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;">FORE YOU GO. FRI BAND DESTINY. UNCLAIMED CHOOK</span><br />
<br />
<b>KEEP OFF PARAPLEGICS'</b><br />
<br />
<br />
SUB BEFORE YOU GO. FRI </div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b>© Leicester Kyle, 1996</b>
</div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-36889386945567058942012-01-11T07:45:00.015+13:002017-11-26T10:55:04.406+13:00The Millerton Sequences (2014)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPynEQPXmgdXZDCuiFYCfKZj7EwCb8920Uzr2mMPAo4o6VySCTKvQJbvlHwATba84Ls8IVPUVDlXCV2nD6ejyM4JIqHAbfyo4b5sdQDasn5nQR3x2nZegwKu2q1mwq4yaUJ0c9h0NJ9sA/s1600/scan0002.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPynEQPXmgdXZDCuiFYCfKZj7EwCb8920Uzr2mMPAo4o6VySCTKvQJbvlHwATba84Ls8IVPUVDlXCV2nD6ejyM4JIqHAbfyo4b5sdQDasn5nQR3x2nZegwKu2q1mwq4yaUJ0c9h0NJ9sA/s400/scan0002.jpg" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2012/01/book-thirty-one.html">The Millerton Sequences</a> (2014)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNKxAWB9QB-VlECa-1rgaUrt0IHRTP1ATJIezdLx91zIQ5NusC12dvIhGs5Q1HdI6LGS7CReemQ7PIeZA1H15KcGExnDMHd-JGCS9wzidIK8A1VgYaRKrB-EvD0gDY8hnkwefU0BToEc/s1600/scan0004a.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyNKxAWB9QB-VlECa-1rgaUrt0IHRTP1ATJIezdLx91zIQ5NusC12dvIhGs5Q1HdI6LGS7CReemQ7PIeZA1H15KcGExnDMHd-JGCS9wzidIK8A1VgYaRKrB-EvD0gDY8hnkwefU0BToEc/s400/scan0004a.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">THE</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 180%;">MILLERTON</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;">SEQUENCES</span><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />by Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<br />
Edited with an Introduction<br />by Jack Ross<br /><br />
<br />
& the Poem "<i>Instead Of, In Memory</i>"<br />
by David Howard</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>POKENO:<br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Atuanui Press</span><br />2014</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eOiaPTAnWpFDVZMAcnLCvn4bnmTXmmFBbxDwurxmaCytGIBwzyUxT83-yGY3F4IEnik7ELVVD9lSuyZGjs5RQVqUWh_6K_OBWtZz5kSGE3mAWI07i6ZgqZQezkAdxvVXs5x7TIkpqOM/s1600/scan0003.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5eOiaPTAnWpFDVZMAcnLCvn4bnmTXmmFBbxDwurxmaCytGIBwzyUxT83-yGY3F4IEnik7ELVVD9lSuyZGjs5RQVqUWh_6K_OBWtZz5kSGE3mAWI07i6ZgqZQezkAdxvVXs5x7TIkpqOM/s400/scan0003.jpg" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Note on the Text</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
These poetry sequences, previously uncollected, represent some of the best work from the second half of Leicester Kyle’s writing career: the Millerton period, dating roughly from his departure from Auckland in April 1998, after the death of his first wife Miriel, to his own death in Christchurch Hospital in July 2006.<br />
<br />
Winnowing them out from the numerous short poems written over the same time-span also seemed the best way to do justice to his wide range of interests and subject-matter. We begin here with a short sequence grounded in Leicester’s expert professional knowledge of Botany (“Five Flowers at Millerton Mine”); move on to “Picnic In The Mangatini,” which is probably as close as Leicester ever got to a straightforward set of “nature” poems; thence to a meditative evocation of place (“Rain”); then to a work of ecological protest against the proposed strip-mining of the Millerton plateau (“Death of a Landscape”); then a searching personal confession, written towards the very end of his life (“The Catheter Club”); and lastly to “Rain Poems,” which, in aggregate, sound like a bittersweet farewell to the West Coast and its weather.<br />
<br />
As an entry-point to the collection, I’ve included the poem “One Hundred Steps to Millerton Mine,” written shortly after his return to the Coast. The “Hundred Steps” are a crucial part of the Millerton landscape, leading to the bathhouse used by the Miners after their long shifts underground. There’s also an official list there of those who lost their lives in this endeavour, commemorated by Leicester in another of these early poems from his new home, “<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn3">An Incomplete List</a>” (dated 3/6/98).<br />
<br />
Finally, as a coda, I’ve put in the text of the last of his annual Christmas books, the delightful story of the dog Red, and how he managed to find acceptance in the local community.<br />
<br />
The texts have been copied from Leicester’s original computer files, with minimal adjustment and alteration. Font, sizing, accidentals – all are his. The one exception to this practice is “Death of a Landscape.” In this case there are two competing texts: the original handwritten manuscript, dated February 2004 (and published - in this form - in <i>brief</i> 31 (2004): 83-92), and a later, slightly longer, print version, dated March 2004. It seems dangerous to assume that either of these texts entirely superseded the other, so I've therefore chosen, here on this website, to present the handwritten manuscript in exact facsimile, with a transcript of each page, while reprinting the later version in its entirety in the print edition of the book. This seemed the most convenient way for the reader to sample their continuities and divergences.<br />
<br />
Thanks to my fellow-executor David Howard, for his constant encouragement and for kick-starting this project in the first place; thanks also to my wife Bronwyn Lloyd, for her wise counsel and artistic flair.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
– Jack Ross, Mairangi Bay, November 2013</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0Yqx81JzrAsXhed3bjlnHYNiMoA-Ono_1kUrq6yB4CIw9m_LkNyQy1148oSNAPy3bYyomPx3SQ5flFlExysji6IaAMBWBC1zAQdBi8wfC2Nt2Sw1OMTsIJBxui9jtwhnT7wdhBhKvTE/s1600/100+steps1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715019940274817746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhA0Yqx81JzrAsXhed3bjlnHYNiMoA-Ono_1kUrq6yB4CIw9m_LkNyQy1148oSNAPy3bYyomPx3SQ5flFlExysji6IaAMBWBC1zAQdBi8wfC2Nt2Sw1OMTsIJBxui9jtwhnT7wdhBhKvTE/s400/100+steps1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 179px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Prologue:</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>One Hundred Steps To Millerton Mine</b><br />
<br />
Come, my dear<br />
come now and see<br />
the paradise prepared<br />
<br />
Access by each step to gain<br />
the back road<br />
and places where<br />
rails once ran<br />
and business<br />
<br />
Wonder how they counted out<br />
the topography<br />
with level runs<br />
<br />
each step up<br />
through a quiet green world<br />
the sun in pattern<br />
like a stencil<br />
a shadow brocade<br />
<br />
and at this time of the day<br />
no birds<br />
<br />
They knew what lay before<br />
had worked it out<br />
for the steep parts<br />
and the gentler<br />
<br />
so they could reach<br />
the perfection of<br />
a good round number<br />
<br />
so we do<br />
by stepping up to say<br />
(as we ease our backs at the last)<br />
“I’ve climbed the Hundred Steps”<br />
and boast</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWxKtio8_zsIZAxwv_F4MhKr7MTfX2jSvq9z8RTHRjT9iGw_6kfdY0N6j0RMr0noGCW00FaI3eVmVLjbNLW9cn3EPZJNiHF1DEON0yyUkb6Qb2tv7ZNQhk9h9GDMUTZXRMpSLRuYUFbQ/s1600/100+steps2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715019877206897314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPWxKtio8_zsIZAxwv_F4MhKr7MTfX2jSvq9z8RTHRjT9iGw_6kfdY0N6j0RMr0noGCW00FaI3eVmVLjbNLW9cn3EPZJNiHF1DEON0yyUkb6Qb2tv7ZNQhk9h9GDMUTZXRMpSLRuYUFbQ/s400/100+steps2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 184px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Come then<br />
let small goals still drive us<br />
<br />
and besides<br />
we never know <br />
what we might see<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">an orchid</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a dragon-fly</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a green bush gecko</span><br />
on a twig<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">grace</span><br />
in such things<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">abounds</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;"><i>1 . 9 . 98</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffPwozEY2tNgOlyTU0j5m4chwVJ7xQHT5-EOsqn0A81ZfSoGsuTNCjdj4OuSvDyw09n1QsFS4_UiYNGM_aJTTSkQPnIUbl-dOQYCY4__Ik9zWaKO10JbTT42TA3JYsSX9lyq_V_74xxWl/s1600/Flowers1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591840043830155714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhffPwozEY2tNgOlyTU0j5m4chwVJ7xQHT5-EOsqn0A81ZfSoGsuTNCjdj4OuSvDyw09n1QsFS4_UiYNGM_aJTTSkQPnIUbl-dOQYCY4__Ik9zWaKO10JbTT42TA3JYsSX9lyq_V_74xxWl/s400/Flowers1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">FIVE<br /><br />FLOWERS<br /><br />AT<br /><br />MILLERTON MINE</span></b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTKVmiyNLppCgCzqiz3ZfGf_h3f_kA-CwerYsUIRJZnG4qic8FZfLc4BDnMvDbOuz7S6jUKWL6i6C8Pwnr6Le8j7oBBekKXTgpNWGIhAlGWygU4Rav6FY-dmMpfIrAVFzzQPu5dWdCvcg/s1600/Flowers2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841730588358978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTKVmiyNLppCgCzqiz3ZfGf_h3f_kA-CwerYsUIRJZnG4qic8FZfLc4BDnMvDbOuz7S6jUKWL6i6C8Pwnr6Le8j7oBBekKXTgpNWGIhAlGWygU4Rav6FY-dmMpfIrAVFzzQPu5dWdCvcg/s400/Flowers2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Caladenia catenata</b><br />
<br />
a slow curve<br />
and as faint<br />
<br />
a pulled thread against the moss<br />
all edge<br />
<br />
we go past<br />
<br />
even the flower might be<br />
one piece of a petal<br />
from the tree<br />
<br />
a speck<br />
that’s floated in<br />
from an alien source<br />
suspended<br />
on an insect silk<br />
<br />
best left<br />
half seen<br />
<br />
and turned to later<br />
when there’s time to find<br />
<br />
privately</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HBX3ZILzujk_ZSTXk9qsaQsNZdREC6S1TdsSYw8hekb7NogxflFLDZRwxSZPZh9zLvsiOr-ZuIpJCrKgYWKLotJBbuZlmRe4ektesZOHGP3-W3jDyqpclzQ9W8sGyQNLTAomSkLLTiz8/s1600/Flowers3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841646891791778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9HBX3ZILzujk_ZSTXk9qsaQsNZdREC6S1TdsSYw8hekb7NogxflFLDZRwxSZPZh9zLvsiOr-ZuIpJCrKgYWKLotJBbuZlmRe4ektesZOHGP3-W3jDyqpclzQ9W8sGyQNLTAomSkLLTiz8/s400/Flowers3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Pterostylis montana var.<br />rubricaulis</b><br />
<br />
not in kauri<br />
(see the book)<br />
<br />
but here<br />
far from there<br />
in cold bush<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">convivial</span><br />
on the way<br />
to bath-house<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">canteen</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">and offices dead</span><br />
before this bush<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">took life</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">crowding</span><br />
like ghosts<br />
for a walk among<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">the ruins</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">staunch</span><br />
in stance<br />
and almost<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">sartorial</span><br />
in disposal of the<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">leaves</span><br />
lined fabric of the<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">flowers</span><br />
troop for space<br />
and permanence<br />
beside the hundred<br />
steps</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizsvjN0o4cL6Qp-koDsjUzGu9IWYMaz1DtXJ32zPrD9F8ph8B8iZog2CK7Wg-P1Ye12dzWkpPEMtBeh12BpFRrMwUQ8JTdZa5A7LA6LWl2FHj0OhyQe8IOJ_Ev7_JI82HsHVBJHTw6DdZJ/s1600/Flowers4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841567014350034" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizsvjN0o4cL6Qp-koDsjUzGu9IWYMaz1DtXJ32zPrD9F8ph8B8iZog2CK7Wg-P1Ye12dzWkpPEMtBeh12BpFRrMwUQ8JTdZa5A7LA6LWl2FHj0OhyQe8IOJ_Ev7_JI82HsHVBJHTw6DdZJ/s400/Flowers4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Calochilus robertsonii</b><br />
<br />
and<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to you</span><br />
alone<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in the rushes</span><br />
that you show<br />
your orchid face<br />
and tinsel beard<br />
in a sour spot<br />
<br />
exotica’s<br />
more usual<br />
in a voluptuous place<br />
with richness<br />
<br />
but you<br />
like saints before<br />
make a solitary choice<br />
take mud<br />
<br />
on the pakihi<br />
to the sun<br />
(when it shines)<br />
<br />
and flower<br />
and fade<br />
where none compete<br />
<br />
nor envy<br />
<br />
your gaudiness</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZuAhheJ253TUpdr3lJ-09jdXiDzYmXrgnQeGhMTKxqtFdSYeeBGlhBdlPiKV2wnBtU62EOHxoChbcRr_s53PBj4l89tAGG4d68OLoI2U7ZkrTFGJ7hs0hgQFjfvH1A9-scxde3RLk02HP/s1600/Flowers5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841485985387314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZuAhheJ253TUpdr3lJ-09jdXiDzYmXrgnQeGhMTKxqtFdSYeeBGlhBdlPiKV2wnBtU62EOHxoChbcRr_s53PBj4l89tAGG4d68OLoI2U7ZkrTFGJ7hs0hgQFjfvH1A9-scxde3RLk02HP/s400/Flowers5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Thelymitra venosa</b><br />
<br />
taste honey in the tree<br />
myrtle in the manuka<br />
and in your eye<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">the sky</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">I</span><br />
crouch before your blue<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">you</span><br />
have no modesty<br />
<br />
make your space<br />
in a water world<br />
of rush and moss<br />
<br />
reach greedy<br />
like the flesh<br />
held firm<br />
<br />
and no-one sustains you<br />
<br />
a double dip<br />
to be<br />
are you<br />
with me<br />
the disguise of a life<br />
<br />
to keep<br />
in your short self<br />
a brief for brilliance</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEX6vXLvDIPDGqxXgJeWBUH0U4m7wcunDwdy137AjkrJxCLsnkKFPIinpXcPF_rfhOXAPWrKvm1Pzdi_WhBNOn2w0OeGx96BsdGF2DyiE9ClGt7ZHIim4stS5kiX9aiL5Fp3zkRDw1VFO/s1600/Flowers6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841387706565954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEX6vXLvDIPDGqxXgJeWBUH0U4m7wcunDwdy137AjkrJxCLsnkKFPIinpXcPF_rfhOXAPWrKvm1Pzdi_WhBNOn2w0OeGx96BsdGF2DyiE9ClGt7ZHIim4stS5kiX9aiL5Fp3zkRDw1VFO/s400/Flowers6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Corybas oblongus</b><br />
<br />
round here<br />
the first<br />
show of<br />
the glitter<br />
of spring<br />
<br />
bright tips<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">in the bush</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">by the stream</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">road edge</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">on rocks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">along the steps</span><br />
jeweleries of light<br />
like this —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">one patterned leaf beneath</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">a brow of moss</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">one flower</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">with tentacles</span><br />
carved from the thought<br />
of a mind against utility<br />
<br />
look in:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">a hole in the world</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">pass to another sphere</span><br />
you won’t want this flower<br />
<br />
stay without<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;"><i>13 . 1 . 99</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0np9mPBQxaOOlAUgNoSr17Dqrq7IiErpgvaOFSpVZhLnmBjeMasLwO0vivs_VxRev7ZeF1xGfd87K4QGO3nXk4GwygypuRjjCR9bZ5bgSSZzoNLGAuDUwuqQqcF9NtyqH04HlwsbBbK6/s1600/Picnic1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591828013549663266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ0np9mPBQxaOOlAUgNoSr17Dqrq7IiErpgvaOFSpVZhLnmBjeMasLwO0vivs_VxRev7ZeF1xGfd87K4QGO3nXk4GwygypuRjjCR9bZ5bgSSZzoNLGAuDUwuqQqcF9NtyqH04HlwsbBbK6/s400/Picnic1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 198px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Picnic In The Mangatini</span></b><br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">1.</span><br />
We could only find glimpses<br />
because of the trees,<br />
<br />
But the canyon filled the forest<br />
with rumblings from the depths,<br />
<br />
And made a sort of silence.<br />
Nothing moved.<br />
<br />
We crackled on the Draco leaves<br />
and whispered in the ferns.<br />
<br />
The Autumn Orchid draped and glistened<br />
and dripped its scent.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />2.</span><br />
Only the more curious birds<br />
stopped by to look.<br />
<br />
The others were elsewhere,<br />
singing of their own affairs<br />
on some other tree,<br />
<br />
Except for the weka,<br />
which came by<br />
while we were having lunch,<br />
picked at my boot for grubs,<br />
and wandered off.<br />
<br />
Your peace soothed me<br />
into a sun-warmed sleep,<br />
<br />
soft on the moss.<br />
<br />
I could almost sense<br />
what love is.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn11" name="_ft11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvHKODY779TCJsWzxFqdkrvGb1z2AvDDWHEr3FBlonclem8CnmGC8Z-NngsexuFoD924PavFoL_EcVKSO-XLuHCwWPZX73KH0_pqjzX2mm805II32c-ea3rYRTwdh2dkQY8KOdo2ALlpu/s1600/Picnic2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591827922891935154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGvHKODY779TCJsWzxFqdkrvGb1z2AvDDWHEr3FBlonclem8CnmGC8Z-NngsexuFoD924PavFoL_EcVKSO-XLuHCwWPZX73KH0_pqjzX2mm805II32c-ea3rYRTwdh2dkQY8KOdo2ALlpu/s400/Picnic2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 225px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">3.</span><br />
Thanks for coming.<br />
<br />
The sun outshone the shadows,<br />
and there was innocence again<br />
under the trees.<br />
<br />
The clouds that came in from the sea<br />
gathered with the vigour<br />
of a wholesome change in the weather.<br />
<br />
I’m sorry that I tired you,<br />
but that’s the usual consequence<br />
of kindness.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;"><i>21 . 3 . 2000</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Rain</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8XX2hw4ybfjA4ZmsetfKx4rBF5Roi2i2UPZ8sPe_YVNZqOKSbTAYd3MhA049E4-QcDQXJv-6Ujg0Utr1TUemyGQrs3BBQNv7duBATYFskd1Q0pKOZHESrds5hE3fgL1irfZOTlwDcxCG/s1600/Rain1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842854691174722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA8XX2hw4ybfjA4ZmsetfKx4rBF5Roi2i2UPZ8sPe_YVNZqOKSbTAYd3MhA049E4-QcDQXJv-6Ujg0Utr1TUemyGQrs3BBQNv7duBATYFskd1Q0pKOZHESrds5hE3fgL1irfZOTlwDcxCG/s400/Rain1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 283px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
There’s time just time<br />
to do a poem<br />
between bringing in the wood<br />
and starting dinner<br />
<br />
Curry tonight<br />
chicken with rice<br />
and sprouts<br />
<br />
Rain keeps me in<br />
from a planed sky of grey<br />
<br />
cold air and no wind<br />
<br />
that’s pattered all day<br />
and made these hours<br />
invariable<br />
<br />
though warm with books<br />
<br />
alive</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoqD2Rgk9OBLEgg_gIajFBvInibKk4_oZbfCzgAo7iY7dqk9b8HC_XVY5XYpP8U4b3xOmGGnOyaJJDrrj6tAxPxl8jhQDS0dZnjF6ZMNkKA4klWjun8ryUD_6seDizWYFbef3Zi4SFNv5/s1600/Rain2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842771941447938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjoqD2Rgk9OBLEgg_gIajFBvInibKk4_oZbfCzgAo7iY7dqk9b8HC_XVY5XYpP8U4b3xOmGGnOyaJJDrrj6tAxPxl8jhQDS0dZnjF6ZMNkKA4klWjun8ryUD_6seDizWYFbef3Zi4SFNv5/s400/Rain2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Rain</b><br />
<br />
Each new dawn has a promise and threat<br />
so I try to work out which and how<br />
as I lie in bed<br />
<br />
Before I test my sensitivity<br />
these tender nerves this shivering skin<br />
my body<br />
to the day<br />
<br />
As I lie in warmth and listen<br />
<br />
Across the lawn and down to the creek<br />
through the bush to the rocks<br />
to other parts of the house<br />
<br />
And out to sea<br />
<br />
To judge by the feel of it<br />
the taste and the smell of it<br />
what it will be<br />
<br />
There’s a quiet<br />
of withheld breath<br />
<br />
Then one drop<br />
another near the summit of the roof<br />
a pause<br />
then more<br />
solid and substantial scattered over<br />
bearing down<br />
a rush a roar<br />
and spouting thunders out<br />
an answer to my doubt and anxiety —<br />
<br />
a cloistered day it says<br />
of fed fire<br />
and things to do on paper</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6EXfkeRhV9BQRCA0QmVUUeAk7LhJPkSuVQKGCh1ZWwhCqTaAfvjBYawTGHBpY6ez18KtSEYSwGVCEPCaNpV2_tP9ePt6w5nZP9TiIXbrcwOUw93CGk_2pP133_8-cqJIVG91XUf7hncav/s1600/Rain3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842686620773714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6EXfkeRhV9BQRCA0QmVUUeAk7LhJPkSuVQKGCh1ZWwhCqTaAfvjBYawTGHBpY6ez18KtSEYSwGVCEPCaNpV2_tP9ePt6w5nZP9TiIXbrcwOUw93CGk_2pP133_8-cqJIVG91XUf7hncav/s400/Rain3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span><br />
Some dawns whisper in<br />
a suspicion at the edge of the mind<br />
<br />
I separate the sounds<br />
take out the creek the birds<br />
the night wind from the sea<br />
that sighs so heavily<br />
<br />
Then test the day’s weight<br />
from rustle on the roof<br />
<br />
There’s a soft presence seeping<br />
a damp unannounced and of unstated stay<br />
<br />
Days like these are days for memory —<br />
<br />
You’re already on my mind<br />
at this time of the year<br />
when you left<br />
<br />
there’s nothing else to think of<br />
nothing to distract<br />
on this day of fog and small rain<br />
drizzling in an anonymous world</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWrOYE6iWyeWxQmk_0u03Z3hbA3TH4cvIdn2Mu75mF92RLRtuBYMcRGgnzO9939WF0cdzE6TVJ2uvA7YEfJXSHNPv24EPsAqUABFrjdqwPbpgvA3TBf8PpoIapS1flFhQQJHMUzWDvbm7/s1600/Rain4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842604930703810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvWrOYE6iWyeWxQmk_0u03Z3hbA3TH4cvIdn2Mu75mF92RLRtuBYMcRGgnzO9939WF0cdzE6TVJ2uvA7YEfJXSHNPv24EPsAqUABFrjdqwPbpgvA3TBf8PpoIapS1flFhQQJHMUzWDvbm7/s400/Rain4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 281px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">3.</span><br />
Ice makes a ring on the roof<br />
that cuts through the accustomed sound<br />
or rain on the roof<br />
<br />
Small shock<br />
a knock at the door<br />
ring on the phone<br />
<br />
It tingles on the nerves and breaks the dream<br />
with consequence<br />
<br />
of cold<br />
the draughts and labour<br />
and is the chimney clean<br />
<br />
of squalls and probable thunder<br />
damage to the cabbages<br />
perspex parts of the roof<br />
the size of the stones<br />
<br />
I listen for the silence that comes with snow<br />
when the pattering stops<br />
and the roof is stroked with feathers<br />
it might snow<br />
<br />
in the sound<br />
of a breath breathed out slowly</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGP79YiA1oEK38rl-6g7ih6SAaP75UPn740KOWlG9-HXEGkyggzYI8tJ_Au2IsvySSPH5UZ8wDHmYR8l5OqZJOuGnDeV-QkCHPuVTiBE8jMPrc3ruVDJg5fwLWSJMA0fbxw0gj1vaUGZcI/s1600/Rain5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842507904847282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGP79YiA1oEK38rl-6g7ih6SAaP75UPn740KOWlG9-HXEGkyggzYI8tJ_Au2IsvySSPH5UZ8wDHmYR8l5OqZJOuGnDeV-QkCHPuVTiBE8jMPrc3ruVDJg5fwLWSJMA0fbxw0gj1vaUGZcI/s400/Rain5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">4.</span><br />
There may be silence<br />
a waiting silence<br />
that saps other sounds<br />
and wakes me<br />
<br />
The house flinches:<br />
<br />
A taughtening before a quake<br />
a still intruder muffled at the door<br />
<br />
There’s heaviness above —<br />
all breathing swept up in<br />
<br />
But there’s no signal<br />
nothing in advance<br />
of the torrent that crashes<br />
the oppression<br />
<br />
of the weight of it<br />
and the roar<br />
that I must wait out<br />
and cower before<br />
<br />
Lest it be winter<br />
that’s come upon me<br />
and the perpetual storm</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGvb3Q4tkPMvbcdDm6hyphenhyphenon5m9SpeFZx554P3dtS0CSpHSF7rbAk0QDqlH2kPTg7CGztUkWVivPq-7tpUea-TaTB2cQOR5XTqWdw-UMHz07JOZe065Jn6tJj2Er248ZX7rZNUMJYOEnXAp/s1600/Rain6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842436449495122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkGvb3Q4tkPMvbcdDm6hyphenhyphenon5m9SpeFZx554P3dtS0CSpHSF7rbAk0QDqlH2kPTg7CGztUkWVivPq-7tpUea-TaTB2cQOR5XTqWdw-UMHz07JOZe065Jn6tJj2Er248ZX7rZNUMJYOEnXAp/s400/Rain6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 285px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">5.</span><br />
At the foot of my bed<br />
there’s a window<br />
uncurtained<br />
<br />
So I can tell<br />
if the sky is clear<br />
— by the stars<br />
<br />
Which at first light fade<br />
until there is a time<br />
not day nor night<br />
when a cloud might grow<br />
undetected<br />
and with a shower<br />
damp the dawn<br />
<br />
I lie until more light predicts<br />
the cloud the wind the mass<br />
to show the day as settled<br />
or unrested<br />
forever changing nature<br />
or continuous</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fSmfzMQo2EBHsbaVX94p4TIJJLe7hxgX9ZRaE-19eYDMUft6uTHxerl2rkS1IlVRh2NIPdYwPk3D6kAPXCvdakCp0unzEO9Rf518nnNbv6u-tFEdEisW58rBoytx2BRgEF4zUS45AAd2/s1600/Rain7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842356260857650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6fSmfzMQo2EBHsbaVX94p4TIJJLe7hxgX9ZRaE-19eYDMUft6uTHxerl2rkS1IlVRh2NIPdYwPk3D6kAPXCvdakCp0unzEO9Rf518nnNbv6u-tFEdEisW58rBoytx2BRgEF4zUS45AAd2/s400/Rain7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">6.</span><br />
From the first tone of a voice<br />
the first sight at the door<br />
it’s so with this rain<br />
<br />
whose drops tell of inclination<br />
mood strength set of it<br />
and continuation<br />
<br />
the height of the cloud<br />
potential for time<br />
and degree<br />
<br />
In bed I analyse<br />
the sounds from above<br />
<br />
And over them the clouds<br />
stacked stratified and precipitating<br />
<br />
Whose influences manage<br />
this green world</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOo63sWl6lwkZOyCzhhkKWc5958mq3kh9t58c407VZPQhyphenhyphenJkLIGc3jxwopQVpL9DkEk19MPFCcpGy-e21CvvlgqZx68Mf3wulM-cO3UVGWTQx6hloujtN46Aqns9p8U1boGo84QYF8Dls/s1600/Rain8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842268595078626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtOo63sWl6lwkZOyCzhhkKWc5958mq3kh9t58c407VZPQhyphenhyphenJkLIGc3jxwopQVpL9DkEk19MPFCcpGy-e21CvvlgqZx68Mf3wulM-cO3UVGWTQx6hloujtN46Aqns9p8U1boGo84QYF8Dls/s400/Rain8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">7.</span><br />
I twist in my bed at insect sounds<br />
house settlement<br />
and sparks on the fire<br />
<br />
It hasn’t rained for weeks<br />
<br />
Soon it comes<br />
and by dawn<br />
will have done<br />
<br />
the creeks are down<br />
sandflies out<br />
and the fleas<br />
<br />
Our water-pipes are running low<br />
greens limp lawns brown<br />
fern fronds hang tattered<br />
<br />
There’s dust most unaccustomed dust<br />
in this place where there’s rain<br />
each week when the world’s right<br />
<br />
Soon there will be the comfortable sound<br />
impartial upon us like justice<br />
<br />
And we’ll sleep</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQpwF49PkIxz26JE9c2z3e5PW8ZiG1ZN5Aiz7K_a70l0PWpsgG_m5u-coP625KMzQyebupl6M2a3VULT337Sh8du4jPvwq9AeX0XxDHjTn4J-cLzppzlRTXygcmzqjnMyJi0NvokKETmj/s1600/Rain9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842190396238530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnQpwF49PkIxz26JE9c2z3e5PW8ZiG1ZN5Aiz7K_a70l0PWpsgG_m5u-coP625KMzQyebupl6M2a3VULT337Sh8du4jPvwq9AeX0XxDHjTn4J-cLzppzlRTXygcmzqjnMyJi0NvokKETmj/s400/Rain9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 283px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">8.</span><br />
Suddenly and all at once<br />
<br />
Not big —<br />
a rush on the roof<br />
then done<br />
for a time<br />
<br />
It’s dawn<br />
and the weather’s begun<br />
its cycle of attendance<br />
on us in our single houses<br />
with no duties<br />
who’s day is as free as the rain lets it be<br />
<br />
A white day from the north<br />
where the wind breaks the sky<br />
sends its rain out to sea<br />
and gives us no sun but a shower or two<br />
thick soft warm<br />
<br />
For a day or two<br />
when it will go to the west<br />
with thunder</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELmP6Xf7sWKs7xw496d-iPgWCeREZe9GRJOMlvqjJH7z-uXg1b0oQ-ZjOKdkqsBlk67sZnK_imW7JGDWcpf2hYTgPbJDqC780vJEpXbKS5H4uoGvy3LNCb_VVgjHRR3Z0hf5QjqSxkSo3/s1600/Rain10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842118366314418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjELmP6Xf7sWKs7xw496d-iPgWCeREZe9GRJOMlvqjJH7z-uXg1b0oQ-ZjOKdkqsBlk67sZnK_imW7JGDWcpf2hYTgPbJDqC780vJEpXbKS5H4uoGvy3LNCb_VVgjHRR3Z0hf5QjqSxkSo3/s400/Rain10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">9.</span><br />
I don’t know why I’ve woken then<br />
it sounds<br />
without a flash before<br />
which means<br />
the centre of the storm’s behind the rain<br />
the squall<br />
which means<br />
it has consequence<br />
<br />
I lie and listen<br />
to plot the course<br />
from where the thunder sounds<br />
to right or left<br />
to will it veer<br />
or move across<br />
<br />
Then should I turn the power off<br />
unplug the phone<br />
the stereo the microwave<br />
my desk<br />
<br />
Or take a risk<br />
and stay in bed<br />
and cover my head<br />
at the worst of it</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3NhkAaJTtqAi8kwSFHz7OLJFivCiVa3xgyxgVqTjLuYosjOse7PP2ZzihOEk2euMV3TigS4AgOVhsUEw044kwkf1fVDc8g6NLRt4s8DWbcJa9X3gFBfRWIq-s75laaPvCnIOqt8SGMhC/s1600/Rain11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842020705787730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgX3NhkAaJTtqAi8kwSFHz7OLJFivCiVa3xgyxgVqTjLuYosjOse7PP2ZzihOEk2euMV3TigS4AgOVhsUEw044kwkf1fVDc8g6NLRt4s8DWbcJa9X3gFBfRWIq-s75laaPvCnIOqt8SGMhC/s400/Rain11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">10.</span><br />
Some rain’s from the south<br />
over the hills to the east<br />
where there’s arid land<br />
<br />
in burnt-up scents<br />
of straw dust<br />
and a grey sea<br />
<br />
It bangs the wall<br />
by my bed<br />
<br />
rises to wind<br />
<br />
is then gone<br />
flattened in mud<br />
and dissolved<br />
<br />
Everything still standing<br />
will lean to the north<br />
<br />
The sun will shine<br />
on clean hills<br />
<br />
And on us as we stand<br />
to warm at the door</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjiCqe9Y9iIaKLBkAi6pPr7yzryucJgCGQjYQdyQHn84wq4uJbElvybwMjfreCYiPgqTSmr__T_wbqJ6Y6sTA63HW1MLGBH0OrkYyu7DFV6ZiOJ5WWVBxurmhMHY0jHo_h5iq3cPjifkl/s1600/Rain12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841941227689858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWjiCqe9Y9iIaKLBkAi6pPr7yzryucJgCGQjYQdyQHn84wq4uJbElvybwMjfreCYiPgqTSmr__T_wbqJ6Y6sTA63HW1MLGBH0OrkYyu7DFV6ZiOJ5WWVBxurmhMHY0jHo_h5iq3cPjifkl/s400/Rain12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>11.<br />Fog</b><br />
<br />
Birds won’t sing<br />
no-one’s out walking<br />
for fear there’s no air<br />
<br />
It’s thick as a lake<br />
with algae<br />
water-weed suspended<br />
in drizzle drops<br />
white as light<br />
impenetrable<br />
<br />
A steaming soundless broth and brew<br />
a factory of rain<br />
<br />
made here<br />
to send abroad</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibq8V1adlZGR_JyG_PHeACp4ro17TajSNUaIOBHF77ho3q7c2Ni7DLeYulPrbYCC8O-8DKphBefpTlMVMstk8gPIhtsWcLeeO7q_d_ypE92miIOXdBDP8Tz-5AWSn66nUuomy09HtRFapU/s1600/Rain13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591841870891695410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibq8V1adlZGR_JyG_PHeACp4ro17TajSNUaIOBHF77ho3q7c2Ni7DLeYulPrbYCC8O-8DKphBefpTlMVMstk8gPIhtsWcLeeO7q_d_ypE92miIOXdBDP8Tz-5AWSn66nUuomy09HtRFapU/s400/Rain13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">12.</span><br />
Wind<br />
from an evaporated land<br />
<br />
It sucks up the sourness<br />
of oozing places<br />
bleeds bloated leaves<br />
<br />
Eases surfeit at the roots<br />
dries shoes and sheets<br />
decay<br />
<br />
It ushers in a crisp regime<br />
authoritative<br />
<br />
Lines wetlands<br />
<br />
Makes this again a habitable town<br />
of credit and dry blankets<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;"><i>11 . 1 . 02</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJWXsntlVvbeqdAYPm7vN0ybwmdplZw7EBEyM_-PuXYmBXFpqjfRsFLbq6ucdkkIA0P4XKaE_pV3HVwi1Tfwn3N9WeJc5UZABxOwE928an4Lknpev9HpYH9xy4JZSytEpm6WRIYBAeE4k/s1600/Death1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843756518048722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifJWXsntlVvbeqdAYPm7vN0ybwmdplZw7EBEyM_-PuXYmBXFpqjfRsFLbq6ucdkkIA0P4XKaE_pV3HVwi1Tfwn3N9WeJc5UZABxOwE928an4Lknpev9HpYH9xy4JZSytEpm6WRIYBAeE4k/s400/Death1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />DEATH<br /><br />OF A<br /><br />LANDSCAPE</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyW2KNZ93qLhOXtON6CtvnL98pEVss7J1usNJ4dqvMdNzFXDnwr98aW2EceuENPvEWOqhmI-JX91PDxYt8yCNo_okhyphenhyphenFGKknLkrRvIR3shaRac7iYFZ6RSKHTQdvXV7mz2vJhdiifeU_7R/s1600/Death3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843592386654050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyW2KNZ93qLhOXtON6CtvnL98pEVss7J1usNJ4dqvMdNzFXDnwr98aW2EceuENPvEWOqhmI-JX91PDxYt8yCNo_okhyphenhyphenFGKknLkrRvIR3shaRac7iYFZ6RSKHTQdvXV7mz2vJhdiifeU_7R/s400/Death3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 288px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
What can we say?<br />
<br />
There are no words for this,<br />
none that tell the story.<br />
<br />
These are what they use:<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">the receiving landscape</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">the outcome for the area</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">the best landscape fit</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">the final landform —</span></i><br />
geo-speak,<br />
to make death no matter.<br />
<br />
Stammer, if we must, for<br />
crime against a landscape<br />
has no sentence of detention<br />
nor definition;<br />
the victim leaves no testament.<br />
The offence is titled progress<br />
and the offender praised.<br />
There’s no support for mourners,<br />
no monument nor relic,<br />
only grief for the displaced,<br />
a grave in the air,<br />
with the scent of the vanished —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">fern, and</span><br />
beech, moss, &<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">tussock,</span><br />
bog-pine cedar, and<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the birds.</span><br />
They replace it with the alien;<br />
<i>almost as good</i>, they say.<br />
<br />
When a partner dies<br />
And you take another —<br />
no replacement<br />
but another —<br />
you never forget.<br />
<br />
It’s the gap that’s left,<br />
they say,<br />
and it’s in all the books that it’s true,<br />
but it’s more than that:<br />
it’s the idea and the ideal<br />
that over a life<br />
has made its own form.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSfasecBUT-MgXluPpH3gC9s8EYcnLS70b6rb2y8rQwtQh4ETnGcNAAeQm8edWbUYVBuYiUFPaUdj-DuruwpatvYpEjEnmmVZQzLpke1CQSCg1F2uvQRARGZwsnkAtUVSXECZHjgD3pU_/s1600/Death4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843503038283778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJSfasecBUT-MgXluPpH3gC9s8EYcnLS70b6rb2y8rQwtQh4ETnGcNAAeQm8edWbUYVBuYiUFPaUdj-DuruwpatvYpEjEnmmVZQzLpke1CQSCg1F2uvQRARGZwsnkAtUVSXECZHjgD3pU_/s400/Death4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 298px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
So,<br />
though it might be<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘a receiving form’</span><br />
and though<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘the final form’</span><br />
has been designed,<br />
all else will be inferior<br />
and this that you have will stay<br />
— a ghost<br />
of what was never made<br />
but what was meant to be.<br />
<br />
They told me of the pain.<br />
There’s no hope, they said,<br />
and you’ll find it hard.<br />
Be supportive,<br />
do the best you can,<br />
involve the family<br />
and turn to your friends.<br />
<br />
But it was more than pain.<br />
<br />
So much love,<br />
Polished practised honed,<br />
lost dead buried,<br />
then blown like pollen<br />
from trees in the wind.<br />
<br />
The pain is with violence<br />
and you wonder at the necessity —<br />
can’t the soul be gone in peace<br />
as some do by injection?<br />
Must there be this wrack rape and scouring?<br />
Spread about,<br />
brought back again?<br />
Need this be,<br />
or is it that<br />
in some obscure profundity<br />
it’s writ inevitable,<br />
that if this agony doesn’t occur,<br />
in another antipodes<br />
there will be more?<br />
<br />
You can understand the death of the bad,<br />
but why the beautiful?<br />
<br />
There’s all the lamentation,<br />
for beauty<br />
like truth<br />
is hard to replace,<br />
especially when with life and grace.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilY79Zx8ehXQabWP2gdChpt3YAI7yQtJQxtGzmjk-5V_uh2YhegSVHD9_XnFr6ukzqb0yT8wy1AWyftAFEQ5Wv15RmmbXeWC2zHVjaRR4WM33oTDjnisEXLpEDWDkFZ1HHCse_e2PByP0m/s1600/Death5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843423724420658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilY79Zx8ehXQabWP2gdChpt3YAI7yQtJQxtGzmjk-5V_uh2YhegSVHD9_XnFr6ukzqb0yT8wy1AWyftAFEQ5Wv15RmmbXeWC2zHVjaRR4WM33oTDjnisEXLpEDWDkFZ1HHCse_e2PByP0m/s400/Death5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
We argue,<br />
hold meetings,<br />
write letters to the minister,<br />
but every time we do<br />
there’s an answer,<br />
not of fact or consolation<br />
nor even a promise,<br />
but of obstacle,<br />
some sort of it-has-to-be.<br />
<br />
It’s best, they say,<br />
To be resigned until the final surrender,<br />
else too many people will lose their jobs,<br />
shops will close,<br />
amenities go,<br />
schools downsize,<br />
and families in China go short,<br />
<br />
which makes us feel bad,<br />
as if looking for the truth<br />
is a betrayal of ideals,<br />
or of the people,<br />
which is the same really,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">they say.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(Drink this</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the black water</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">that runs in the creek</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">it’s good for you)</span><br />
<br />
This landscape must go<br />
to make room for another, which<br />
must have its day<br />
to justify the effort, then<br />
<br />
in very due course<br />
the flowers will come back,<br />
the grasses the trees<br />
the kiwi and<br />
the other birds too,<br />
<br />
unless,<br />
when times get tough,<br />
they decide to dig it up again<br />
for what they missed.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(Love the machines</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">with blades and buckets</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">as big as the mouth of a mine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and the explosives)</span><br />
<br />
Destruction on this scale<br />
Is quite new;<br />
we haven’t done it much,<br />
it grows on you.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkW9buZMPTw_bOLJaQcXW1YtPYxqTi7lao5kHxDNQVD6w6C6DpBrZJr0PRVyK8sdmHhoVwsALtWFvGYqTxTR8VE62eO2nD4XYKqteWA_Nr5EUpL6IZ76tuMf2FZYbpbapuMCicwcpxXVgi/s1600/Death6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843332096920066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkW9buZMPTw_bOLJaQcXW1YtPYxqTi7lao5kHxDNQVD6w6C6DpBrZJr0PRVyK8sdmHhoVwsALtWFvGYqTxTR8VE62eO2nD4XYKqteWA_Nr5EUpL6IZ76tuMf2FZYbpbapuMCicwcpxXVgi/s400/Death6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 321px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Like Dresden, where<br />
we put it back again,<br />
we<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>‘recreate the landscape components’</i></span><br />
( the granite under<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">the Kaiata above)</span><br />
unsure lest some part be missed<br />
of this manufactured rising.<br />
<br />
The outline’s right.<br />
Mounds are in the right place,<br />
and hollows too.<br />
Water’s where it ought,<br />
but it’s been put,<br />
not born, and has no memory.<br />
<br />
What has it to tell?<br />
What did Lazarus talk about?<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">Being dead?</span><br />
What would I say<br />
If you came back?<br />
You would be a model<br />
with components made to fit.<br />
Where would you have been —<br />
in Beulah or the Pit?<br />
<br />
Would you talk sleep and eat,<br />
or lie there laminate?<br />
<br />
Would another use your grave?<br />
<br />
Best leave things as they are<br />
and wait for the finale<br />
when all griefs are healed.<br />
<br />
There are so many —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">deaths</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">leavings, hurts</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">mistakes, losses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">cruel deeds</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">and overlookings.</span><br />
<br />
Perhaps that’s what this crater’s for —<br />
not coal,<br />
but all the mistakes<br />
of the world.<br />
It's best left to time.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLKsQgHceZWBNu-UfVWlaFTjnB0dTR6hX6X5jSDYqyAqfabXdGvfPGCBXjHg2wEsbK4GFRYOkk0Vem1TnDV-F64-QO-h947MkdKsVufLEJFBDjygFZq29N6wjR77OE6aigxILRk_RFmq4/s1600/Death7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843220345817986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuLKsQgHceZWBNu-UfVWlaFTjnB0dTR6hX6X5jSDYqyAqfabXdGvfPGCBXjHg2wEsbK4GFRYOkk0Vem1TnDV-F64-QO-h947MkdKsVufLEJFBDjygFZq29N6wjR77OE6aigxILRk_RFmq4/s400/Death7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Nature makes mistakes,<br />
as in making us<br />
who make ruin,<br />
permitting by such terms as<br />
‘the outcome for the area’<br />
‘managing landscape effects’,<br />
as if we’ve beaten up and robbed<br />
an innocent at night,<br />
then undercover talk of what to do:<br />
of the effects of the crime,<br />
how to disguise it,<br />
make it the norm, or<br />
as if it’s not been.<br />
<br />
You can talk something down,<br />
you can talk it up,<br />
but there’s still its meaning:<br />
<i>‘the outcome for the area’</i> is —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">it being replaced;</span><br />
<i>‘managing landscape effects’</i> is —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">concealing the loss;</span><br />
<i>‘the final landscape form’</i> is —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">desolation.</span><br />
<br />
As if they’re Destiny,<br />
all Power and Authority,<br />
as if they have eternal title,<br />
made the land,<br />
are still making.<br />
As if destruction is creation,<br />
their digging and taking<br />
part of the making.<br />
<br />
It’s to quieten talk<br />
and stop you asking,<br />
as when we tame Catastrophe<br />
we talk of ‘the deceased’<br />
and ‘passing on’,<br />
the terminally ill’,<br />
but not of dying.<br />
‘While there’s life there’s hope’<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">we say</span><br />
and search for alternative cures<br />
while we know.<br />
<br />
Or,<br />
when in life and health<br />
I claim another<br />
to be one with me,<br />
but I own,<br />
don’t think to share,<br />
and take more than give,<br />
don’t tend or treasure —</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzndPn8nwdWIgAdT2ToTGJbw9kN-sYxoblHWRS9UrgINvm_7VYs0ePWOLvY4PQ7kBRaP52ps3ZnddvRODs9lgSBa9XAgakPPrdW7WoizMQVGNNe8M1MiFNB0qyPjMq4fnsmmSY8gbAzKvL/s1600/Death8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843139323191522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzndPn8nwdWIgAdT2ToTGJbw9kN-sYxoblHWRS9UrgINvm_7VYs0ePWOLvY4PQ7kBRaP52ps3ZnddvRODs9lgSBa9XAgakPPrdW7WoizMQVGNNe8M1MiFNB0qyPjMq4fnsmmSY8gbAzKvL/s400/Death8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
and then you die —<br />
I’m left with loss<br />
that’s ill-informed,<br />
stark bare and desert.<br />
<br />
So much loss …<br />
of the not ever-known,<br />
of love,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">final and unformed.</span><br />
Deep down it lives,<br />
a sunken wreck<br />
disturbed by storm<br />
to send up a memorial;<br />
a kraken lying,<br />
sensing time;<br />
a shade,<br />
asleep at the door;<br />
a continent drowned by the sea,<br />
relaid, remade,<br />
then raised again<br />
to episodes of life.<br />
<br />
You can’t be sure.<br />
Anything past is prone to resurrection,<br />
however still and deep it lies,<br />
to be moulded again of earth and clay<br />
conjured of dust, unburiable.<br />
<br />
Death is an illusion,<br />
a promise falsely made.<br />
You live on still, incalculably,<br />
ripple after ripple made by memory,<br />
all you did and didn’t do affecting.<br />
<br />
And the fears?<br />
The cancer goes on,<br />
a sore here,<br />
a tumulus there<br />
overburdens<br />
<br />
Words may calm anxiety,<br />
disguise malignant threat,<br />
but they may not change.<br />
For the perfect and unspoilt<br />
we must wait to the end<br />
<i>‘the final landscape form’</i><br />
Let silence be our eloquence,<br />
on every tongue.<br />
<br />
It will be easier then to forgive.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;"><i>Leicester Kyle</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">24-2-04</span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ViqsGjWZJ1JmXDMnheFM8gs-KWVGDnwOPVc1AjFZGV95rcE8pZrrWO6F18-5gzvUQC3yJkUubfVYyIT_8A0imYQSJxWmQswszRoN1UOA4EI0t14BL-R1czdkQUz6_FCn0W1GK-t4dWPU/s1600/Death9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843054831592098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9ViqsGjWZJ1JmXDMnheFM8gs-KWVGDnwOPVc1AjFZGV95rcE8pZrrWO6F18-5gzvUQC3yJkUubfVYyIT_8A0imYQSJxWmQswszRoN1UOA4EI0t14BL-R1czdkQUz6_FCn0W1GK-t4dWPU/s400/Death9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 273px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">AUBADE</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Your beauty’s a wildflower<br />
in my mind<br />
<br />
Your memory a box of delights<br />
<br />
Cool winds blow<br />
where you once walked<br />
<br />
The air is clear,<br />
the sun still climbs to life<br />
<br />
But you have died<br />
your presence gone<br />
<br />
I grieve for you<br />
and weep at my neglect<br />
<br />
Guilt<br />
at chance avoided<br />
lies<br />
<br />
an acid in the gut<br />
corroding</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmsI_6mDU3PwtC8C7NsxXMoSHyjK-GeuIGswvhPjtZDt3DPKi1A44VJ9U0kOr5rUs7_zCdY5fIQxVQj3EKfX_ntCwMqDELAjaIekwX88drhPBHFt2nLUpKsm-aItlt63czECmgQtih9N9/s1600/Death2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843681389659026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirmsI_6mDU3PwtC8C7NsxXMoSHyjK-GeuIGswvhPjtZDt3DPKi1A44VJ9U0kOr5rUs7_zCdY5fIQxVQj3EKfX_ntCwMqDELAjaIekwX88drhPBHFt2nLUpKsm-aItlt63czECmgQtih9N9/s400/Death2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 296px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>An Aside:</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">Advice to the Rehabilitator</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>(conditions permitting—money, staff, skills, the weather)</i><br />
<br />
Be inclined<br />
<br />
Put the granite on the bottom<br />
sandstones above<br />
on the top Kaiata<br />
<br />
and get the drainage right<br />
with nothing left dry —<br />
north to the Patrick<br />
south to the Waimang<br />
with no acid<br />
<br />
Then the plants in their groupings —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">eleven</span><br />
Don’t miss a thing—<br />
it might be a key<br />
and they all fall down<br />
<br />
There’s the little plantain<br />
and C. parva (?)<br />
Put them in their places<br />
and keep to their kinds —<br />
<ol>
<li>Rata, kamahi, and mixed beech forest<br /> <i>Nothofagus solandri var. cliffortioides<br /> Halocarpus biformis</i></li>
<li>Mountain beech and podocarp forest<br /> <i>Eleocarpus hookerianus & Gahnia procera</i></li>
<li>Mountain beech and podocarp scrub<br /> <i>Halocarpus bidwillii and Pseudopanax linearis</i></li>
<li>Manuka, wire rush, tangle fern and red tussock<br /> <i>Empodisma minus, Gleichenia dicarpa</i></li>
<li>Manuka shrubland and scrub<br /> <i>Leptospermum scoparium & Phormium cookianum</i></li>
<li>Manuka tussock shrubland<br /> <i>Chionochloa rubra & Dracophyllum palustre</i></li>
<li>Sandstone pavement vegetation<br /> <i>scattered shrub, rush, tussock, and herbfield</i></li>
<li>Disturbed or bare ground<br /> <i>(vegetation almost absent)</i></li>
<li>Red Tussock Grassland<br /> <i>Lepidothamnus laxifolius & Myrsine divaricata</i></li>
<li>Red Tussock and Mountain Flax grassland.<br /> <i>Epacris pauciflora, Lycopodium fastigiatum</i></li>
<li>Tussock herbfield<br /> <i>Oreobolus pectinatus & Carpha alpina</i></li>
</ol>
You know the plan —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0nce the plants are back</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the birds’ll come,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the gecko too and the snail</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">then those things that haven’t been discovered</span><br />
Give them a place in the sun<br />
if you will<br />
so we might know them</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxp24YRmnRvskRHP8gEly2vNWJT46o0AijD4tnCgyuq9ZNcxFZNH1hepN-56hoYwZkRJMcTstBYCnpr-DNRebUeGXG_FO2o_hJsA59uNkYqrBbX1P-7tQ3hXLmfQ2ldjGwoorawpnTbkWE/s1600/Death10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591842968441007026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxp24YRmnRvskRHP8gEly2vNWJT46o0AijD4tnCgyuq9ZNcxFZNH1hepN-56hoYwZkRJMcTstBYCnpr-DNRebUeGXG_FO2o_hJsA59uNkYqrBbX1P-7tQ3hXLmfQ2ldjGwoorawpnTbkWE/s400/Death10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 310px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
© L. H. Kyle, Feb. 2004.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Millerton, Buller, N.Z.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Further copies may be obtained</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">at: P.O. Box 367, Westport, N.Z.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Published by Heteropholis Press</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">for MAPPS</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXhf1BtkaagSfM2Dpci5qYAelqfhl8kFI2kBx0zcAaYAlbC2W-ZJkUg7hG6648JXuJZXmk29C__Y5h5ukc-mut-N2PrhQkNZCP-hHY7vtyi5tzPy-esoUwuwpnvJJnWEkFbZ25kpriEM6/s1600/Catheter1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844793702303522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQXhf1BtkaagSfM2Dpci5qYAelqfhl8kFI2kBx0zcAaYAlbC2W-ZJkUg7hG6648JXuJZXmk29C__Y5h5ukc-mut-N2PrhQkNZCP-hHY7vtyi5tzPy-esoUwuwpnvJJnWEkFbZ25kpriEM6/s400/Catheter1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />THE CATHETER CLUB</span></b></div>
<b><br /><span style="padding-left: 22em;">Leicester Kyle</span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggF9fN5RHFTZld76HquYGWsoLt5EEbXFYLtpxYosrzW25GuZlMAEkMKpEXzto3oTFr2YfE3Q6o5sbh7FlEQZLSfxaKECFleapz0NRqQ9658j6uN20NTzdrcxL1zpjW94NrGHTDM2rr3xzt/s1600/Catheter2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844730367736962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggF9fN5RHFTZld76HquYGWsoLt5EEbXFYLtpxYosrzW25GuZlMAEkMKpEXzto3oTFr2YfE3Q6o5sbh7FlEQZLSfxaKECFleapz0NRqQ9658j6uN20NTzdrcxL1zpjW94NrGHTDM2rr3xzt/s400/Catheter2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">1.</span><br />
They ring me<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">now they know</span><br />
What’s your count<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">they ask</span><br />
Don’s was 42<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and he’s right as rain</span><br />
but I don’t tell them<br />
mine’s not that —<br />
<br />
it’s a move to self-sufficiency<br />
that my water be recycled<br />
<br />
by an unlikely means<br />
by some perpetual prosthesis<br />
I will be made entire<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and not eat</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">nor drink</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">again</span><br />
I will be made imperishable<br />
by tubes and plugs<br />
and be more the man<br />
with these bags about my loins<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">(concealed)</span><br />
rallying my peers<br />
<i><br />(in such<br />I hide<br />the indignity)</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNxqzapAN6o498qfDAWTmS8w5Z1XtJJDRdjGVCl_LUHp2hyphenhyphenit8aT6zxE_OgrRcP-JDdHWfe_pWbIG601n2lIFAA9cLda3Q0sKROfSG-S6Kmrg9har6TzcofN5IyhacLqRuZy1FXM3WBs0y/s1600/Catheter3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844657383817794" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNxqzapAN6o498qfDAWTmS8w5Z1XtJJDRdjGVCl_LUHp2hyphenhyphenit8aT6zxE_OgrRcP-JDdHWfe_pWbIG601n2lIFAA9cLda3Q0sKROfSG-S6Kmrg9har6TzcofN5IyhacLqRuZy1FXM3WBs0y/s400/Catheter3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span><br />
It takes you in various ways<br />
<br />
Ken lost it<br />
at the restaurant<br />
and left undercover<br />
<br />
Alan<br />
while giving a speech<br />
<br />
I got mine<br />
while driving through the Pass<br />
<br />
Don<br />
at home<br />
<br />
There’s not much pain<br />
but you’re unmanned<br />
and put in a fussy world<br />
<br />
You hesitate at effort<br />
<br />
It isn’t safe in bed<br />
<br />
People wonder<br />
what you’re doing<br />
adjusting at your leg<br />
<br />
You wonder if you look<br />
the same<br />
<br />
and you can’t drink anything<br />
that looks like piss</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNt8e9MWlZyEIzGLMju3nuFQLF2ZHxQBToP8ztiPPEVxgfu4p0gMTD4xwYvc6dcf3eei5Pmi6LG0pzOVWLo4mM2nBlxp4HhimPn26exg56UtNGLV-MEU9UGLVbNM7UoKBHIBXLdiR-FBn/s1600/Catheter4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844588788867938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjNt8e9MWlZyEIzGLMju3nuFQLF2ZHxQBToP8ztiPPEVxgfu4p0gMTD4xwYvc6dcf3eei5Pmi6LG0pzOVWLo4mM2nBlxp4HhimPn26exg56UtNGLV-MEU9UGLVbNM7UoKBHIBXLdiR-FBn/s400/Catheter4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">3.</span><br />
The bags can be got<br />
at Outpatients<br />
from the district nurse<br />
<br />
There’s the night bag<br />
with the longer tube<br />
so it can rest by the bed<br />
<br />
and the day bag<br />
that you fix to your leg<br />
to each one alternately<br />
<br />
They come<br />
in sizes<br />
with plugs and taps<br />
<br />
the smaller ones<br />
fill too soon<br />
and make it tough in town<br />
<br />
the big ones drag<br />
<br />
You fit them<br />
on the inner calf<br />
or beside the knee<br />
<br />
secure<br />
but not too tight<br />
<br />
on the whole it works<br />
<br />
you can be comfortable</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXTlUN3FNuJFJsvoEN6RV-uaZT4ONhq5d3WYFvxMXJpu3NsqsNEaX4tpfjWG2d6soL6AywIv7QteJY6q3vux9TlYUFHJ7dhN1ZzjSapfErE-gC2_YjFNgPMWBAUL0Xvd7ByEs9BKcj4iI/s1600/Catheter5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844522011126018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvXTlUN3FNuJFJsvoEN6RV-uaZT4ONhq5d3WYFvxMXJpu3NsqsNEaX4tpfjWG2d6soL6AywIv7QteJY6q3vux9TlYUFHJ7dhN1ZzjSapfErE-gC2_YjFNgPMWBAUL0Xvd7ByEs9BKcj4iI/s400/Catheter5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">4.</span><br />
It could have been good<br />
in armoured times<br />
<br />
invaluable<br />
in a space suit<br />
<br />
but for us<br />
disguise is limited<br />
and we daren’t go thoughtless<br />
<br />
It’s best to be strategic<br />
to plot in advance<br />
to map the town<br />
and note the conveniences<br />
<br />
in case of the bag<br />
and for privacy<br />
<br />
Capacity’s limited<br />
an accident’s disaster<br />
or a puncture<br />
<br />
you can’t go round town<br />
with one wet foot<br />
<br />
nor a stain</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvoHj0ZzwZ_4MOqr2t-d060h4UDO2l1CecixOYx4_5zhGt6-6rQ6DhvJuIsHH3CqMzpKZhUbRz3qHygJ7Z82kOKlgighE1FScb6Nj36QTq6WRzsCVGCs5KfLnyjHwyUpXdI3PRprMy4B-/s1600/Catheter6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844455807998146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguvoHj0ZzwZ_4MOqr2t-d060h4UDO2l1CecixOYx4_5zhGt6-6rQ6DhvJuIsHH3CqMzpKZhUbRz3qHygJ7Z82kOKlgighE1FScb6Nj36QTq6WRzsCVGCs5KfLnyjHwyUpXdI3PRprMy4B-/s400/Catheter6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">5.</span><br />
I said to Ken<br />
when he got his<br />
and asked:<br />
<br />
At night<br />
it’s best<br />
to put it on a table<br />
by the bed<br />
<br />
or in a bucket<br />
beside<br />
<br />
I turn a stool upside down<br />
and fit a bucket in the legs<br />
<br />
It’s the height you need<br />
so the bag doesn’t tug<br />
when it’s full<br />
<br />
I’m discreet<br />
with the contraption<br />
and wear a dressing gown<br />
if I get up<br />
<br />
but now and then<br />
when I’m asleep<br />
the dog lies on<br />
and blocks it</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv21WbnIWvnuEWj8UWF3jBLz-6iVY978OCYx9Ffedo6xlGecBFBe5jF5gDsNKmt2Tzo0TKOfep_xoncBFSOAmksVZ_WRhKJdXVdUo9C8Mgi_hAg4uLVtkGasavm_Y5Ci2NLkxjyzAX_kSw/s1600/Catheter7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844376350451810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjv21WbnIWvnuEWj8UWF3jBLz-6iVY978OCYx9Ffedo6xlGecBFBe5jF5gDsNKmt2Tzo0TKOfep_xoncBFSOAmksVZ_WRhKJdXVdUo9C8Mgi_hAg4uLVtkGasavm_Y5Ci2NLkxjyzAX_kSw/s400/Catheter7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">6.</span><br />
When the doctor tells you<br />
that you’re prostate<br />
the first thought you have<br />
is of its cause<br />
the next is for your woman —<br />
your husbandry<br />
<br />
ours have stood<br />
in sympathy<br />
but Alan rang the other night<br />
and said that Don’s had gone<br />
<br />
You can’t wonder<br />
<br />
Her man has other attachments now<br />
prosthetic<br />
with visible fluids<br />
<br />
should he be physical<br />
he might pop a plug<br />
<br />
and after the op<br />
he might leak<br />
or be limp<br />
<br />
he’s emptiness to think of now<br />
as well as overflow</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRsa0hkJCpjqfQx4uSuBBaHGbAvWtcPAc0GDmWFkc6EwVVJB0lKAm9aP8TuLHiAIb0yDWzDzWZtdcW8m_BgI7cHt9cut6-HgFwrUFpj0k8I3L7v9iOya8wBNIO7ljFbChpZS-d8LY4yeZ/s1600/Catheter8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844294947116242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpRsa0hkJCpjqfQx4uSuBBaHGbAvWtcPAc0GDmWFkc6EwVVJB0lKAm9aP8TuLHiAIb0yDWzDzWZtdcW8m_BgI7cHt9cut6-HgFwrUFpj0k8I3L7v9iOya8wBNIO7ljFbChpZS-d8LY4yeZ/s400/Catheter8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 281px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">7.</span><br />
It oughtn’t to be<br />
that doctors have wit<br />
and take the piss<br />
<br />
He’s given me Hytrin BPH<br />
(terazosin hydrochloride)<br />
one a day for a month<br />
in dated foil<br />
to relax the bladder<br />
<br />
There are adverse effects<br />
(they’re advised on the box)<br />
such as syncope<br />
and priapism<br />
<br />
The first is rare<br />
the last is rarer<br />
but I ask you<br />
how could he let a prostate<br />
be priapic?<br />
a man with a frontal catheter?<br />
<br />
Imagine it —<br />
to tease<br />
and entirely deny —<br />
and this<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">with the other miseries</span><br />
The slightest chance<br />
of such a scourge<br />
should be enough to ban the drug<br />
and deregister the medic<br />
<br />
Alan Ken and Don agree</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDFEij6Yn9z0pWCyKixdxRxovVz4tLQ37GzyCK1-rlVi_RCeCmsRy9q14iydsymjN0_vaTl-huWSzhXRIQc1ychuJhmFd3yolTudbaYzWJAlTGesCZTWkkV1MXLtrj0Fr1ZJqXsEWUnns/s1600/Catheter9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844217622154162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEDFEij6Yn9z0pWCyKixdxRxovVz4tLQ37GzyCK1-rlVi_RCeCmsRy9q14iydsymjN0_vaTl-huWSzhXRIQc1ychuJhmFd3yolTudbaYzWJAlTGesCZTWkkV1MXLtrj0Fr1ZJqXsEWUnns/s400/Catheter9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">8.</span><br />
Alan is angry —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">You start in life like a hot-air balloon</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">glowing and inflated;</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and you end like a fucking condom</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">he says</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">there must be more than this</span><br />
By nature he’s philosophical<br />
but the bag on his leg<br />
and the tube in his dick<br />
is getting him down<br />
<br />
Yesterday it leaked<br />
and wet him<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">It’s the long slide down</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">It’s wretchedness now</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Whatever we see</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">is lit by a setting sun</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">he said</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">when he rang</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">The grass does wither</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the flowers do fade</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">but there are some things</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">that last forever</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">I say</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">to comfort</span><br />
and he grunts<br />
<br />
Patience<br />
with a catheter<br />
is only the beginning</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0OxYVdKEoaRRQwqAy-UGOm0YJpG6NiKKLv4VaUeptdkSQPTBOYzQMpiwqQtvd1Jtk9Vu4z8ZDPpo4j050hzLzqubOSYxABwbSZaEbVdFg_XE_Us_2Xf73_2Mw5XeuTIMbBd-yvCjsUej/s1600/Catheter10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844142342492882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhT0OxYVdKEoaRRQwqAy-UGOm0YJpG6NiKKLv4VaUeptdkSQPTBOYzQMpiwqQtvd1Jtk9Vu4z8ZDPpo4j050hzLzqubOSYxABwbSZaEbVdFg_XE_Us_2Xf73_2Mw5XeuTIMbBd-yvCjsUej/s400/Catheter10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">9.</span><br />
Don is to have his op. next week<br />
and he sees things<br />
in a cancerous light.<br />
<br />
You have to face the facts<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">he says</span><br />
nothing else could cause it<br />
they’re going to take my testicles<br />
<br />
You’re better off without them<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">I say</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">to comfort</span><br />
There’s nothing else to do<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">he moans</span><br />
To him a bladder<br />
is like a balloon<br />
a urinary tract a drain<br />
which gathers dirt with age<br />
<br />
The effects are plain<br />
and naturally negative<br />
<br />
It’s wise<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">he thinks</span><br />
to be down at heart<br />
Good health’s an unexpected gift<br />
a bonus<br />
from an unsolicited god<br />
and not presumed<br />
<br />
Always be surprised at it</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgckOC4qDl8ksGzvCDeLILsO6ITt1_tjt3HYCuFH9JQRbWkLJeTM8Cgx0Z9p0xeQocExzfgANNqJZ2QXHZwxIFAKhKvknplsQ-t9Egm2Zd3RmvlfCWiLjQi1JVKhZViN5hE7kCJ_-vb6E/s1600/Catheter11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591844050371430098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGgckOC4qDl8ksGzvCDeLILsO6ITt1_tjt3HYCuFH9JQRbWkLJeTM8Cgx0Z9p0xeQocExzfgANNqJZ2QXHZwxIFAKhKvknplsQ-t9Egm2Zd3RmvlfCWiLjQi1JVKhZViN5hE7kCJ_-vb6E/s400/Catheter11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">10.</span><br />
We’re being sorted out<br />
each of us<br />
<br />
Don will be right as rain<br />
they tell him<br />
<br />
Alan’s had his operation<br />
and is impotent<br />
<br />
Ken is likely to leak a bit<br />
and I have mine tomorrow<br />
<br />
I drive down<br />
at 9.0<br />
and stay one night —<br />
<br />
depending on the damage inside<br />
<br />
I want to be potent<br />
and dry<br />
<br />
We are terrified<br />
saddened and grieved<br />
sad that our bodies<br />
our poor beautiful bodies<br />
might now die<br />
we like our bodies<br />
<br />
We’re used to them<br />
<br />
Age and death —<br />
in the face of these<br />
I should be tired<br />
<br />
but I’m like the conductor<br />
(whose name I forget)<br />
who found one life<br />
not enough<br />
<br />
so I would like to be restored<br />
to my home and my dog<br />
and make that music<br />
for which I only have the key</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOr4aon8qrwh3ZbO309SKpD75LFNnA8Oq-2WNg4hnbeh_8IBQq-_Y3N9_njwo7IA4pBk3WEnJPMdjJZsyDzPvVZJiursI_aQyqjoRiKEWp0y-NND9h9A2_bQ9vYDa86XkAyoEJSdBrItbo/s1600/Catheter12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843973616368162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOr4aon8qrwh3ZbO309SKpD75LFNnA8Oq-2WNg4hnbeh_8IBQq-_Y3N9_njwo7IA4pBk3WEnJPMdjJZsyDzPvVZJiursI_aQyqjoRiKEWp0y-NND9h9A2_bQ9vYDa86XkAyoEJSdBrItbo/s400/Catheter12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 284px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">11.</span><br />
They stood at the foot of the bed<br />
and grinned<br />
<br />
You’re going to start<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">I said</span><br />
It’s done<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">they replied</span><br />
you’re fixed<br />
you’re well<br />
all that’s left is blood and bile<br />
The trouble was sliced<br />
while you slept<br />
<br />
It’s gone —<br />
no pipes and plugs<br />
no bag by the bed<br />
<br />
They’re smart —<br />
by the time you wake<br />
they’ve worked on past<br />
found and fixed<br />
and changed the rules that govern you<br />
<br />
While you’re out<br />
whole lives of pain<br />
are dispossessed of bodies<br />
<br />
You can live now<br />
as you lived before<br />
and piss<br />
as you wish</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38RrreTQzU2ar1U17Caq_wqrLEqec-CggofJIl8FQ-ZZRZ2do3B2Iq4QWDa5XX-8_6Arb6MEoPg8AwRcxFmLwwE2RtHh4YEXyoHiRYugL6JRR8hSgXKSWtwBmmMlw9KJdyEk2WISXDrtj/s1600/Catheter13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591843836037461378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj38RrreTQzU2ar1U17Caq_wqrLEqec-CggofJIl8FQ-ZZRZ2do3B2Iq4QWDa5XX-8_6Arb6MEoPg8AwRcxFmLwwE2RtHh4YEXyoHiRYugL6JRR8hSgXKSWtwBmmMlw9KJdyEk2WISXDrtj/s400/Catheter13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">12.</span><br />
Still<br />
and listening<br />
early on Advent 3<br />
<br />
to<br />
8 great Os<br />
Veni Veni<br />
and Handel<br />
as the season builds<br />
<br />
lilies and roses and cordyline<br />
<br />
I should delight<br />
be abounding<br />
<br />
I’ve had my op.<br />
and am fit<br />
<br />
to love lift<br />
and sleep fearlessly<br />
<br />
but cares weigh<br />
<br />
and faint anxieties<br />
dilute the celebration<br />
<br />
Too soon<br />
my life is average<br />
<br />
There should be endless joy<br />
and thankfulness<br />
that I<br />
long roped and bound<br />
am free<br />
<br />
and in my depths<br />
in the piles and pillars of my being<br />
there is<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;"><i>20 . 12 . 04</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29KFT6X0EF6dBrfSIxh_fwM9gFZHOJV6i_aqt203z6ZPg8VRR_F6HSQu3IYk-X64hQHpO7HKRM5m0fA44LebcMYf2wPqHI7nPkMAA93x8R3kDPnc8Wif_P6YC8rJtDjJBGZ7EM68ABn0/s1600/RDc.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715036151342295058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi29KFT6X0EF6dBrfSIxh_fwM9gFZHOJV6i_aqt203z6ZPg8VRR_F6HSQu3IYk-X64hQHpO7HKRM5m0fA44LebcMYf2wPqHI7nPkMAA93x8R3kDPnc8Wif_P6YC8rJtDjJBGZ7EM68ABn0/s400/RDc.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 280px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Epilogue:</span><br /><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn5">Red Dog / Brown</a></b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
"Red"<br />
by Jocelyn Maughan<br />
(Patonea, NSW)</blockquote>
<br /></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/five-millerton-sequences.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFu2iNEC_0637XYuHaL-ws82DrsElm6m8yGPP9w-YAitAjKoygUtIt6DRLRS6r0tKT5gZnQ-sPx_FyAKLVj0ykCbw44eN2gFWPWn6y-vqjy9IggZ2Hcncz1QG-JhN9YdCHdvCcQJpZi3U/s1600/leicester+kyle.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586675939995967474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiFu2iNEC_0637XYuHaL-ws82DrsElm6m8yGPP9w-YAitAjKoygUtIt6DRLRS6r0tKT5gZnQ-sPx_FyAKLVj0ykCbw44eN2gFWPWn6y-vqjy9IggZ2Hcncz1QG-JhN9YdCHdvCcQJpZi3U/s320/leicester+kyle.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 217px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 320px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">Colophon:</span><br /><br />This book is issued in memory of<br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">The Rev. Leicester Kyle</span><br />poet, priest, ecologist<br /><br />in commemoration of his death<br />on July 4th, 2006<br /><br />and to celebrate the publication<br />of his online<br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Collected Poems</i></span><br />[<a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/">http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/</a>]<br />between July 4th, 2011<br />& January 9th, 2013</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZWCujg3vnT8gcbsMcz4gYkqJZjG4vpJOD_1rbWMoZ1vrrVdM4zqCdd06GTcOedlizKcV5klXt-V0-xMWawUSi4YOdDNul2smej8Sm_0NM1j88zF2-Vpo-ey2qxIfHk0cbuuc2Z_YOHI/s1600/LK+Cover+collage.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618977710118827570" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-ZWCujg3vnT8gcbsMcz4gYkqJZjG4vpJOD_1rbWMoZ1vrrVdM4zqCdd06GTcOedlizKcV5klXt-V0-xMWawUSi4YOdDNul2smej8Sm_0NM1j88zF2-Vpo-ey2qxIfHk0cbuuc2Z_YOHI/s400/LK+Cover+collage.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><br />
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYpdfVJSoJjnSmqMuVTso2Q3SBNiBS12cnWjOPe9nOqds0LK75gXON2fpPCFl0BNT4LlqXVFqjvEVYdTG2D10n7Md8RHeHuBVzEpbHnhNNSLc6Xozeze9V7dYlvNmdCS7y4LQWtUZxaU/s1600/New+Image.JPG" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5618978356551142418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidYpdfVJSoJjnSmqMuVTso2Q3SBNiBS12cnWjOPe9nOqds0LK75gXON2fpPCFl0BNT4LlqXVFqjvEVYdTG2D10n7Md8RHeHuBVzEpbHnhNNSLc6Xozeze9V7dYlvNmdCS7y4LQWtUZxaU/s400/New+Image.JPG" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 300px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Image: Bronwyn Lloyd</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-71871924295619503532012-01-10T08:44:00.057+13:002017-11-26T10:55:16.335+13:00God Poems (c.2005)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumsUj43U6nUSo7DxWLWHZ5Je2TKMHpwMNfkgoI0aL-FOUJOlF4K-ekgEHt5TYNy7-UqzzZwB9fxRtc-FiTcaNq57JNQSKoeGxw6o5PV0GE_E3cSVEb3f7F96HTz3oMet6KvELh8yYg_4/s1600/scan0005.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708748123825785378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhumsUj43U6nUSo7DxWLWHZ5Je2TKMHpwMNfkgoI0aL-FOUJOlF4K-ekgEHt5TYNy7-UqzzZwB9fxRtc-FiTcaNq57JNQSKoeGxw6o5PV0GE_E3cSVEb3f7F96HTz3oMet6KvELh8yYg_4/s400/scan0005.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2012/01/book-thirty.html">God Poems</a></span><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 180%;">GOD POEMS</span></b></a></div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<b><br /><br /><span style="padding-left: 18em;"><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Leicester Kyle</i></span></span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
'It's vanity and not verity that makes a deity'</div>
<span style="padding-left: 20em;"><span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>St. Augustine of Hippo</i></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_aurls-iQZYUoSU8U-TnGnQG5dkoHuSBhNKL7k9OmAnmAGhwqFth6VoWd_FIcy-npNZ0tzOql2Axco1e5heg5k1hYjaKLfQ9cz6nazGBP1lRvnMVP5PfKAIn1Fxzy1qf2_kVgWLBuJ4/s1600/scan0006.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708748074691438018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgH_aurls-iQZYUoSU8U-TnGnQG5dkoHuSBhNKL7k9OmAnmAGhwqFth6VoWd_FIcy-npNZ0tzOql2Axco1e5heg5k1hYjaKLfQ9cz6nazGBP1lRvnMVP5PfKAIn1Fxzy1qf2_kVgWLBuJ4/s400/scan0006.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 358px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><u>NOTES</u>:</span></b></a></div>
<ol>
<li>The structure of this work was suggested to me by Dante’s <i>La Vita Nuova</i>. I have appropriated some of its elements, such as the supporting framework of the autobiographical story.</li>
<br />
<li>At a public performance the work is best read by two voices, with the accompanying photographs projected onto a backing screen.</li>
</ol>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIjSlgH0yGeOuj_F2cB97htkjiOBjJzYzSrTVMaG-dCMj2wnyXEL5L4c0J98QiM1Dk42ALT24viDorjVyvockzl32QfQ_ZafqAavoGGBl1-1yVpuyxwDAVpgfG2v-obb80M5PH-7hVp4/s1600/scan0002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714377013125982690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNIjSlgH0yGeOuj_F2cB97htkjiOBjJzYzSrTVMaG-dCMj2wnyXEL5L4c0J98QiM1Dk42ALT24viDorjVyvockzl32QfQ_ZafqAavoGGBl1-1yVpuyxwDAVpgfG2v-obb80M5PH-7hVp4/s400/scan0002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 203px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Into Words</b><br />
<br />
Easter 1<br />
Low Sunday<br />
no-one else is up<br />
<br />
It’s Zephania<br />
the walk to Emmaeus<br />
and a conclusion<br />
from 1 John<br />
<br />
Life to light<br />
nothing disagreeable<br />
but I wonder<br />
at myself<br />
<br />
I would like to stand alone<br />
the heroics tempt me<br />
<br />
but my dealings with God<br />
are old long and wordy<br />
<br />
I would miss<br />
The vocabulary</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXAFqxhbF9UgqeZm2yDdepNVyI58JMgS-K3gIn_whyphenhyphen8m1boIxKWJPAzr1omk4XU6WVnsHQ_rpb2xYD-GhPRsBwJhskRmAI8CPRq-ZQqwqBGyzKNRZyOBPuRFuW24d_QQKeE4MgExKp2lQ/s1600/scan0003.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376965072049170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXAFqxhbF9UgqeZm2yDdepNVyI58JMgS-K3gIn_whyphenhyphen8m1boIxKWJPAzr1omk4XU6WVnsHQ_rpb2xYD-GhPRsBwJhskRmAI8CPRq-ZQqwqBGyzKNRZyOBPuRFuW24d_QQKeE4MgExKp2lQ/s400/scan0003.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 398px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />The conference was an unhappy one, so at mid-day I went into town for lunch and didn’t go back. Instead, I went to “Q” Books, where there was still some stock cast out from the general assembly Library. A year or two ago that library had lightened its load.<br /><br />In the poetry section I found ‘Look Stranger’, by Auden, a second impression dated Dec. 1936. It had been accessed by the library in May 1937.<br /><br />I knew that this was rare so took it to purchase, and while waiting at the counter discovered, inside the back cover, its old library card. On it was my father’s signature.<br /><br />This so affected me that, on returning to my motel, I wrote this poem ‘God Watches Over’. I wanted to find comfort, and understanding.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZJHOQtHFCfn6iEfC_iLP6E5gJDTMxPCBnuwdTQSIn9eKuXSZ8NS5KQJSM7sucvIey3o6-dd9pNhT0jYahpWwmiCq-kcNGBheb10SmXog2YHDCO38RqlMNz4HxaNnuJ54wgGJXuNNy3U/s1600/scan0004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376905725657714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVZJHOQtHFCfn6iEfC_iLP6E5gJDTMxPCBnuwdTQSIn9eKuXSZ8NS5KQJSM7sucvIey3o6-dd9pNhT0jYahpWwmiCq-kcNGBheb10SmXog2YHDCO38RqlMNz4HxaNnuJ54wgGJXuNNy3U/s400/scan0004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 377px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
God watches over<br />
<br />
Ensures that<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">some die</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">some live</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">some linger</span><br />
and gives comfort of continuance<br />
<br />
In this way<br />
the norm prevails<br />
and those who can<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">rejoice</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB92DZJaYntDTUKRYfyd_3oJUpsjQFUgH_paCUr8urC6vLHniSEUgOsNI1KRTOvxC8xCKQ2gPh7bNu210vp8p_CrI37q889B1q8esRUuf8hD7A2dSoz6pRKj3mjF8VUwu_3n2-RR1kC8/s1600/scan0005.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376856376925634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpB92DZJaYntDTUKRYfyd_3oJUpsjQFUgH_paCUr8urC6vLHniSEUgOsNI1KRTOvxC8xCKQ2gPh7bNu210vp8p_CrI37q889B1q8esRUuf8hD7A2dSoz6pRKj3mjF8VUwu_3n2-RR1kC8/s400/scan0005.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 311px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />His was the third signature. On 27th.May W. Gabites had borrowed it; on 17th. Sept. Prof. I.A. Gordon had his turn, and on Nov. 4th. Cecil Kyle.<br /><br />This was in Wellington.<br /><br />On Oct. 30th. I had been born in Ch.Ch., and some days before that my sister Elaine had died. John my brother was staying with an Aunt.<br /><br />A voice from the past. I wonder at its quietness, which is so full of question that it’s almost incoherent.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8hnrGjZomcBTqaR5A9F1Qd9WwkUp9q5UBCb4ID_Lsc8gNvzfi8KrSvxFf3ndShmmvp8arnjIaVBSU0HjbSP913ck6ekBqxqs7kY8t5_e-hlkWlyYR1jX1fmKtnFEkLKtP7sXUE4pTiU/s1600/scan0006.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376808970272706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQ8hnrGjZomcBTqaR5A9F1Qd9WwkUp9q5UBCb4ID_Lsc8gNvzfi8KrSvxFf3ndShmmvp8arnjIaVBSU0HjbSP913ck6ekBqxqs7kY8t5_e-hlkWlyYR1jX1fmKtnFEkLKtP7sXUE4pTiU/s400/scan0006.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 224px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
There are voices<br />
<br />
They tell one to do things<br />
and talk of it<br />
<br />
I don’t know<br />
what they say<br />
<br />
I want to know<br />
what they sound like —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the tone</span><br />
as if God spoke —<br />
intent injunction or<br />
the intimate<br />
<br />
Each word would be significant<br />
of course<br />
but what would be conveyed —<br />
comfort of origin<br />
prophecy or threat<br />
underlying?<br />
<br />
Would there be an interior warmth<br />
syllables thin like ancient dust<br />
or noise great noise<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to connect</span><br />
with this world?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbxHV9_kEYm02RO3lUv2Op9KKvEQQE6pfr9LR7e5-03kAb8CTvSna-bFbBU2tm0g_uv2RW3wBMGTIZbWOhQveAUfr1TV5OR2pHc4d1TF6N5_l8tRpWE3Pc1k2Nf6QBNgZR6TypCTfNAw/s1600/scan0007.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376744328803506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGbxHV9_kEYm02RO3lUv2Op9KKvEQQE6pfr9LR7e5-03kAb8CTvSna-bFbBU2tm0g_uv2RW3wBMGTIZbWOhQveAUfr1TV5OR2pHc4d1TF6N5_l8tRpWE3Pc1k2Nf6QBNgZR6TypCTfNAw/s400/scan0007.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 392px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Elaine had been put in the charge of her grandparents. My grandfather had recently sold his business in Greymouth, and had come to live in Dormer St., Papanui, in a pale yellow art deco house built to order. Aunty Mavis lived with them.<br /><br />West Coast friends came to live nearby, and another of the family, my Aunt Jessie, lived next door with her husband Bob.<br /><br />Mavis largely attended to Elaine, who caught what seemed to be a cold. The doctor wasn’t called until too late, and she died of meningitis.<br /><br />Sitting here in my study chair and thinking of Elaine’s death, reflecting on that situation and imagining myself there, I wrote this poem. It’s in two parts — the first is growing old, the second is a remonstrance.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfyJ0wBbJ3osSpA7ZOJMxcbYz2JqL21zRttlDSwmwOYdw0dbNBBfSVMHhEjgyEXQn9IMZtxv-MwCpzb0MH8mJxmtGFhcHu4nkOPB2CBsyAKjXee-haK9qTFWOY83lfz99CG3XA-ZZ5f8/s1600/scan0008.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376689236171522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcfyJ0wBbJ3osSpA7ZOJMxcbYz2JqL21zRttlDSwmwOYdw0dbNBBfSVMHhEjgyEXQn9IMZtxv-MwCpzb0MH8mJxmtGFhcHu4nkOPB2CBsyAKjXee-haK9qTFWOY83lfz99CG3XA-ZZ5f8/s400/scan0008.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 220px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
When it comes to understanding<br />
it’s best to start with you<br />
though some of your imagery<br />
isn’t much help<br />
<br />
These days monarchs<br />
are dodging bullets<br />
or cameras<br />
<br />
and power<br />
is not as useful<br />
as influence<br />
<br />
It’s your being<br />
that we question—<br />
you can’t be found in nature<br />
for we manage all that now<br />
and though we killed you again<br />
you’d still say you’re untouchable<br />
and limitless<br />
<br />
To put you on the orchid’s lip<br />
in the smoke that snakes along my stream<br />
a peripatus’s place<br />
is no use<br />
<br />
You’re the man who stole<br />
my frozen goods<br />
the hacker in my file<br />
you’re my parent sibling child<br />
police and judge and medical<br />
my banner<br />
my fear delight<br />
everything that’s out of hand<br />
you’re all</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9pAOfHaCqnM3B0Bz6eO0h6xctZ5QFveq9Dzyroe0A4yJ_VR4sR-wYFFFvWkz50Yey-gzMRTIeM4JER2p3FMRddwAAgpNXamVpJJqdGMZ0WJv3hMPdn1e3SMizMttFaGN6TJ1vJPoybQ/s1600/scan0009.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376626871543106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI9pAOfHaCqnM3B0Bz6eO0h6xctZ5QFveq9Dzyroe0A4yJ_VR4sR-wYFFFvWkz50Yey-gzMRTIeM4JER2p3FMRddwAAgpNXamVpJJqdGMZ0WJv3hMPdn1e3SMizMttFaGN6TJ1vJPoybQ/s400/scan0009.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 384px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />The grandparents had moved to Christchurch to be near their four children—Mavis Jessie Cecil and John, who now lived and worked in the city. The depression was coming to an end, jobs were available for the young, and the West Coast was losing to the east.<br /><br />In Greymouth the family had standing; they had lived in affluent Shakespeare St., had a profitable business, and were descendants of first settlers.<br /><br />There the four children, as they grew to adulthood, had formed a prominent social clique. Photographs show a bright young coterie in beautiful clothes, with fashionable vices and an automobile.<br /><br />When I look at these images, and put them against the courses of their lives, I search them for answers.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZG61pocirlK6DYTlduES8SjKBxP3gMQnO44vzzqjnxl9SOw0WJiQRaR7jSX6RSvTvdHqeSeHKEykglmwmyN_TDuX6LlGh526DUbhqGfiziIlbuRDZGQlt5xEWuynceR0er_SrTdtoV0/s1600/scan0010.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376564015618882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqZG61pocirlK6DYTlduES8SjKBxP3gMQnO44vzzqjnxl9SOw0WJiQRaR7jSX6RSvTvdHqeSeHKEykglmwmyN_TDuX6LlGh526DUbhqGfiziIlbuRDZGQlt5xEWuynceR0er_SrTdtoV0/s400/scan0010.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 185px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You shelter<br />
and uphold us<br />
<br />
even grandmothers<br />
who kept their reputations <br />
to the death<br />
and were righteous<br />
<br />
who locked out the world<br />
when it knocked<br />
forgave no sin<br />
and let their wrath run riot<br />
for age after age<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">after death</span><br />
over ocean city and farm<br />
and never forgot<br />
<br />
Judge not<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">You say</span><br />
Forgive<br />
though their deeds live<br />
<br />
They did<br />
as their parents to them<br />
they to us<br />
and we to ours<br />
<br />
You must stop it</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIH82E7OcqCXGCaR9yrjWw0LzOc4lUXKDAKZ6T8B3x155d1zURJ0GjprNAnZS9Xawzy2hh8uKckpKPNYludAOkRkQYVViJU9hgPp_ktWHifNglIykt_wQ0kQjwAThW2Sjn2i0NzVGy4g/s1600/scan0011.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376504655735618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIH82E7OcqCXGCaR9yrjWw0LzOc4lUXKDAKZ6T8B3x155d1zURJ0GjprNAnZS9Xawzy2hh8uKckpKPNYludAOkRkQYVViJU9hgPp_ktWHifNglIykt_wQ0kQjwAThW2Sjn2i0NzVGy4g/s400/scan0011.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 353px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />They had other pretensions besides life-style. They liked to be with the times in every way, as young adults do. Once begun this was hard to stop as they might have assumed it would at adulthood, like the tree that loses its juvenile foliage.<br /><br />John married Hazel, worked in an office, lived at New Brighton, and drank himself into alcoholism. Jessie married Bob, who was in Real Estate; she became addicted to sedatives.<br /><br />These two poems grew from meditation on the family album. I couldn’t decide which to choose so have included both. The first — “You God Sit Enthroned” is about our understanding of God; the second — “Once we had a Big God” tells of a diminishment of grace.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopUrn6wcGCp-F1nsb7PXWYpbqHm8mgz3s7PmfekDwDq1ejNHqIpajRsgC85rsqGhaiiVUhyphenhyphenAALORTFy03HmI2_go9OAugYINFJI14_OMzVzCfhq0RdW-W6bJdjfOvQOsKZdBHUvYOfC8/s1600/scan0012.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376438754965506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhopUrn6wcGCp-F1nsb7PXWYpbqHm8mgz3s7PmfekDwDq1ejNHqIpajRsgC85rsqGhaiiVUhyphenhyphenAALORTFy03HmI2_go9OAugYINFJI14_OMzVzCfhq0RdW-W6bJdjfOvQOsKZdBHUvYOfC8/s400/scan0012.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 273px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You<br />
God<br />
sit enthroned<br />
in a cloud of adjectives<br />
and approximate qualifications<br />
<br />
which billows<br />
at every rite<br />
and obscures vision<br />
<br />
incense at the altar<br />
the crisis-talk<br />
of creatures<br />
<br />
So much reverence<br />
and inveterate praise<br />
it clouds our judgement<br />
<br />
we know only<br />
what you ought to be</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgQzULTQBHlqD3VYma0VDA8tdoLfZg1CK4rHLg4ZoHeonQH8UAa11doLkJhzqayaVTtn9VZQV2diwPKlEYqORyAEzkRlUzX9K4oEQaOAFsEpsXg_f1dQ6mblLG29x9imKRUk8jZ4ip-g/s1600/scan0013.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376380987349426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirgQzULTQBHlqD3VYma0VDA8tdoLfZg1CK4rHLg4ZoHeonQH8UAa11doLkJhzqayaVTtn9VZQV2diwPKlEYqORyAEzkRlUzX9K4oEQaOAFsEpsXg_f1dQ6mblLG29x9imKRUk8jZ4ip-g/s400/scan0013.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Once we had a big God<br />
whom we adored<br />
who kept watch over us<br />
peering through the palings<br />
of the fence<br />
<br />
He had a son<br />
and an emissary soul<br />
who led us out of trouble<br />
and gave comfort<br />
<br />
Now our gods are small<br />
a family<br />
whom we would like to obey<br />
<br />
they’ve not much majesty<br />
tatterdemalions all<br />
<br />
their virtue is in vision<br />
which they give until they tire<br />
<br />
sometimes we long for<br />
a greatness to serve</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0MhMT1t7F9L3bEvN2vW8O29sjfnagjS7PQaTcFyi3j5C60bife_eW5UlcutZnc14elOFYcaWtLk3ZPZzpxIdNJF3oLcBkgEv8xB8lnkzPWp4BcmvqDEqTKXhQK1BPmwl3ASA_6628YI/s1600/scan0014.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376324497954146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc0MhMT1t7F9L3bEvN2vW8O29sjfnagjS7PQaTcFyi3j5C60bife_eW5UlcutZnc14elOFYcaWtLk3ZPZzpxIdNJF3oLcBkgEv8xB8lnkzPWp4BcmvqDEqTKXhQK1BPmwl3ASA_6628YI/s400/scan0014.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 388px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Cecil left his job on the Grey River Argus to take a position on the Ch.Ch.Press, and married Helga.They lived on Murrayaynsley Hill, where they entertained the Arts. Cecil saw his future in the Arts, which would give him security in an aristocracy of merit. He had faith in his genius, and kept company with the Pascoes, Glover, Benseman, Brooks, and Allen Curnow, who also worked at the Press. As a journalist he was potentially useful to them.<br /><br />He kept a mistress and a celebratory life style, yet he found his life increasingly burdensome; he began to shun his duties and to long for the careless west.<br /><br />East and West, as two opposing goals, became ever more evident in our house, and in thinking of this I wrote this poem “Comfort, you say’.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlznB3GllT2miMWuGE-MSpOxQLzlL4krHZ9uczL-iHq63-rSimy2S4LkKGIlrfEdoyZn6SxNbWA1l-Jwd6Na3ShVhTMQs5eRjJ1y4YPdzb6bWssLUTPtDpAmKw7t38MxZppOHXG4ukwxo/s1600/scan0015.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376254231686530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlznB3GllT2miMWuGE-MSpOxQLzlL4krHZ9uczL-iHq63-rSimy2S4LkKGIlrfEdoyZn6SxNbWA1l-Jwd6Na3ShVhTMQs5eRjJ1y4YPdzb6bWssLUTPtDpAmKw7t38MxZppOHXG4ukwxo/s400/scan0015.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 312px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
comfort<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">you say</span><br />
o comfort my people<br />
<br />
and you give —<br />
an overarching benevolence<br />
<br />
warmth in the west<br />
at the end of uncertain day<br />
<br />
<br />
Why so westerly<br />
and not a brightening east?<br />
<br />
perhaps it depends<br />
where you live</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Vh17n0XWfSggbmW5QN05w_2qCWXkNQzsFY6NmHf5ZzLntEZhgwVoKAt41lPDiYx3ejbckwLBU46po9oLzuownmNkW0loxQNTliINr0a0qDwfO-7HCJsRiGipbu4hpfPam1o0CoHln3k/s1600/scan0016.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376196556502930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7Vh17n0XWfSggbmW5QN05w_2qCWXkNQzsFY6NmHf5ZzLntEZhgwVoKAt41lPDiYx3ejbckwLBU46po9oLzuownmNkW0loxQNTliINr0a0qDwfO-7HCJsRiGipbu4hpfPam1o0CoHln3k/s400/scan0016.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 291px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />He also took an increasing amount of alcohol, and lost confidence in his profession after his involvement in a court case he was not allowed to report. Elaine’s death aroused a troubling depression, and four years later he was sacked, declared bankrupt, and in 1941, in profound poverty, we moved to a rented house at 103 the Esplanade, Sumner.<br /><br />This precipitate collapse of the family’s affluence is striking, even at this distance, and in the poem ‘God of Ages ’I question such misfortune.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipsuTQsNgQhscYwGaCq4Qp5vm-RTVUJvIfX4zRplCmzEOXeHDAjSOfrybzZCyZZ3_74eaGd8B1DN8P3M0WYPP_q21P5cUP3KZ_AEJkbXtluWdqP1rLlgXQhE8ReGxtqiepsceVuEE6CVI/s1600/scan0017.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376117046943586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipsuTQsNgQhscYwGaCq4Qp5vm-RTVUJvIfX4zRplCmzEOXeHDAjSOfrybzZCyZZ3_74eaGd8B1DN8P3M0WYPP_q21P5cUP3KZ_AEJkbXtluWdqP1rLlgXQhE8ReGxtqiepsceVuEE6CVI/s400/scan0017.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 292px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
‘God of Ages’<br />
we sang<br />
on the pavement<br />
at your feet<br />
<br />
where cracks are showing<br />
and no surprise —<br />
<br />
nothing’s everlasting<br />
but you<br />
whom wisdom clothes<br />
befitting one who makes/<br />
unmakes<br />
<br />
O Arbiter!<br />
Does all grow old with you?<br />
<br />
or do you ordain separate rates<br />
like here?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOfIj_05SwHjNg94vf7FYBBOdF62K8qKu1AtUQx49skShRxzHXPPpsG_Rz_r-3KY65mnf3bD2uOVXhKa_cbXSB_n1sVPbYpaRu8HhoSuhq_qP7RFq-jJQ8bE-lPAO7c9f8EDZyJjtY5c/s1600/scan0018.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714376051941256626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTOfIj_05SwHjNg94vf7FYBBOdF62K8qKu1AtUQx49skShRxzHXPPpsG_Rz_r-3KY65mnf3bD2uOVXhKa_cbXSB_n1sVPbYpaRu8HhoSuhq_qP7RFq-jJQ8bE-lPAO7c9f8EDZyJjtY5c/s400/scan0018.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 296px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />For a time there was joy. Cecil was The Man, the settler in the wilderness. He carved out of the turf a garden of paths and beds, a precise and trellised beauty and a sure success. Everything he grew was on time and succulent. Helga did the flowers. I found a friend at school and we visited some new neighbours.<br /><br />There was a huge horizon and I liked the weather on it.<br /><br />But from this perspective, many decades later, when I recall that brief spell of creative order, I wonder that none of us noted the warnings.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEicBoUhw8dfmyNVmTaFnoNsAuklaWVZ7wrg771hNBmDjXlqRtmSGOVynicpKKI3CDMr7-P2G14Vh47FxLKEUvD3_Y7ZclLgdtYsN0mBby7CxCeb0zI4vGw7IuVvNFTS4lw6VgnQt4Fnk/s1600/scan0019.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375994456965458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEicBoUhw8dfmyNVmTaFnoNsAuklaWVZ7wrg771hNBmDjXlqRtmSGOVynicpKKI3CDMr7-P2G14Vh47FxLKEUvD3_Y7ZclLgdtYsN0mBby7CxCeb0zI4vGw7IuVvNFTS4lw6VgnQt4Fnk/s400/scan0019.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 209px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Even if you can’t be seen<br />
the culture clothes<br />
and makes you visible<br />
<br />
O Emperor<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">of Eternity</span><br />
Some serve you for that<br />
others the ideal<br />
a few for an obscure love<br />
of nothing<br />
<br />
Is there need to study you<br />
to plead and please and pray?<br />
<br />
The effort<br />
and beautiful theology!<br />
<br />
but is it worth it,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Lord?</span><br />
could we not coast along<br />
with play<br />
and an easy love<br />
<br />
your children?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWSkoC7LeRaMB-HH132iMeh-UeIqRpQ3KZAoKKbCXOCrx1Tw6VURb7sQBGFGAQv7c8Ue1Es0H8tGJypKzU1eKZeKm_gg4D5ypqKgJh0UwHngaPJP3_fmWC16TwL3YdjPN5cdJedLaPk0/s1600/scan0020.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375932094860962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuWSkoC7LeRaMB-HH132iMeh-UeIqRpQ3KZAoKKbCXOCrx1Tw6VURb7sQBGFGAQv7c8Ue1Es0H8tGJypKzU1eKZeKm_gg4D5ypqKgJh0UwHngaPJP3_fmWC16TwL3YdjPN5cdJedLaPk0/s400/scan0020.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 267px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Now and then our parents fought, even violently, but there was love enough for security. Before the house was the length and breadth of the beach, and all the sea had to offer—it was a happy mystery and brought a glittering treasure. At one end was Cave Rock, and at the other Scarborough Hill, with its houses that grew out of cliffs.<br /><br />I began to learn of nature’s creativity and the city’s art.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPHGzQYQNh1dVfh8ZCjGhenxRvXHQak3RYR9WhIbGQxXERdaixEmuCtGoHlEeINm77EyEVBXFc2Fuy6t-_ZAjfayV7n2QBOCtmEsK1r6xNU2pUyJmI4o-VyS2Zh8Z661ILngHTFaPXYo/s1600/scan0021.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375874664661314" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHPHGzQYQNh1dVfh8ZCjGhenxRvXHQak3RYR9WhIbGQxXERdaixEmuCtGoHlEeINm77EyEVBXFc2Fuy6t-_ZAjfayV7n2QBOCtmEsK1r6xNU2pUyJmI4o-VyS2Zh8Z661ILngHTFaPXYo/s400/scan0021.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 166px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Then there’s sex<br />
which is something of yours<br />
we don’t get right<br />
<br />
every time it’s a new land<br />
then the weather changes<br />
and we’re lost <br />
with no guide<br />
<br />
you’ve made it<br />
so we can’t do without<br />
<br />
it’s our ID — no sex<br />
and we’re no body<br />
<br />
Like at this dance<br />
next week in the hall —<br />
it’s so each man can get<br />
a one-night stand<br />
<br />
but no-one says<br />
<br />
You’ve put the word around<br />
that we’re better off without<br />
<br />
that I’m only a good man<br />
if I’m chaste<br />
<br />
That’s not human<br />
Nor humane<br />
<br />
Did you say it<br />
or someone else?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppaUZFBdg1dsOdaMfqy2fZTXALUvOdLS25Ik3S5S5WLcVjh1_IpklSXyVyv1sxt_nFY1p2-Le9Mp8jizPK3rchk7DrO_dhJmhjFuUeeJjG-Dl1ubQOB4HhXeXEQKDo_OluRgeXSHdZZA/s1600/scan0022.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375816553088674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgppaUZFBdg1dsOdaMfqy2fZTXALUvOdLS25Ik3S5S5WLcVjh1_IpklSXyVyv1sxt_nFY1p2-Le9Mp8jizPK3rchk7DrO_dhJmhjFuUeeJjG-Dl1ubQOB4HhXeXEQKDo_OluRgeXSHdZZA/s400/scan0022.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 372px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />When in the mood Cecil would take us walking: to the Seagar houses on Clifton Hill and Glover’s on the zig-zag; past Ellworthy’s, and on to the tops and the concrete bunkers from the war; to Pat’s Bush where the Rangiora grew; the cliffs that looked down to Lyttleton; Gollan’s Bush where the green geckos lived, and the Titoki Tree; the scented Earina the Hebe and the big-leaved Senecios; and when the weather was really fit all the way to Taylor’s Mistake, to the Cave Houses there and the old news on the walls and the lavatory flushed by the tide.<br /><br />Here was the marvellous and evidence for it.<br /><br />This next poem asks if God might allow a similar approach to his nature.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby2YoQSLKd2WO1_29vBGTg1VvWRDoWNPzMmitwMjLwdBlWMsKaxdGUz4dko6mH40h___mWY8VUw3KhGbuBPQCC1Rb07NRj7Fwxgjqnp8aquqpbuNs72cWkiYkUH9cJvTldFKurHQ-mR8/s1600/scan0023.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375750984604978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgby2YoQSLKd2WO1_29vBGTg1VvWRDoWNPzMmitwMjLwdBlWMsKaxdGUz4dko6mH40h___mWY8VUw3KhGbuBPQCC1Rb07NRj7Fwxgjqnp8aquqpbuNs72cWkiYkUH9cJvTldFKurHQ-mR8/s400/scan0023.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 219px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
There must be more<br />
than the sense of your presence<br />
<br />
To feel you’re near pleases<br />
and can be done<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">by words</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a view</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">or magic</span><br />
but we need a founded certainty<br />
<br />
Evidence helps<br />
so does coincidence presented<br />
in a marvellous line<br />
<br />
You<br />
who created sound<br />
could use it<br />
and light<br />
to show yourself<br />
<br />
To be discreet as you are<br />
hints of coyness<br />
and doesn’t convince<br />
of one who’s<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">creator</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">redeemer</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and judge over all</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkN1ZHYDp58Vym2pmEVvKiS55lTD85-EeR7ssEWCfKeQ2HVqnEINzrE6z_JQIib8B8SPZG7GA6C65pmUJsrZqu6f8xRJI6trhAQcnLKN9bXvtRghVyjP4xaG10cTe-OtqL1QcEnx5AEQQ/s1600/scan0024.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375693606480594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkN1ZHYDp58Vym2pmEVvKiS55lTD85-EeR7ssEWCfKeQ2HVqnEINzrE6z_JQIib8B8SPZG7GA6C65pmUJsrZqu6f8xRJI6trhAQcnLKN9bXvtRghVyjP4xaG10cTe-OtqL1QcEnx5AEQQ/s400/scan0024.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 385px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />On wet days Cecil would wind up the gramophone and play Wagner. He would tell us what was happening as it sang.<br /><br />We would take the books out from under the stairs and rummage until we found the one to read. They were his, and out of sight because there was no room for them elsewhere.<br /><br />He had Dickens Scott and Buchan, old issues of Punch, the Transactions of the Institute, H. G. Wells and Kipling.<br /><br />He gave us what we needed for life, but now I know it was Helga who saved us through her self in the way that women do, and as men do for a cause but not for a child.<br /><br />Might heaven not be so naturally too, I ask in this next poem --</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlJRoF4Ol3XSFSGGz1PaLRChz7PayPLE5FmKgkPeIPh2aFs0c1N7BAe_NL1BTBiNeASWIZHe3QLyG6zcI0Wzmq2S67YBEGOq7V0PnLWSXs1tXgiELSYr3hjSV2nB_cH8IwpS4s3zxoc/s1600/scan0025.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375629412275026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpLlJRoF4Ol3XSFSGGz1PaLRChz7PayPLE5FmKgkPeIPh2aFs0c1N7BAe_NL1BTBiNeASWIZHe3QLyG6zcI0Wzmq2S67YBEGOq7V0PnLWSXs1tXgiELSYr3hjSV2nB_cH8IwpS4s3zxoc/s400/scan0025.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 237px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
For love<br />
some sing the Evangelist<br />
<br />
For glory<br />
the trumpet’s played<br />
<br />
but is this true —<br />
that the trombone <br />
is the voice of God<br />
as the Bishop in Norway said?<br />
<br />
if so<br />
allied instruments blaspheme<br />
and all who play them<br />
are imposters<br />
<br />
Your voice, Lord<br />
is called from the other side<br />
and too uncertain<br />
<br />
like Gabrieli’s<br />
at St. Marks</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFI8KOopeMh_jMV18OabAL22Pml4AOVlkqWmpKnyHYDgUtDCgn53dyCu27orrYPl0RpWnae4bAfsa50R3RnNhW76ulPmpLRBbOM-qWzNJlFGd-2CQsMfUE8SiD2v81P892w5Uwlzv_qY/s1600/scan0026.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375554444154882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinFI8KOopeMh_jMV18OabAL22Pml4AOVlkqWmpKnyHYDgUtDCgn53dyCu27orrYPl0RpWnae4bAfsa50R3RnNhW76ulPmpLRBbOM-qWzNJlFGd-2CQsMfUE8SiD2v81P892w5Uwlzv_qY/s400/scan0026.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 378px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Then Mavis dies. She and Cecil were the brightest of the four, and most inclined to the arts. Both played the violin (she quite well) and liked Schubert and Chopin.<br /><br />Mavis had an affair with a violinist, and fell pregnant to him. When the time came for her to give birth her parents kept her at home and she died. The cause of death was given as appendicitis.<br /><br />This second death at our grandparents’ house indicates that all was not well there. The poem ‘you say this is’ urges God to make himself more available accessible and immanent.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSnepSxC3sg16mcJV1qrZ0R3bWmDEtAPzKpqINjj_gOZWs6NDyYAKfqJ8FqwySXOIq5SI2MWycjFjk540HF7qrAimvfHi6yCvODdlWi_ZwhAkoKUFeeHGZdOb3UhyC4Y3WWR1MHdcaQI/s1600/scan0027.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375463132254578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidSnepSxC3sg16mcJV1qrZ0R3bWmDEtAPzKpqINjj_gOZWs6NDyYAKfqJ8FqwySXOIq5SI2MWycjFjk540HF7qrAimvfHi6yCvODdlWi_ZwhAkoKUFeeHGZdOb3UhyC4Y3WWR1MHdcaQI/s400/scan0027.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You say “This Is”<br />
and “I am”<br />
and are positive<br />
like the Americans<br />
<br />
Personally<br />
I don’t mind in the least<br />
<br />
When you get right down to it<br />
faith is a good and pure thing<br />
<br />
Yet<br />
let it be necessary<br />
<br />
creative as you are<br />
and given to metaphor<br />
you have science<br />
and therefore hold evidence<br />
<br />
it would be a help<br />
a very big help to us<br />
if there were less of you to admire<br />
and more to touch</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhJ6vfBeTbojbuKig5FrSVtr_12dy1f4jSqDSUTyEnm2GG8ri-mOmNXmdtKstbWkVbw6dm-4n7zRfmk7q9miprJ28H5_NHjhAlHJOL9uD6jWmYXY82g8q972jHTQKoybOJeYLAGiuWKo/s1600/scan0028.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375408231915650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAhJ6vfBeTbojbuKig5FrSVtr_12dy1f4jSqDSUTyEnm2GG8ri-mOmNXmdtKstbWkVbw6dm-4n7zRfmk7q9miprJ28H5_NHjhAlHJOL9uD6jWmYXY82g8q972jHTQKoybOJeYLAGiuWKo/s400/scan0028.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 358px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />The child lived and was named Jill. Jessie and Bob adopted her — they had no other. This was not kept secret except from Jill, who did not discover the fact of her adoption until she was in her fifties and living overseas. Her birth father had never been given access to her.<br /><br />I’ve written this next poem ‘The Fifth Sunday’ to suggest that the idea of God is in itself a hopeful thing — the ways of humankind being so profoundly entangled.<br /><br />The poem is in two parts — the first is a question, the second is the point.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZF6Cb19zsHOOrcU59fB91twcbGWeyZwP_7f0rJSiyYngg6lO0RtxevzUoQD3sGNn_gybKJQS8hU6G0l0fJ9fXhRFhWzOpXlzKtV58Ry6thf9BoDfMRRAkNPrBj4HXfTN0D9x5mJZCCkg/s1600/scan0029.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375343391633378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZF6Cb19zsHOOrcU59fB91twcbGWeyZwP_7f0rJSiyYngg6lO0RtxevzUoQD3sGNn_gybKJQS8hU6G0l0fJ9fXhRFhWzOpXlzKtV58Ry6thf9BoDfMRRAkNPrBj4HXfTN0D9x5mJZCCkg/s400/scan0029.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 204px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The Fifth Sunday After Easter ---<br />
It’s the sacrifice of the Lamb<br />
a prescriptive rite<br />
with reading and prayers<br />
<br />
Does this matter now?<br />
<br />
And what of the ‘Thou Shalts’?<br />
<br />
They’ve written many books<br />
and there are times <br />
when we think of them<br />
and of heaven and hell<br />
the beginning and the end<br />
and ethics<br />
<br />
<br />
but what we really want to know<br />
is you —<br />
do you have a home<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">converse</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">opinionate?</span><br />
In this later age<br />
when we have tried<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and are tired</span><br />
nothing but you<br />
holds interest</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNKSPlcOs6Fl1oWLjt1iP5Sb85bnkW5Yjv5NhHhBkoIpj-a2NbhZLlfy-hr8qxnNOVUbNQ48DX7GjGiH54u-q1M200-a1exLF3ttSDRm4VQfLvGQw2oR5-wYuAP-G_z8FJr9VKW_h5ew/s1600/scan0030.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375282493048578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUNKSPlcOs6Fl1oWLjt1iP5Sb85bnkW5Yjv5NhHhBkoIpj-a2NbhZLlfy-hr8qxnNOVUbNQ48DX7GjGiH54u-q1M200-a1exLF3ttSDRm4VQfLvGQw2oR5-wYuAP-G_z8FJr9VKW_h5ew/s400/scan0030.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 212px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s one of the Sundays in Pentecost<br />
I’ve forgotten which —<br />
I read them<br />
one after the other<br />
to keep myself in the running<br />
so to speak<br />
<br />
and to remind me that<br />
though you’ve helped me<br />
to no great goal<br />
and though I think<br />
you could do much more<br />
and a good deal better<br />
I’m thankful<br />
<br />
first that I’m human<br />
next that I can think<br />
<br />
I enjoy both attributes<br />
<br />
Thank you for them<br />
<br />
If I misuse them<br />
forgive me<br />
<br />
As I forgive your failings which<br />
by your nature<br />
are inevitable<br />
and infinite</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZVGKtrh7I9wZneMiX-Um-n9WrjBPxBIEBK1P_VCn9hEvaBhWpy-qbGXq2nGfoXvwIDvKzI8Wi1gjEMBfC2bLjHEl_xQX1_75x_6LjC1a-wNn9KvxQQX98TfWE0_HKfm8QsB47WQMs_w/s1600/scan0031.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375222618776914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUZVGKtrh7I9wZneMiX-Um-n9WrjBPxBIEBK1P_VCn9hEvaBhWpy-qbGXq2nGfoXvwIDvKzI8Wi1gjEMBfC2bLjHEl_xQX1_75x_6LjC1a-wNn9KvxQQX98TfWE0_HKfm8QsB47WQMs_w/s400/scan0031.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Mavis’s death overwhelmed the whole family, but the war prevented any real dealing with it. The Japanese were about to land at Sumner. Cecil and Uncle John were finally conscripted, and the old ones at Dormer St. shut themselves in and wouldn’t open the door when we called.<br /><br />We at Sumner (Helga John me and Sonia) entered a small homely peace that we didn’t understand.<br /><br />The poem ‘The Last Unknown’, which is a continuation of its predecessor, suggests that a knowledge of God can be gained from self-understanding, we being in that image.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmeSn_hW0s-1XmmF0Coc3ILgy3IueOwt-SLjXmOLJT1_ZEzmYXgOVYTmPIG-9mlKgisO22YcgiKQa84nkX9Xy7srp-4PKEpDaalVDAaGYAqE8NhnqZBQxHs2_tEt-b7aYTCKyAyUtuaQ/s1600/scan0032.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375160746512722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJmeSn_hW0s-1XmmF0Coc3ILgy3IueOwt-SLjXmOLJT1_ZEzmYXgOVYTmPIG-9mlKgisO22YcgiKQa84nkX9Xy7srp-4PKEpDaalVDAaGYAqE8NhnqZBQxHs2_tEt-b7aYTCKyAyUtuaQ/s400/scan0032.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 292px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You’ll be the last unknown<br />
<br />
When all else is opened<br />
and we’re overwhelmed with fact<br />
when we’re done with golden galaxies<br />
and summed the farthest worlds<br />
we’ll still be buzzing at you<br />
like wasps at a pot<br />
clamouring for<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the purpose</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the point</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and sense of our place</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">in your great scheme</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">of creation and ---</span><br />
which are<br />
I think<br />
foolish quests<br />
<br />
Like us<br />
You wonder at things<br />
And keep on doing them</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujkrsChs0WP_WDSsaF8DF6eUTyCEJt098uOufUqHOzbXr5HbG9aGwjqmgyqjZvfSlcYTiWVUOa000KowcHX04XogzknlEzEhaADErCLURffzJd5gVgaxMs4Ry_Qlan43uhxwaJ_gEaZM/s1600/scan0033.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714375025404553154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiujkrsChs0WP_WDSsaF8DF6eUTyCEJt098uOufUqHOzbXr5HbG9aGwjqmgyqjZvfSlcYTiWVUOa000KowcHX04XogzknlEzEhaADErCLURffzJd5gVgaxMs4Ry_Qlan43uhxwaJ_gEaZM/s400/scan0033.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 339px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />There came a universal peace and ours ended; Cecil came home. He tried to return to his former trade, and sold some articles to the Weekly News. He gave a talk on the radio — ‘The History of Coal Mining on the West Coast’, which we all listened to at home, but the work didn’t pay well enough and he took a job in a factory. This humiliated him and he drank more heavily.<br /><br />Home became tense again, but to us the sea and the beach brought relief, and if I went up Scarborough Hill I could see to the mountains, the edge of the west, which sent its scents ahead when the wind came from that way.<br /><br />This poem is about that wind.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMaT3Y769dAzMc3wygnEzTCgmbZkSCC9gSvZKZgKbxV_Nb5FEPHYzI6bFwpVLCszh9rUIuEokumtjb95rqWQ5-Tm6SU9LujgFwTlxOGr5Jj7iSEJXEeGWEB6Z_vVYtejwk1aIP0THCeBI/s1600/scan0034.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714374956300877490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMaT3Y769dAzMc3wygnEzTCgmbZkSCC9gSvZKZgKbxV_Nb5FEPHYzI6bFwpVLCszh9rUIuEokumtjb95rqWQ5-Tm6SU9LujgFwTlxOGr5Jj7iSEJXEeGWEB6Z_vVYtejwk1aIP0THCeBI/s400/scan0034.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 220px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Does the Dove hover<br />
when the Spirit comes<br />
with a flame and light and music?<br />
<br />
There are paintings of this<br />
<br />
and rumours<br />
of some favoured ones<br />
who felt the flame<br />
heard the soporinos<br />
and would no more eat<br />
<br />
they died for that love<br />
<br />
Your heaven, Lord<br />
is a perfect place<br />
and your Spirit its ambassador<br />
to stir me<br />
with westerly airs<br />
<br />
All my life <br />
I’ve craved that wind<br />
<br />
It’s brought reward<br />
And the promise of indulgence<br />
<br />
but no rest</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPOIOw40HjTe_W_a1en-wYn75dkYpYfCJNlALryiYlVeZooIKMXih41kI6BclahJZDWInMHTj7w0wsFq-mA5w479F3XuRTEfrjz2z4su8TCEjkfZpO3ymKmfPDZdohhOPZUHX83DbQWo/s1600/scan0035.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714374889384092786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpPOIOw40HjTe_W_a1en-wYn75dkYpYfCJNlALryiYlVeZooIKMXih41kI6BclahJZDWInMHTj7w0wsFq-mA5w479F3XuRTEfrjz2z4su8TCEjkfZpO3ymKmfPDZdohhOPZUHX83DbQWo/s400/scan0035.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 376px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Then Cecil found brief influence. The union leaders he had known on the Coast were now in the government. Some one remembered him, and we were allocated a State House In the spring of 1947 we moved to 25 Auburn Ave, Upper Riccarton. It was a new house and we were the first to occupy a house in the street. Sonia and I went to Upper Riccarton Primary School, and John to Ch.Ch.Boys’ High.Helga rejoiced in a house that worked, and in its newness. Cecil found a job at the Carpet Factory.<br /><br />To write this I sit in the sun in my study, old and not very well, and I wonder why God-talk must so usually be one-way; then I wonder if it is.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52UtQpp25TghC_55HPdT2zwsY7EzNlBPM4uTluMssfmgxzmsdEkbWo5VOCOBZmmo0SIXUxSAW-C9RKKfxI96Nuc2fR-Ut4QiiBXtkCEODEbFiSeLzno7fjzu_FadP3rhWh02YgHDuVRo/s1600/scan0036.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358535822839890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg52UtQpp25TghC_55HPdT2zwsY7EzNlBPM4uTluMssfmgxzmsdEkbWo5VOCOBZmmo0SIXUxSAW-C9RKKfxI96Nuc2fR-Ut4QiiBXtkCEODEbFiSeLzno7fjzu_FadP3rhWh02YgHDuVRo/s400/scan0036.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 251px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
If you are<br />
<br />
You forget<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">ignore</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">omit</span><br />
If you don’t behave<br />
we must<br />
<br />
and even forgive<br />
<br />
The consequence of your inaction<br />
appals<br />
<br />
But we don’t talk about it<br />
and it’s pointless to blame<br />
<br />
Perhaps if you explained yourself<br />
it would be worse<br />
and unworthy<br />
<br />
In your sort of world<br />
silence is often the best<br />
and a hidden countenance</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhhEtGXrScPPMZqq0W8GVCD3xlIT8EUOqYQABUBmbOeHdsVWi79iRhu9vr2IQG9mBnaODlnMyyz7Td1PJYNaIUDqsv2D9WVRjq4_w3KMRNWgVke5OpEZa-wMlFBO4AGDAp211GSDi03Y/s1600/scan0037.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358466043745298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlhhEtGXrScPPMZqq0W8GVCD3xlIT8EUOqYQABUBmbOeHdsVWi79iRhu9vr2IQG9mBnaODlnMyyz7Td1PJYNaIUDqsv2D9WVRjq4_w3KMRNWgVke5OpEZa-wMlFBO4AGDAp211GSDi03Y/s400/scan0037.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 322px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />And then we heard them talking at the Church Corner Shops, of how he’d spent the union funds. He didn’t go to court, but paid it back in a couple of years, which made us poorer still. Sometimes we couldn’t pay the rent.<br /><br />People talked, and we lost some friends.<br /><br />Cecil took another job, in the city.<br /><br />We shifted to a bigger house in Hanson’s Lane.<br /><br />I was an adolescent now, and began to look for comfort. It seemed possible to find some in God.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PfiBfFje6OhJDKruUrX7Ie-xUz_JXs4z8Anov0yKgHHkQ1zX0uCfnDZpLwQuX41wLGjMidcAllWMhOyBCxMNJoHLRLwL8D1lvVjJOCChuCOwtj9HakkGNg9Dgz333a0OjlzWliLAJtg/s1600/scan0038.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358400287671122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-PfiBfFje6OhJDKruUrX7Ie-xUz_JXs4z8Anov0yKgHHkQ1zX0uCfnDZpLwQuX41wLGjMidcAllWMhOyBCxMNJoHLRLwL8D1lvVjJOCChuCOwtj9HakkGNg9Dgz333a0OjlzWliLAJtg/s400/scan0038.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
There are techniques<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to bring us into your presence</span><br />
modes and methods<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">from other times</span><br />
and some new<br />
that have brief vogue<br />
and pretend to a forgotten way<br />
<br />
There never was a flood of saints<br />
upon the world<br />
and never is<br />
<br />
No matter what claim to miracle<br />
or an immanence of rapture<br />
it seems forever the same,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">Lord —</span><br />
that you stay at remove<br />
<br />
but then a catastrophe shocks<br />
and some think you’re on your way<br />
<br />
We panic ourselves with our wit<br />
and under our fear we long<br />
for you to assume the machinery</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqV4-wmWU1ueh1qcKC3zpjA4s5oP_GHXt1gjPAhqKgu8l3SPzNtqMbCLQxL7NOrWO4DfWF1zLQ1AJRDyZcKoxMoBGfy3sddDL9WgjgoFIPJcu_2_EJ3kbbbn3ggtRU7E6VI30-Q2-meu8/s1600/scan0039.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358339639782338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqV4-wmWU1ueh1qcKC3zpjA4s5oP_GHXt1gjPAhqKgu8l3SPzNtqMbCLQxL7NOrWO4DfWF1zLQ1AJRDyZcKoxMoBGfy3sddDL9WgjgoFIPJcu_2_EJ3kbbbn3ggtRU7E6VI30-Q2-meu8/s400/scan0039.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 326px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />But Helga fell ill, very ill, from the worry, and when she came back there was nothing left. He had spent it on his weaknesses, and even sold the very few family things left us.<br /><br />He had no thoughts now of his genius, and none of the old friends came, but he began to dream of the West — the bush the sea and innocence.<br /><br />Our house was taken from us, and we moved further back to Dryden St., to a house that leaked. We boys slept in a garden hut. Our poverty was notorious in the village, though we didn’t know of that.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPSII79f_G8ExE33dQQpyGMSUuZWwxywK6c5-tm89_MwPt2S9fXh2ZT3T-xYw-MIKQ6elPus-nwjlgU-RxLGrw4LgK4f2TCbkxFqpljBbQLyseL-Izap1vMJImwcBetImiomIkgP7to0/s1600/scan0040.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358278245109986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBPSII79f_G8ExE33dQQpyGMSUuZWwxywK6c5-tm89_MwPt2S9fXh2ZT3T-xYw-MIKQ6elPus-nwjlgU-RxLGrw4LgK4f2TCbkxFqpljBbQLyseL-Izap1vMJImwcBetImiomIkgP7to0/s400/scan0040.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
She’s worn out<br />
with the hardness <br />
the keeping going<br />
with the children too<br />
<br />
Couldn’t you help?<br />
<br />
or is there<br />
underneath it all<br />
a scripted plan<br />
that we’ve not cottoned on to yet<br />
but shall do<br />
when we’re wiser?<br />
<br />
Some think<br />
that you should give<br />
a greater attention to justice<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">Lord</span><br />
As things are<br />
you don’t look good<br />
<br />
There’s too much happening<br />
that has to be excused</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7U6CPItoOv77CV_2adepHpqtiBKGTugFNRyTb84B4KqL-WFCTvls4WEfjILhXQ0KomQvUkBAfb2J7eTZ2y2XZLQadJVNnDosqbVEDUx6w1ufVciylDaxm-xhmU8rdn4ULKYFL7r-lDlY/s1600/scan0041.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714358217893385042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7U6CPItoOv77CV_2adepHpqtiBKGTugFNRyTb84B4KqL-WFCTvls4WEfjILhXQ0KomQvUkBAfb2J7eTZ2y2XZLQadJVNnDosqbVEDUx6w1ufVciylDaxm-xhmU8rdn4ULKYFL7r-lDlY/s400/scan0041.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 393px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />He grew moodier, and sometimes violent in an adolescent way and depressed. He stole from Helga’s purse and began to threaten suicide. We took him to the Doctor who had him put in Sunnyside — it was only down the road.<br /><br />The psychiatrist was impressed, for Cecil talked well and was learned; he could easily give the impression that his gifts were ignored and oppressed by society. My friends thought so too, and I could never talk to them of the facts.<br /><br />I discovered the church — it was the windows, then the hymns, and then the vicar’s library. God as well, though I’ve always known your presence.<br /><br />It’s only now, at this much later time, that I’ve come to see you need to be as concrete as the church.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdAGRI3-hGOT1ESKGdWH62Qv1ZVI3GcEPmkRdKO-XK4we-eovlxv0v2obLSALXRctCN1EFXEYBxqidzgHgjLQBaxPzScX6VGmxQtIXvwHtIyMiO21IuQWTZTqPth_NqbVnr0gH4a5t1g/s1600/scan0042.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357931774567298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixdAGRI3-hGOT1ESKGdWH62Qv1ZVI3GcEPmkRdKO-XK4we-eovlxv0v2obLSALXRctCN1EFXEYBxqidzgHgjLQBaxPzScX6VGmxQtIXvwHtIyMiO21IuQWTZTqPth_NqbVnr0gH4a5t1g/s400/scan0042.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 205px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
If I<br />
talked in angel tongues<br />
sang a yodel prayer<br />
chanted Dravidian<br />
did a Sufi swirl<br />
summoned you by goat horn<br />
<br />
would we be bonded?<br />
<br />
Trance<br />
I know<br />
is a bond with the Almighty<br />
but would we communicate?<br />
<br />
You are close<br />
for my comfort<br />
and would be closer<br />
<br />
but I want to indulge<br />
in intelligible talk<br />
<br />
you to explain<br />
the life you give<br />
<br />
I to balk<br />
at the death</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE96jH1Sp2vAjd6Be1_pJSDMY3J_xc3pH8zSclna2T24YYsKW_e7Ny8zCABD3w4y5TaDIzQaBj90GYlc1cUXHl3bi5xkwRAEwbZBF0QFwzDidmFBlGBZzhma-_9Z71b8Lr8tVTTIqkQg/s1600/scan0043.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357857420485186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWE96jH1Sp2vAjd6Be1_pJSDMY3J_xc3pH8zSclna2T24YYsKW_e7Ny8zCABD3w4y5TaDIzQaBj90GYlc1cUXHl3bi5xkwRAEwbZBF0QFwzDidmFBlGBZzhma-_9Z71b8Lr8tVTTIqkQg/s400/scan0043.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 241px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Cecil came home in a couple of months. They said he was better, but he soon got worse, and didn’t like being alone.<br /><br />I married and went away; Sonia did too.<br /><br />There was nothing we could do — we just hoped they would manage. Cecil wasn’t violent any more, just helpless, sometimes tearful, and hiding his alcohol in the compost heap.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENEAOamJD7A0_enxERXsKoqgIv_aSsCZgt1UexEmAVTJajGKh5GsTliENx73QxavKRcvm-GCrAzvTcKb3D3yTa-b4NVcjz5xxLliRHmxoCOUctA1bjMZSKXlwXU854gPtqKVRTHdJ6bs/s1600/scan0044.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357790517082402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhENEAOamJD7A0_enxERXsKoqgIv_aSsCZgt1UexEmAVTJajGKh5GsTliENx73QxavKRcvm-GCrAzvTcKb3D3yTa-b4NVcjz5xxLliRHmxoCOUctA1bjMZSKXlwXU854gPtqKVRTHdJ6bs/s400/scan0044.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 150px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Bit by bit<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">it can slip</span><br />
like a stream in a drought<br />
<br />
Shrink<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">imperceptibly</span><br />
day by day<br />
a little less flow<br />
a little more bed<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">left dry</span><br />
unused<br />
until<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the life’s a line</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">of stagnant pools</span><br />
an arid bed<br />
and shrivelled banks<br />
sans<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">beauty</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">grace</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">or usefulness</span><br />
<br />
Why do you make us die?<br />
is it because we grow sour?<br />
<br />
Age<br />
like copulation<br />
is an experience you don’t have<br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">O Lord</span><br />
unless vicariously<br />
<br />
To tire takes practice<br />
and tuition<br />
<br />
perhaps you learn from us</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkNYjzqo6A5SXoKNGV3IO2dVL2JoYiUJcF9fzZURVfsKQiHjK15emhI4JmiHThneJ0_D6S9QaNf4u0JjNWA5v04zv-qdNFRguQpKwp6n3a8b9dizzt8crc4_3uLL6NdJUeu_rsQZ_9so/s1600/scan0045.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357731427396434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtkNYjzqo6A5SXoKNGV3IO2dVL2JoYiUJcF9fzZURVfsKQiHjK15emhI4JmiHThneJ0_D6S9QaNf4u0JjNWA5v04zv-qdNFRguQpKwp6n3a8b9dizzt8crc4_3uLL6NdJUeu_rsQZ_9so/s400/scan0045.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 393px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />From time to time we visited. We would take the tram to Bexley and see our cousins, or we would cycle over to Dormer St. We were part of the post-war push to propriety and we felt safer now — some steps back from the abyss. Uncle John still looked as if he drank a lot, but Cecil was different. He worked in the garden until it was dark and the neighbours admired him. Our garden was the best. There were asters and heliotrope out the front, asparagus and spinach round the back.<br /><br />Some thought our greens pretentious.<br /><br />Then the slide began. The poem ‘I can’t see’ is a retrospective protestation — at the un-necessary circumstance that now began, and at the helplessness of those involved.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflN0ZVsI49T8iVpTJp7j0nW6to3PSPju2VkOYU7nUcgkXpiYLtPWTjU45mkoL23q0u7SgOTYUYuvOqnUdGM2GIZrh3HvcA9Nx5di3p6JwIzC14vh4a5kbMUldTjZQVv2SNeu8FEu-Guc/s1600/scan0046.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357665832843586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjflN0ZVsI49T8iVpTJp7j0nW6to3PSPju2VkOYU7nUcgkXpiYLtPWTjU45mkoL23q0u7SgOTYUYuvOqnUdGM2GIZrh3HvcA9Nx5di3p6JwIzC14vh4a5kbMUldTjZQVv2SNeu8FEu-Guc/s400/scan0046.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I can’t see <br />
That you’re inviolate<br />
<br />
As God<br />
You need to be challenged<br />
<br />
It’s right<br />
to be courteous<br />
to an eminence<br />
and so we are<br />
<br />
but you gave us free will<br />
which includes to reply<br />
<br />
and you’re love<br />
<br />
we pray you to accept<br />
your creatures’ protestations</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lnL5RSNe_scscWas1RwK6xTmKeWmlNBN2ot2ZWH4DZXNFytKYXKALDQnmddRoGCVKH1asOGWIPDV8RuCxfimTaMCh-OOfIWCAt1o1UaQsgbNoim-sDzsghKyUn_1qMvgM6nm2vHrBTE/s1600/scan0047.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357596363107602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-lnL5RSNe_scscWas1RwK6xTmKeWmlNBN2ot2ZWH4DZXNFytKYXKALDQnmddRoGCVKH1asOGWIPDV8RuCxfimTaMCh-OOfIWCAt1o1UaQsgbNoim-sDzsghKyUn_1qMvgM6nm2vHrBTE/s400/scan0047.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 399px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Great-uncle Jim died. He left his land to the city, and some money to us. We bought furniture, but most of the money — enough to buy a house — disappeared. Helga did well at her job, and Cecil, thinking himself not necessary, gave up at the garden.<br /><br />John married and went away.<br /><br />Cecil couldn’t rest; he was looking for what he couldn’t do without, so he drank to imagined needs. There was never enough.<br /><br />We were sure he had another woman, but couldn’t see where..<br /><br />His were the troubles of Everyman, as I write in this poem, and ask the usual question — why can’t something be done about it --</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaBW3f6fJZ2leJjX8REpue7uhPTFD7Lnrn-_agunRjxQ5-N0SFcB2FvJOYOtix5UD3_Ro0oH6ZzI8eZb-TRiL0TkDIaquZZ-KpNrC7s0XZ8EqVOSM7jhUPjyERVDVQUd_VYt2n9sWTp8/s1600/scan0048.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714357514104673762" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYaBW3f6fJZ2leJjX8REpue7uhPTFD7Lnrn-_agunRjxQ5-N0SFcB2FvJOYOtix5UD3_Ro0oH6ZzI8eZb-TRiL0TkDIaquZZ-KpNrC7s0XZ8EqVOSM7jhUPjyERVDVQUd_VYt2n9sWTp8/s400/scan0048.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 148px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I will empty my head <br />
so the right answers come<br />
<br />
For six decades it’s played itself<br />
through death and ruin<br />
and your hand’s been in<br />
every trick and turn<br />
from conception <br />
to affluent age<br />
<br />
You could have stopped<br />
you often do<br />
but we with eyes<br />
have had to watch<br />
the opera display<br />
our play to you and<br />
your myriads<br />
in convoluted agonies<br />
interminable deaths —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">six</span><br />
by count<br />
and many darkened lives<br />
<br />
I’m tempted to blame —<br />
you’ve made this<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Lord</span><br />
Remember<br />
in your grace<br />
that grief’s a natural thing<br />
and it’s much too late<br />
to bargain<br />
<br />
A lot of people<br />
will have to use the church<br />
<br />
<br />
It’s in your gift</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVW68lTvxvEURBjAJtA3q3nyg32Ds6Lo2GevQpNgsGuJPxe1taQAYtFREuWK1qsfgCTFbjXwXjv2lLHqjt_7ghyphenhyphenGsamFNgl99flq2Jc4w2Ki62ipYiSIC9jrga4DgonTFkHFcZcuxvig/s1600/scan0049.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714356172299421938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqVW68lTvxvEURBjAJtA3q3nyg32Ds6Lo2GevQpNgsGuJPxe1taQAYtFREuWK1qsfgCTFbjXwXjv2lLHqjt_7ghyphenhyphenGsamFNgl99flq2Jc4w2Ki62ipYiSIC9jrga4DgonTFkHFcZcuxvig/s400/scan0049.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 270px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Then Helga found he was stealing from work. We knew then that it wouldn’t be long. Cecil’s roads were closed and there wasn’t any help for him, so we put ourselves in readiness.<br /><br />Helga found him late one day, dead on the bed from the pills the doctor had given him<br /><br />I still grieve that he and we were so helpless, and I wrote this poem ‘You made us able”, in spite of the failure of God’s power to show, or to stop death following on.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn51">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn51" name="_ftn51" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeV5KQFj_q_xgll1Ov5XAoF9tLr5KLCN68RJJ09W65Y-YM2_zL6cDxdXNo-_-pWIuqikNljDp-3f9lbns8CUFjLBUB6RQ5wT6ObTeHVwqV-Msq8Ne2JqS3UBCzqJoMVf609iF3IRZbL0/s1600/scan0050.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714355816657539714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGeV5KQFj_q_xgll1Ov5XAoF9tLr5KLCN68RJJ09W65Y-YM2_zL6cDxdXNo-_-pWIuqikNljDp-3f9lbns8CUFjLBUB6RQ5wT6ObTeHVwqV-Msq8Ne2JqS3UBCzqJoMVf609iF3IRZbL0/s400/scan0050.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 193px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
You made us able<br />
with strong legs<br />
and loins to play<br />
<br />
good eyes<br />
quick minds<br />
and beauty<br />
<br />
a will to build<br />
and a wit for imagery<br />
<br />
The unknown’s receded<br />
and we hardly need you now<br />
<br />
yet you’re still here<br />
no more a need<br />
but a presence<br />
<br />
and who knows what you may do —<br />
the future’s close<br />
and you could change the past<br />
<br />
The wit you gave us aches<br />
and urges the ambition<br />
to unveil you<br />
<br />
Are all our doings<br />
every moment of every day<br />
for this?<br />
<br />
are you inveterate?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn52">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn52" name="_ftn52" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClJXwYR1e9Ejlfnes5geCNF_dQhyphenhypheny6i3m63SHI3ho1Ws2GzztAUCuQkhhHVMA3vXiPywwBDKmFAbCT3whzb-r7ZEMoReO5VKGICjknksifD1hA_cm87AzM_NLk4r4EDemCBbE1FqIqgo/s1600/scan0051.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714355753516272978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiClJXwYR1e9Ejlfnes5geCNF_dQhyphenhypheny6i3m63SHI3ho1Ws2GzztAUCuQkhhHVMA3vXiPywwBDKmFAbCT3whzb-r7ZEMoReO5VKGICjknksifD1hA_cm87AzM_NLk4r4EDemCBbE1FqIqgo/s400/scan0051.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 262px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i><br />Unwise friends, and unkind too, persuaded Helga to marry again for company and security, a quiet man in a square house who would never let her down. She grew as quiet as he,<br /><br />‘Your father was never dull’, she said to us, and we knew it wouldn’t be long.<br /><br />He found her when he came back from work, dead on the bed, from the pills the doctor had given her.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn53">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn53" name="_ftn53" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">51</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckjvjriznBRNxiIxwekAC32D-nT2Xte-gccA3STVELPfzC5l6DSIajTqSoZuVogo9eHZm6qspQLPjcwfdqi4dRUaHQprw8wrJulNEDEPh1v2hIemUI0CF4vpggQbNJnVnjoVNbKHWD3Y/s1600/scan0052.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714355692340142946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjckjvjriznBRNxiIxwekAC32D-nT2Xte-gccA3STVELPfzC5l6DSIajTqSoZuVogo9eHZm6qspQLPjcwfdqi4dRUaHQprw8wrJulNEDEPh1v2hIemUI0CF4vpggQbNJnVnjoVNbKHWD3Y/s400/scan0052.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 186px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
God,<br />
where do you find<br />
your ideas?<br />
<br />
Are they pre-existent<br />
floating on a nacreous sea<br />
or banked<br />
on a planetary body<br />
kept for the use of deities?<br />
<br />
or do you crib them<br />
from creation<br />
and use them repeatedly?<br />
<br />
Perhaps that’s our use<br />
our reason for existence —<br />
to stimulate you <br />
in the boredom of omnipotence<br />
<br />
for you’ve so made us that<br />
while we play the man<br />
we’re never quite to pattern<br />
<br />
there’s always something new<br />
in our humanity<br />
something variant<br />
for your eternity<br />
<br />
even you<br />
might wonder at us<br />
and be grateful</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn54">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/god-poems.html#_ftn54" name="_ftn54" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">52</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTN_JWzLeSdGThRQS4DK7qU4ZS3IIAY8Y1VMnmbAcnUt2AO53AxSHlJsPX7B_gORxu6y05g0cW3odcBWx_MQbX6e8sdKyybrwDKNCTt0cBS97qteIGiGW3B7reFR1YVvmqlljX7g0De9A/s1600/scan0053.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5714355624471322162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTN_JWzLeSdGThRQS4DK7qU4ZS3IIAY8Y1VMnmbAcnUt2AO53AxSHlJsPX7B_gORxu6y05g0cW3odcBWx_MQbX6e8sdKyybrwDKNCTt0cBS97qteIGiGW3B7reFR1YVvmqlljX7g0De9A/s400/scan0053.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 207px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
In death<br />
there’s need of you —<br />
the only hold we have<br />
on the unknown<br />
<br />
{which you are<br />
in spite of scripture<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">vision</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">& philosophy}</span><br />
Your presence there<br />
is the assurance<br />
that you<br />
the Maker<br />
know our working<br />
in all parts<br />
<br />
and in the wisdom<br />
of that knowledge<br />
will refit us to the form</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-60060599760057984322012-01-09T09:33:00.030+13:002017-11-26T10:55:28.293+13:00The Galapagos Tracts (c.1999-2006)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbpQjEmxEQZMYVOeCmacjLHORut7r0TjwG1Dw51sxqZm9GDqbZXn1SgTZO95QvgNCu7xH-7vW2uUbg8kq8JCkyOgfQ68XUzXQ2rDJwYHS0BWJMJwj98Mzll1kjRschAaW2qoiiavEyOo/s1600/rsnz_39_00_0613_0000f_ac_01.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713530821257055890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwbpQjEmxEQZMYVOeCmacjLHORut7r0TjwG1Dw51sxqZm9GDqbZXn1SgTZO95QvgNCu7xH-7vW2uUbg8kq8JCkyOgfQ68XUzXQ2rDJwYHS0BWJMJwj98Mzll1kjRschAaW2qoiiavEyOo/s400/rsnz_39_00_0613_0000f_ac_01.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">[<a href="http://rsnz.natlib.govt.nz/">Transactions & Proceedings of the Royal Society of NZ</a>]</span></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsocWKRixQRmsdDUVEajob51ag_qAT_9mSjNPOmKVZ5iO8E-zKDRPlmkyTv9eXxPFy5lnm9X4GYkjpHVj3vPpOG_pIOBc8qK-7aBR8bSyuAlBYngEFPAPMRZMZmYmSptgWdsldFTznU7w/s1600/scan0007.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708751978732858914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsocWKRixQRmsdDUVEajob51ag_qAT_9mSjNPOmKVZ5iO8E-zKDRPlmkyTv9eXxPFy5lnm9X4GYkjpHVj3vPpOG_pIOBc8qK-7aBR8bSyuAlBYngEFPAPMRZMZmYmSptgWdsldFTznU7w/s400/scan0007.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />AUTHOR’S NOTE</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
All the documents used in this work are taken from the first twelve volumes of the ‘Transactions and Proceedings of the New Zealand Institute’, issued annually, and beginning with Vol. 1., May, 1869.<br />
<br />
The preface to the first issue notes that ‘Many of the papers here published are of a most important character, and all are valuable contributions to scientific literature.’ It was a necessary publication, and chronicled the colony’s discovery of itself.<br />
<br />
I was initially led to the ‘Transactions’ by scientific purposes, but became attracted to the beauty of its contents. This was sometimes quite obvious — for example, in the shape of a document, its tables, graphs, or serried paragraphs. Or it might lie in the scientific rhetoric, the writing style, the subject, the punctuation and typography, or irony created by the passage of time, and the startling language.<br />
<br />
Sometimes this beauty is so hidden it must be revealed. In the attempt to do this nothing used has been left entirely as it was at its source. With some of the texts only a little shaping was necessary. With most, however, I have rebuilt after destruction, to release an admirable form. There does appear, at appointed intervals, a poem that is entirely of my own composition, but I have only permitted myself this liberty for the purpose of necessary comment.<br />
<br />
Here and there, in restructuring a document, I have inserted my own words. There is no absolute in my attitude on this matter.<br />
<br />
It could well be objected that some of the texts in this work can hardly be described as ‘poetry’. However, I do include them and present them as such. From any discussion on this subject good might come. The book is indexed as a volume of the Transactions, and as to the title — I leave that to the reader to decipher.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.1]</div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TZaUhM5QPDSjd5R1_saRjCGwzkx7MTzQI0sLiZAS20Ay9X7lBOYiydhlGqdsrEoK7UEOF5-RZkJWbRwGMD92h6KswrTo5LHzuEguB1Hg8QVGRzs-64fO6MMjm-peaD3YBzvS3aY0gsY/s1600/scan0008.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708751927454393746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0TZaUhM5QPDSjd5R1_saRjCGwzkx7MTzQI0sLiZAS20Ay9X7lBOYiydhlGqdsrEoK7UEOF5-RZkJWbRwGMD92h6KswrTo5LHzuEguB1Hg8QVGRzs-64fO6MMjm-peaD3YBzvS3aY0gsY/s400/scan0008.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkOfMai5tExrzzOEnpjv3K8iQ7kDujslzxb0hZKVDlvtNCWrd6xT91JPgIlihRRw95rTHjB6GUCK7m8RnbzEKOhZj7VdV-9loM6A5R9i257Vdbf49GVr8LsOzvrgj8Cx6Ip40kEu4iTA/s1600/scan0009.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708751876164838946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSkOfMai5tExrzzOEnpjv3K8iQ7kDujslzxb0hZKVDlvtNCWrd6xT91JPgIlihRRw95rTHjB6GUCK7m8RnbzEKOhZj7VdV-9loM6A5R9i257Vdbf49GVr8LsOzvrgj8Cx6Ip40kEu4iTA/s400/scan0009.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><u>INDEX</u></b></div>
<blockquote>
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><br /><b>page<span style="padding-left: 24em;">volume</span></b><br />1.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn1">Author’s Note</a></span><br />4.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn3">Preface</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - *</span><br />5.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><u>Proceedings</u></span><br />6.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn4">The President Delivered the Following Address</a> - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />7.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn5">The Otago Institute</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />8.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><u>Transactions</u></span><br />9.<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn6">On The Building Materials of Otago</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ix</span><br />10.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn7">Experiments With Prepared Fibre</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vi</span><br />11.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn8">Proximate Principles Of The Leaf</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vi</span><br />12.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn9">The Dunedin Fish Supply</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />14.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><u>Papers And Verbal Descriptions</u></span><br />15.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn10">On New Zealand Coffee</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ix</span><br />16.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn11">On the Root Stock of Marattia fraxinea</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - ix</span><br />17.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn12">On a Better Knowledge of the Maori Race</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - xii</span><br />18.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn13">Whence of the Word</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - iv</span><br />19.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn14">Some New Slugs</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xi</span><br />20.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn15">May 7th. of this Year</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />21.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn16">Notes on the Microscopic Structure of Certain Rocks</a> - - - - vii</span><br />22.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn17">Some Coccidae in New Zealand</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xi</span><br />23.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn18">Fertilization Among the Orchids</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xi</span><br />24.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Fertilization of Pterostylis - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - v</span><br />25.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn19">On the Fertilisation of Cyrtostylis oblonga</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />26.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn20">On the Nesting Habits of the Huia</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - viii</span><br />27.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Some Birds Found - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xi</span><br />28.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn21">Some Moa Remains</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />29.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn22">The Sphenodon</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />30.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn23">Taniwhasaurus</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vi</span><br />31.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Taniwhasaurus oweni - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vi</span><br />32.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Dinornis elephantopus - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - i</span><br />33.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn24">A Raptorial Bird of Enormous Dimensions</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - iv</span><br />34.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Harpagornis moorei - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - iv plate xi</span><br />35.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn25">On Measurement Made</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - i</span><br />36.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn26">From a Catalogue of Naturalized Plants</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />37.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn27">On A Rock Shelter Near the Opihi Gorge</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />38.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn28">Notice of the Existence of a Large Bat in N. Z.</a>- - - - - - - - - - viii</span><br />39.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn29">Notes on the Properties of Certain Native Grasses</a> - - - - - - - ix</span><br />40.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn30">Fossil</a></span><br />41.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><u>Essays</u></span><br />42.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn31">The Genius of the Phenomenon</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - *</span><br />43.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn32">The Comparative Atmospheric Pressure of N.Z.& Gt.Britain</a> - ix</span><br />46.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn33">Notes on Some Habits of the Frost Fish</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - viii</span><br />47.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn34">Forest Culture in the Austral Colonies</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />48.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn35">Some Observations on Native Forest Land</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />49.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn36">The People</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - I</span><br />51.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn37">Autocthon</a></span><br />52.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><u>Pages of Tables and Graphs</u></span><br />53.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn38">On the Principle of N.Z. Weather Forecast</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xii</span><br />59.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn39">On the Ancient Dog of the New Zealanders</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />60.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn40">The Economy of the Naultinus</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xii</span><br />61.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Naultinus pulcherrimus and Catocala traversii - - - - - - - - - - ix</span><br />62.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn41">The Herpetologist Loses his Pets</a></span><br />63.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn42">On the Hot Winds of Canterbury</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />64.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn43">On the Disappearance of the Larger Lizard from Nth. Cant.</a> - vii</span><br />65.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn44">On the Phyllocladus</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - x</span><br />66.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn45">On the Breeding Habits of the Katipo</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xi</span><br />68.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><u>Appendix</u></span><br />69.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn46">Explanation of Plate xxviii</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />70.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn47">Description of Plate</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - xii</span><br />71.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn48">On Forest Culture</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - vii</span><br />72.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn49">Mr. Buller to the Rev. Mr. Taylor, Sir</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - iii</span><br />73.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn50">Errata</a> - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - viii</span><br />74.<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn51">Galapagos</a></span><br /><br />* Source uncertain, reference lost.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 2-3]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicElm6K6MQsJ9sbV7VfUwPTSgbl8c9KtPQgjDWxpeO7myKI5h7j9UkMg1hjRm99am2lVgQeoSFvqh02mVhbx8gph1sJlafh4FGe35pRf9xZDMoj15XN0FWPLnoHBqTLHbDp0Kl3jL7MbQ/s1600/scan0010.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5708751822151281730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicElm6K6MQsJ9sbV7VfUwPTSgbl8c9KtPQgjDWxpeO7myKI5h7j9UkMg1hjRm99am2lVgQeoSFvqh02mVhbx8gph1sJlafh4FGe35pRf9xZDMoj15XN0FWPLnoHBqTLHbDp0Kl3jL7MbQ/s400/scan0010.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 201px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">PREFACE</span></b><br />
<br />
The only concrete science is Psychology,<br />
The only ‘things-in-themselves’ are <i><u>feelings</u></i>.<br />
<br />
Those that are vivid are sensations and emotions,<br />
Those called ideas are but shadowy similitudes.<br />
<br />
All existence is a mental state,<br />
One’s own, and another’s.*<br />
<br />
Between one’s own and another’s feelings<br />
There are relations of sequence and synchronism.<br />
<br />
This is endorsed every hour a thousand times<br />
By the common sense of a social mankind.<br />
<br />
An object is an abstraction, the reference of which<br />
Is to a concretion inside the consciousness.<br />
<br />
Outside the consciousness of the intelligent being<br />
Can there be any real existences?<br />
<br />
(<i>There does exist such a world of realities,<br />But its nature must be forever hidden from us.</i>)<br />
<br />
We know that ‘things-as-they-are-in-themselves’<br />
are inaccessible to human research.<br />
<br />
I do not know whether my neighbour’s <i><u>green</u></i><br />
Is quite the same as that which I call <i><u>green</u></i>.<br />
<br />
There is only one Existence — the ‘Substance of Mind’,<br />
The supposed dualism of matter and spirit is illusion.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>See Mr.Mill:<br />‘An Examination of Sir William Hamilton’s Philosophy.’</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.4]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Proceedings</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.5]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRP6yuT6oa6c_OtONg_jLNfVuNWTS_k7jpfBc832qullMEa9FGy04kvX_kJUIkCO5sJb9Pf7U_zFiE3RUgm8RsdQiaXyVr6L1Y0w3ql2BCyY0FpmQEbSYkQf84MTTLoJTSP5kx9kiK1w/s1600/scan0002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527991038511682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRRP6yuT6oa6c_OtONg_jLNfVuNWTS_k7jpfBc832qullMEa9FGy04kvX_kJUIkCO5sJb9Pf7U_zFiE3RUgm8RsdQiaXyVr6L1Y0w3ql2BCyY0FpmQEbSYkQf84MTTLoJTSP5kx9kiK1w/s400/scan0002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The President Delivered The Following Address</b><br />
<br />
Tirade!<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Mere satisfaction in system’s sake</span><br />
artistic effect and the like<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">for breadth of nature</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">in the study of life</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">deliberation and the like</span><br />
and care, with only thus.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">In pursuit of herself!<span style="padding-left: 2em;">hand in,</span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">thus are all related to each other.</span><br />
<br />
My burthen is care,<br />
<br />
From ev’ry quarter and not for us alone<span style="padding-left: 2em;">large-heartedness</span><br />
in pursuit,<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">herself is truth with faithfulness.</span><br />
Seek!<br />
<br />
Men have minds.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Unite our light with spirits for</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the mysteries.<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Small circle.</span></span><br />
<br />
There are wider circles<br />
not extinguished by small circle which will live still.<br />
<br />
Humble, I say,<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">only<span style="padding-left: 2em;">thus<span style="padding-left: 2em;">to<span style="padding-left: 2em;">arrive</span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 22em;">Proceed!</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">In patience possess ye</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">in proper sphere</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 23em;">Strive!</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.6]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsceTDkd6wqwrNSxS47WYS2Q_HhXblg2HNhrrCIgR4MtS3cl_fum0L-FW4wFEwRJXlm0qQVW7eM84p5BWwNKtzdW8KXHa3aQMX8bDsHMDfLEACwE_X1Sc5aipMEeWka6cg7FoV9Fdaxc/s1600/scan0003.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527937244039042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmsceTDkd6wqwrNSxS47WYS2Q_HhXblg2HNhrrCIgR4MtS3cl_fum0L-FW4wFEwRJXlm0qQVW7eM84p5BWwNKtzdW8KXHa3aQMX8bDsHMDfLEACwE_X1Sc5aipMEeWka6cg7FoV9Fdaxc/s400/scan0003.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 215px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>The Otago Institute</b><br />
<br />
<u>First Meeting. 5th. June, 1877.</u><br />
<i>the Rt. Rev. Bishop Neville, President, in the chair.</i><br />
New members. - A. H. Jack, Rev. C. S. Ross, G. S. Duncan.</div>
<br />
<br />
1.“On the N.Z. Myriopoda in the Otago Museum”, by Prof. F. W. Hutton.<br />
<br />
2. “Notes on the Habits of the N.Z. Grayling (Proto—<br />
toctes oxyrhynchus),” by J. Rutland.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
--------------------------<br />
<br />
<u>Second Meeting. 19th. June, 1877.</u><br />
<i>The Rt. Rev. Bishop Neville, President, in the chair.</i><br />
New members. - R. Paulin, G. E. Eliott, A. Montgomery.</div>
<br />
<br />
Professor Black gave a lecture on: The Earth a Cinder.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
--------------------------- <br />
<br />
<u>Third Meeting. 3rd. July, 1877.</u><br />
<i>R. Gillies, Vice-President, in the chair.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
1. Professor Hutton explained Schivender’s theory of <br />
the Nature of Lichens.<br />
<br />
2. Professor Hutton read a note on a Fungus-penetra-<br />
ting Nostoc.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
-----------------------------<br />
<br />
<u>Fourth Meeting. 17th. July, 1877.</u><br />
<i>W. N. Blair, Vice-President, in the chair.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
Professor Macgregor gave a lecture on Mental Physics.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.7]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Transactions</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.8]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F0PxvkLlVUywL4SU4WieYsstRvRTtS9pPBHwXQge32gajYtkPtECcLhWBBILZRTKH77Tzzy4HCyKaCwZ6LxeY1dKjELz9_vgJS0wgvLz-1SGrnSRRu_RiwNeBjXJXBsujmDtY5HttnI/s1600/scan0004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527884282973890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4F0PxvkLlVUywL4SU4WieYsstRvRTtS9pPBHwXQge32gajYtkPtECcLhWBBILZRTKH77Tzzy4HCyKaCwZ6LxeY1dKjELz9_vgJS0wgvLz-1SGrnSRRu_RiwNeBjXJXBsujmDtY5HttnI/s400/scan0004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 348px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>On The Building Materials of Otago</b><br />
<br />
<b>Popular<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Botanical<span style="padding-left: 1em;">weight<span style="padding-left: 1em;">strength<span style="padding-left: 1em;">elas-<span style="padding-left: 1em;">tough-<span style="padding-left: 1em;">remarks</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
Name<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Name<span style="padding-left: 1em;">per cubic foot dry<span style="padding-left: 1em;">ticity<span style="padding-left: 1em;">ness<span style="padding-left: 4em;"> </span></span></span></span></span></b><br />
<br />
<i><u>Otago Timbers</u></i><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Black Mapau<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Pittosporum tenuifolium<span style="padding-left: 1em;">60.14<span style="padding-left: 1em;">243<span style="padding-left: 1em;">215.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">114.08</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Red Mapau<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Myrsine urvillei<span style="padding-left: 1em;">61.84<span style="padding-left: 1em;">192.4<span style="padding-left: 1em;">169.88<span style="padding-left: 1em;">92.94</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>White Mapau<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Carpodetus serratus<span style="padding-left: 1em;">51.24<span style="padding-left: 1em;">177.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">166.86<span style="padding-left: 1em;">54.64</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Manuka<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Leptospermum ericoides<span style="padding-left: 1em;">59.00<span style="padding-left: 1em;">239<span style="padding-left: 1em;">239.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">116.58</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Rata<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Metrosideros lucida<span style="padding-left: 1em;">65.13<span style="padding-left: 1em;">196<span style="padding-left: 1em;">244.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">94.23</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Kowhai<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Sophora tetraptera<span style="padding-left: 1em;">55.11<span style="padding-left: 1em;">207.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">198.05<span style="padding-left: 1em;">79.19</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Pokaka<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Eleocarpus dentatus<span style="padding-left: 1em;">35.03<span style="padding-left: 1em;">125<span style="padding-left: 1em;">200.7<span style="padding-left: 1em;">97.65</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Cedar<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Libocedrus bidwillii<span style="padding-left: 1em;">39.69<span style="padding-left: 1em;">120<span style="padding-left: 1em;">137.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">32.43<span style="padding-left: 1em;">one experi-</span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Miro<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Podocarpus ferruginea<span style="padding-left: 1em;">49.07<span style="padding-left: 1em;">197.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">230.24<span style="padding-left: 1em;">128.05<span style="padding-left: 1em;">ment</span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Totara<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Podocarpus totara<span style="padding-left: 1em;">35.17<span style="padding-left: 1em;">133.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">124.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">58.85<span style="padding-left: 1em;">only</span></span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Black Pine<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Podocarpus spicata<span style="padding-left: 1em;">40.74<span style="padding-left: 1em;">190<span style="padding-left: 1em;">156.22<span style="padding-left: 1em;">90.86</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>White Pine<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Podocarpus dacrydioides<span style="padding-left: 1em;">30.43<span style="padding-left: 1em;">106<span style="padding-left: 1em;">127.1<span style="padding-left: 1em;">49.07</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Red Pine<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Dacrydium cupressinum<span style="padding-left: 1em;">39.25<span style="padding-left: 1em;">140.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">143.28<span style="padding-left: 1em;">79.66</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Silver Birch<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Fagus menziesii<span style="padding-left: 1em;">38.99<span style="padding-left: 1em;">158.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">116<span style="padding-left: 1em;">62.04</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Red Birch<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Fagus fusca<span style="padding-left: 1em;">48.62<span style="padding-left: 1em;">202.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">219.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">87.28</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<br />
<i><u>English & Exotic Examples</u></i><br />
<br />
<li>Australian Iron Bark<span style="padding-left: 3em;">70.92<span style="padding-left: 1em;">282.7<span style="padding-left: 1em;">297<span style="padding-left: 1em;">192.31</span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Australian Blue Gum<span style="padding-left: 3em;">60.66<span style="padding-left: 1em;">214.8<span style="padding-left: 1em;">259.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">191.78</span></span></span></span></li>
<li>English Oak<span style="padding-left: 3em;">55.96<span style="padding-left: 1em;">128.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">127<span style="padding-left: 1em;">105.36<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>ditto<span style="padding-left: 3em;">51.72<span style="padding-left: 1em;">176.4<span style="padding-left: 1em;">257.3<span style="padding-left: 1em;">150.79<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Laslett</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>English Ash<span style="padding-left: 3em;">46.19<span style="padding-left: 1em;">169.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">180<span style="padding-left: 1em;">115.96<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>ditto<span style="padding-left: 3em;">46.00<span style="padding-left: 1em;">188.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">331.6<span style="padding-left: 1em;">133.90<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Laslett</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Memel Deal<span style="padding-left: 3em;">36.77<span style="padding-left: 1em;">144.25<span style="padding-left: 1em;">116<span style="padding-left: 1em;">- - - - -<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>English Beech<span style="padding-left: 3em;">43.77<span style="padding-left: 1em;">129.66<span style="padding-left: 1em;">195.8<span style="padding-left: 1em;">134.58<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Riga Fir<span style="padding-left: 3em;">46.46<span style="padding-left: 1em;">89.9<span style="padding-left: 1em;">167.7<span style="padding-left: 1em;">79.95<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>ditto<span style="padding-left: 3em;">33.81<span style="padding-left: 1em;">131.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">435.4<span style="padding-left: 1em;">221.76<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Laslett</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>English Elm<span style="padding-left: 3em;">34.21<span style="padding-left: 1em;">87.9<span style="padding-left: 1em;">82.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">74.63<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Barlow</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>ditto<span style="padding-left: 3em;">34.87<span style="padding-left: 1em;">86<span style="padding-left: 1em;">145.15<span style="padding-left: 1em;">99.51<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Laslett</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>Kauri<span style="padding-left: 3em;">34.31<span style="padding-left: 1em;">157.42<span style="padding-left: 1em;">417.46<span style="padding-left: 1em;">338.86<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Laslett</span></span></span></span></span></li>
<li>ditto<span style="padding-left: 3em;">38.96<span style="padding-left: 1em;">165.5<span style="padding-left: 1em;">181.27<span style="padding-left: 1em;">92.98<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Acc. to Balfour</span></span></span></span></span></li>
</ol>
</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.9]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-W2rJBDP_vH0cMLUzNVQVVFPSv-R9EQQlWdP87PS2YLL4ZZv5pIHsxIhDtvk5ThP6VgLOgA6lvLK4kxMcjUVYRCQacuMTyyLcFwf19beNsYRdwyZWbIt9hGoV2fRszmiDRrNaCvNqyPE/s1600/scan0005.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527817637664002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-W2rJBDP_vH0cMLUzNVQVVFPSv-R9EQQlWdP87PS2YLL4ZZv5pIHsxIhDtvk5ThP6VgLOgA6lvLK4kxMcjUVYRCQacuMTyyLcFwf19beNsYRdwyZWbIt9hGoV2fRszmiDRrNaCvNqyPE/s400/scan0005.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 327px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>4. EXPERIMENTS WITH PREPARED FIBRE.</b><br />
<br />
<b><i>Most of the experiments now to be detailed are connected with the oiling. The samples used were submitted to certain tests, with the following results: -</i></b><br />
<br />
<br />
Descript. Of Fibre.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Moisture<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Ash<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Oil<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Fix.Oil<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Tot.Oil</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
A. Native … …<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">13.74<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.74<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.29<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.20<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">.49</span></span></span></span></span><br />
B. Machine Dressed<span style="padding-left: 1em;">13.32<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.63<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.14<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.29<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">.43</span></span></span></span></span><br />
C. Machine Dressed<span style="padding-left: 1em;">12.79<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.51<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.38<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.26<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">.64</span></span></span></span></span><br />
D. Nichol’s Process<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">14.17<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.70<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.56<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">.36<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">.92</span></span></span></span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Oiling Experiments, Series I</i></b>. Show that the fine native dressed fibre retains the least.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Oiling Experiments, Series II</i></b>. We learn that dry fibres absorb less than those which are moist.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Oiling Experiments, Series III</i></b>. The inferiority of a vegetable oil for such purposes was shown.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b><i>Oiling Experiments, Series IV</i></b>. Sperm oil was used for these experiments, on exposure to the air.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.10]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGarahDEYcfp80XvqClm6hYhGHuTrACWhkA-JKrxIWpt2N8iQkBL8J1PK0w5ACl8G6vZm6iUfJUSx7Girxhull3A10ns89cm-sjBl-gtskuh0VVy0cGY2stw9o8EcsdGXHUomHm8Umqo/s1600/scan0006.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527762669489826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaGarahDEYcfp80XvqClm6hYhGHuTrACWhkA-JKrxIWpt2N8iQkBL8J1PK0w5ACl8G6vZm6iUfJUSx7Girxhull3A10ns89cm-sjBl-gtskuh0VVy0cGY2stw9o8EcsdGXHUomHm8Umqo/s400/scan0006.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 230px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Proximate Principles Of The Leaf</b><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Moisture --------- 71.6</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Organic Matter - 26.8</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Mineral Matter --- 1.6</span><br />
<br />
Cold water extracts from the leaf a deal of sugar,<br />
with traces of albuminoid matter & saline substance.<br />
<br />
Hot water removes much <i>bitter principle</i>, and gum.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Ether removes oil and fat,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and so with other solvents.</span><br />
<br />
<b>A.</b> The Gum: when partially dried it swells in cold<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">and dissolves in hot,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">when burnt it leaves,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">it is distinct from starch,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">it is turned by boiling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;"><i>I can suggest no purpose for it</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<b>B.</b> Wax:<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Rather less than 1%</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">It is on the surface</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">It repels water.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">It may be removed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">(by boiling alcohol).</span><br />
<br />
<b>C.</b> Sugar:<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">It yielded much sugar.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;">This sugar is <i>fructose</i>.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">It exists in fresh leaves depending.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.11]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1uvZbbbphw6wTwZx8mUuycmrjGP15EouUrogEap-2nO6p9wrb9H5gh0fpeN9szJqRIUsUJOpG8Nf6BZ_wTtRkP-65wv4tjoqtvjgMRPy-1o46RhxcwGgByG7Rx_lnWg4yXboz0Bnq5E/s1600/scan0007.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527684561852130" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgy1uvZbbbphw6wTwZx8mUuycmrjGP15EouUrogEap-2nO6p9wrb9H5gh0fpeN9szJqRIUsUJOpG8Nf6BZ_wTtRkP-65wv4tjoqtvjgMRPy-1o46RhxcwGgByG7Rx_lnWg4yXboz0Bnq5E/s400/scan0007.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 182px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOb3VWDlvwxRzegtPh71pwQYUJ3sVpJHCvXeTf6tGDm9dj9cBrMVDKDo_H3eiCTzsxaawiIG6USlxWyznT1f-lAz74tsPHjXqGflxK3urEYW1Gf3ogJWjvTlg3_LiLSLdihvY8JegMtTw/s1600/scan0008.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527624798579650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOb3VWDlvwxRzegtPh71pwQYUJ3sVpJHCvXeTf6tGDm9dj9cBrMVDKDo_H3eiCTzsxaawiIG6USlxWyznT1f-lAz74tsPHjXqGflxK3urEYW1Gf3ogJWjvTlg3_LiLSLdihvY8JegMtTw/s400/scan0008.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Dunedin Fish Supply</b><br />
<br />
<b>Hapuka.</b><br />
<i>Oligorus gigas</i>.<br />
<u>Groper. —</u><br />
Excepting during late winter months<br />
This excellent fish has been always in.<br />
A few very large were brought to town,<br />
But from 20-30 pounds is the av. size.<br />
<i>Was in the market for 159 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Makawhiti.</b><br />
<i>Agnostoma forsteri</i>.<br />
<u>Herring —</u><br />
This is abundant in the Otago Harbour<br />
And furnishes anglers with good sport.<br />
It varies from six to fourteen inches,<br />
And is one of the best of our sea fishes.<br />
<i>Was in the market 233 days</i>.<br />
<br />
Whapuku.<br />
<i>Lotella bacchus</i>.<br />
<u>Red Cod. —</u><br />
Perhaps the most plentiful of our fish,<br />
It is caught inside and outside the Heads.<br />
Both large and small are cured here by<br />
Smoking and sold as Finnan Haddock.<br />
<i>They were in the market for 214 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Moki.</b><br />
<i>Latris ciliaris</i><br />
<u>Moki. —</u><br />
Is a most regular visitor to our market,<br />
And is brought here from the Bluff, from<br />
Stewart Island fishermen, sent us by the<br />
Southland steamers, if the weather allows.<br />
<i>This fish was in the market 136 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Glenypterus blacoides</i>.<br />
<u>Ling —</u><br />
It is present more or less all the year,<br />
Though generally scarce in the autumn.<br />
It is among the best of our food fishes.<br />
The young are most curiously spotted.<br />
<i>This fish was present 83 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Manga.</b><br />
<i>Thyrsites atun</i>.<br />
<u>Barracouta —</u><br />
In large though usually irregular supply.<br />
This season began about October 17th.<br />
Nearly a fortnight earlier than usual.<br />
They were plentiful all along the coast.<br />
<i>Were in the market 123 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Hiku.</b><br />
<i>Lepidopus caudatus</i>.<br />
<u>Frost-Fish —</u><br />
Seventy were caught about Purakanui<br />
In fine clear weather and a young moon.<br />
They were for a few days most plentiful,<br />
And some of the shops had up to 20.<br />
<i>They were brought to market on 11 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Patiki.</b><br />
<i>Rhombosolea monopus</i>.<br />
<u>Flounder —</u><br />
It was kept in regular supply all this year.<br />
The fishermen catch them undersized;<br />
The dealers should refuse them so small.<br />
The law must be asked by us to interfere.<br />
<i>The flounder was in the market 261 days</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 12-13]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Papers And Verbal Descriptions</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.14]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWaZ1BY1jXPAjW8xgp6hfqki6wFbLTy6Wk5W58GUou2n4EvBJRy1DOv7VwRJNrOislPt6td6OVWEBiFqO8Dp_Mernf8EU7hU2Sy_GWEIe7qy9q0SdsjkVieQbaHaP9uPhi2Z6JYeq7hI/s1600/scan0009.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527570853776066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirWaZ1BY1jXPAjW8xgp6hfqki6wFbLTy6Wk5W58GUou2n4EvBJRy1DOv7VwRJNrOislPt6td6OVWEBiFqO8Dp_Mernf8EU7hU2Sy_GWEIe7qy9q0SdsjkVieQbaHaP9uPhi2Z6JYeq7hI/s400/scan0009.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>On New Zealand Coffee.</b></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>The Taupata.<br />
Coprosma baueriana.<br />
<br />
It is extremely hardy.<br />
<br />
It bears a great quantity of fruit.<br />
It grows with rapidity to a moderate height.<br />
It is easily grown.<br />
<br />
The seeds are small compared with those of true coffee<br />
but the trees bear much fruit<br />
and appear to do so every year.<br />
<br />
I have collected a quantity of the berries.<br />
<br />
Slight bruising and washing will remove the outer pulp.<br />
When roasted and ground the beans have a splendid aroma.<br />
<br />
I send a sample of the grounds for the inspection of the meeting.<br />
<br />
If members will apply their olfactory nerves to it<br />
they will be satisfied that we have in the Taupata<br />
a source of great wealth,<br />
requiring but little capital to develop<br />
and capable of almost unlimited expansion</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.15]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLNwnaryQiPtCdawX-ZPffwprasBD4FkFn8A3YzElz6jrql41pIgDK7cTl0JZYQG9Uko_KSjPM9BCSkOGQhDmBfwm3C3CgHZtYRxz2NnweEzlsBnI544SwuIKRgguM6q4R515dt0b8y0/s1600/scan0010.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527513209957906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCLNwnaryQiPtCdawX-ZPffwprasBD4FkFn8A3YzElz6jrql41pIgDK7cTl0JZYQG9Uko_KSjPM9BCSkOGQhDmBfwm3C3CgHZtYRxz2NnweEzlsBnI544SwuIKRgguM6q4R515dt0b8y0/s400/scan0010.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 206px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>On the Root-Stock of Marattia<br />
fraxinea</b><br />
<br />
<i>this form of root-stock may be named a<br />
scaly sub-ariel rhizome, without inter-<br />
nodes</i>.<br />
<br />
<b>Fig. 1 .</b><br />
<br />
fibro-vascular bundles<br />
<br />
<b>Fig. 2 .</b><br />
<br />
bud growth<br />
<br />
<b>Fig. 3 .</b><br />
<b>& 4 .</b><br />
<br />
adnate stipules<br />
<br />
<b>Fig. 5 .</b><br />
<br />
flexible root process<br />
<br />
<b>Fig. 6 .</b><br />
<b>& 6a.</b><br />
<br />
starch grains and scalariform bundles</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.16]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIRwdwGCyRVGzyvoA0861oagSLyJ-VKH3tjjWuqPqPHFF_ZvJAXCD60y2l5XLViNo2duiBv6o2aj1mqYl4KBmQ6y9ECR7JW02Xfeqb_z_PHQUerkqq23NPXzT6tThrzgihWsz9ets2mw/s1600/scan0011.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527449746450450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTIRwdwGCyRVGzyvoA0861oagSLyJ-VKH3tjjWuqPqPHFF_ZvJAXCD60y2l5XLViNo2duiBv6o2aj1mqYl4KBmQ6y9ECR7JW02Xfeqb_z_PHQUerkqq23NPXzT6tThrzgihWsz9ets2mw/s400/scan0011.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 209px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>On A Better Knowledge Of The Maori Race</b><br />
<br />
<i>Some Maori proverbs, etc.</i></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
He kakariki kai ata!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Like a green parrot which eats at dawn!</i></span><br />
<br />
Na te waewae I kimi.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Sought for by looking.</i></span><br />
<br />
Taringa muhu kai!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Ears alive for food!</i></span><br />
<br />
He pai rangitahi!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>One day beauty; short-lived pleasure.</i></span><br />
<br />
He kaakaa waha nui!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>A noisy-mouthed parrot!</i></span><br />
<br />
Tiketike ao, papaku po!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Tall by day, small by night!</i></span><br />
<br />
Kei kai te ketekete.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Lest there be nothing to eat but regrets.</i></span><br />
<br />
Kei maaku toku.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Don’t complain of trifles.</i></span><br />
<br />
Tineia te ahi! Auahi tahi!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Stop the fire! It’s only smoke!</i></span><br />
<br />
He kai kora nui te riri!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>War is a fire lit by a spark!</i></span><br />
<br />
Tini whetu, e iti te pokaeo.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>The stars are many, but a cloud hides them.</i></span><br />
<br />
He o kaakaa!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Small food for a long trip!</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.17]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvvvkbKozaVFN-zVk19-RI3OVHq3-r4zGgvj45VjHrnBuykxWwWlNQOIX5kTX4Srcw4x5PdhaShVjsTBTLouwd6pAJjzLi46qJF83mJP8IN4ASm-VLlD89x2BysHO-OFUJL515ewiCnA/s1600/scan0012.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527395217627298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjBvvvkbKozaVFN-zVk19-RI3OVHq3-r4zGgvj45VjHrnBuykxWwWlNQOIX5kTX4Srcw4x5PdhaShVjsTBTLouwd6pAJjzLi46qJF83mJP8IN4ASm-VLlD89x2BysHO-OFUJL515ewiCnA/s400/scan0012.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 190px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Whence of the Word</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Duo Do Dui Dua Rua<br />
Lime Lima Rima<br />
<br />
Solid on a hill one tree<br />
Taru Kayu Kai<br />
<br />
Firm from earth to stone<br />
Putta Batu Kohatu<br />
<br />
Of Ignis Aag Ahi<br />
<br />
And Ayer/Wai<br />
Aqua<br />
<br />
In shape a Fisc<br />
Icthus Ikan Ika<br />
<br />
For the Benua/Whenua<br />
<br />
Aku Ic or me<br />
<br />
And the Wahini/Wif<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.18]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVskTSWFAnKDJKCaNWvv13pafYOdUQ6M1aa05B1owLyyISWqlCqLIvMnoico0LE6GV6BUcu4W24OLIVN8weUYnr2nmSVdZddXGr_TtLFpsUsSIlXlCknDRBoynyoADj0U7xYqVxNQSx8/s1600/scan0013.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527335309613090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVskTSWFAnKDJKCaNWvv13pafYOdUQ6M1aa05B1owLyyISWqlCqLIvMnoico0LE6GV6BUcu4W24OLIVN8weUYnr2nmSVdZddXGr_TtLFpsUsSIlXlCknDRBoynyoADj0U7xYqVxNQSx8/s400/scan0013.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 306px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>Some New Slugs</b></span><br />
<br />
<b>MILAX EMARGINATUS.</b><br />
1. Mantle slightly shagreened, short and emarginate behind; pul<br />
2. opening a little behind the centre. A depressed line runs from<br />
3. opening forward over the back, and backwards again forward<br />
4. a point on the left side opposite the pulmonary opening. Bac<br />
5. sharply keeled up to the mantle; body smooth with depressed<br />
6. radiating from the mantle. Colour dark grey or olive above;fo<br />
7. and lower sides of the body yellowish-white. Length 1 inch. S<br />
8.<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><b>Dunedin;</b> <i>common in gardens etc.</i></span><br />
<br />
<b>ARION INCOMMODUS.</b><br />
1. Mantle rugose, short and rounded behind; pulmonary openin<br />
2. front of the middle; back rounded not pointed posteriorly; co<br />
3. dark lead-grey, a lateral stripe on the mantle, and a longitudin<br />
4. band on each side, black; sometimes the whole upper part of<br />
5. the body greyish-black; foot yellow. There is no prostate glan<br />
6. and the retractor of the penis is attached to its anterior end. T<br />
7. penis is long; the ovotestis is small. Length 1 inch; shell rudim<br />
8.<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><b>Dunedin;</b> <i>not uncommon in gardens etc.</i></span><br />
<br />
<b>MILAX MOLESTUS.</b><br />
1. Mantle short and flatly rounded behind, smooth and sub-conc<br />
2. wrinkled when alive, but rugose and not wrinkled when in spir<br />
3. Pulmonary opening in the posterior third of the mantle. Back r<br />
4. indistinctly behind the mantle, pointed and keeled a-posteriorl<br />
5. variable—greyish or reddish-brown, variously marbled with du<br />
6. Bitenticulate. Foot yellowish-white. The radula has 33 rows of<br />
7. rachis teeth. Length, about one and a half inches. Shell slightly<br />
8.<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><b>Dunedin;</b> <i>common in gardens etc.</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.19]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtLbYZt4WRqClppQiFCSkNhdGakWXjKXciLSTDYRDnUc6hTGmSbJDrqL4TKAaEq80qyM1qmBvRG_PByjsuSt1Wfyi2i-xj0Q-uktcXmLfNf3hL8go5V3ruvTFHlc4VzoUsw9lUEH1t98/s1600/scan0014.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527272304134594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEtLbYZt4WRqClppQiFCSkNhdGakWXjKXciLSTDYRDnUc6hTGmSbJDrqL4TKAaEq80qyM1qmBvRG_PByjsuSt1Wfyi2i-xj0Q-uktcXmLfNf3hL8go5V3ruvTFHlc4VzoUsw9lUEH1t98/s400/scan0014.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 314px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>May 7th. Of This Year</b><br />
<br />
<br />
On the morning<br />
of this day<br />
the most beautiful fish in New Zealand<br />
near the hotel<br />
at New Brighton<br />
<br />
in a splendid state of preservation<br />
twelve and a half feet long<br />
<br />
a crest of bright red spines<br />
and a silver skin<br />
<br />
It is frosted, iridescent<br />
and new to science<br />
<br />
Regalecus pacificus is its name<br />
this beautiful fish in New Zealand<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.20]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMd0SmEdzebjqGNvrp6kLdEFyZIdoDNtqqixW9ZdO7_mALHOvY35ECuV2Dxraf7jwv4FX0zrfaao18NUupyrV3VWfvI-IKF3mubolG9WruR3F3hVKXZ5JXoJvR1RmeHGdDTa__YKSXc8/s1600/scan0015.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527202339171842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikMd0SmEdzebjqGNvrp6kLdEFyZIdoDNtqqixW9ZdO7_mALHOvY35ECuV2Dxraf7jwv4FX0zrfaao18NUupyrV3VWfvI-IKF3mubolG9WruR3F3hVKXZ5JXoJvR1RmeHGdDTa__YKSXc8/s400/scan0015.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 332px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Notes on the Microscopic Structure of Certain<br />
Igneous Rocks</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>NO.207b.—</b> <i>(Selwyn River.)</i> Altered dolerite. The constituents are plagioclase, augite, magnetite, and pseudomorphs after olivine. The large brown patches appear to be cavities filled with fine-grained basaltic portions of the rock.<br />
<br />
<b>NO.410.—</b> <i>(Haurata District.)</i> Orthoclase and plagioclase are both present. The brown mineral is probably augite; the colours, however, are less brilliant than usual. The base contains an immense number of microlites.<br />
<br />
<b>NO.218.—</b> <i>(Flagstaff Hill Basin.)</i> This specimen consists of a fine-grained matrix composed of small grains and crystals of augite, plagioclase, and magnetite, in which larger crystals are imbedded; this is probably olivine.<br />
<br />
<b>NO.398.—</b> <i>(Haurata District.)</i> Contains the same minerals as No. 218, together with slender acicular crystals of apatite. The olivine has been much decomposed, and it is probably only hydrous ferric oxide that remains.<br />
<br />
<b>NO.204.—</b> <i>(Acheron Section.)</i> A weathered specimen. The felspar is much altered; some appears to be orthoclase. There are many long prisms of apatite, and the small hexagonal crystals are the transverse sections of the prisms. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.21]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxywnqzj4MlSAWzt-xTbubja3YeVinhJcCRDYM4pBXJQh9CeDDGTPgTA6SkW_8cVbucnUCaLY2JF9UUkZn6xYPIYoUII0fezGdUt_EOBv3yEOBkMjO8C_6fL8i45npxhQnbbQS3KPvms0/s1600/scan0016.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527145275736642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxywnqzj4MlSAWzt-xTbubja3YeVinhJcCRDYM4pBXJQh9CeDDGTPgTA6SkW_8cVbucnUCaLY2JF9UUkZn6xYPIYoUII0fezGdUt_EOBv3yEOBkMjO8C_6fL8i45npxhQnbbQS3KPvms0/s400/scan0016.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>Some Coccidae in New Zealand</b></span><br />
<br />
<b>COCCIDAE. — Plate V11., figure 13. — LECANIDAE.</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Fig</b>. a, <i>Ctenochiton perforatus</i>; female, 2nd.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">b,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">ditto without.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">c,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">antenna `` .</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">d,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">foot: magn.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">e,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">test of adult.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">f,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">perforations.</span></span></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<b>COCCIDAE. — Plate V1., figure 10. — DIASPIDAE.</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Fig</b>. a, <i>Diaspis gigas</i>: - - - - - - female, dry.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">b,<span style="padding-left: 2em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">pellice of 2nd.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">c,<span style="padding-left: 2em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">abdomen (adult).</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">d,<span style="padding-left: 2em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">male; magn.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">e <i>Diaspis</i> ------?:<span style="padding-left: 4em;">female: magn.</span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<b>COCCIDAE. --- Plate V1., figure 11. --- LECANIDAE.</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Fig</b>. a, Rostrum and mentum of Lecanidae.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">a, Abdominal cleft, anal ring of ditto.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">c, Respiratory organ of <i>Lecassium</i> sp.?</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">d, Stigma, and stigmatic spines magn.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">e, Foot and digitules of ditto magn.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<b>COCCIDAE. --- Plate V111., figure 18. — COCCIDAE.</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>Fig</b>. a, <i>Acanthococcus multispinus</i>: sac: magn.25.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">b,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">female x 40.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">c<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">ditto + spine.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">d<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">a spinneret.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">e,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">antenna x 2</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">f,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">anal spike.</span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">g,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 3em;">``<span style="padding-left: 4em;">tubercule x</span></span></span></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.22]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxadyO55Wvy4GfIcTQJssZ0444AlUBKaFi3KTjrUlSY-c4pyAtRNURifX8FvtKRlAgFPpSU2lrTDkeUpoT6klTvA2haX3WA-p8eZZpVCnymV6C2qzg7GHKuzp3GkdcPPsTQ10K_GumFLY/s1600/scan0017.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527083204176338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxadyO55Wvy4GfIcTQJssZ0444AlUBKaFi3KTjrUlSY-c4pyAtRNURifX8FvtKRlAgFPpSU2lrTDkeUpoT6klTvA2haX3WA-p8eZZpVCnymV6C2qzg7GHKuzp3GkdcPPsTQ10K_GumFLY/s400/scan0017.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 180px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>Fertilization Among The Orchids</b></span><br />
<br />
are striking<span style="padding-left: 6em;">in appearance</span><br />
lurid<span style="padding-left: 1em;">purple<span style="padding-left: 1em;">and<span style="padding-left: 1em;">twist</span></span></span><br />
spider on a<span style="padding-left: 2em;">leaf sepal helmet shape</span><br />
over the flower<span style="padding-left: 5em;">involute</span><br />
semi<span style="padding-left: 3em;">external<span style="padding-left: 3em;">fimbriate</span></span><br />
and expand down<span style="padding-left: 9em;">tip</span><br />
a small slit is seen<br />
into a circular<span style="padding-left: 2em;">aperture<span style="padding-left: 2em;">edge</span></span><br />
<br />
in-turned edge<span style="padding-left: 2em;">overlip<span style="padding-left: 2em;">upper</span></span><br />
lip<span style="padding-left: 1em;">at<span style="padding-left: 1em;">the<span style="padding-left: 1em;">upper<span style="padding-left: 1em;">left<span style="padding-left: 1em;">in<span style="padding-left: 1em;">the<span style="padding-left: 1em;">mouth</span></span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
a<span style="padding-left: 3em;">little<span style="padding-left: 3em;">way<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in</span></span></span><br />
opens<span style="padding-left: 3em;">into<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a<span style="padding-left: 3em;">large cavity</span></span></span><br />
at a sharp angle<span style="padding-left: 4em;">bends</span><br />
tolerably<span style="padding-left: 7em;">punctured</span><br />
at the bottom placed<br />
a<span style="padding-left: 3em;">short<span style="padding-left: 3em;">thick<span style="padding-left: 3em;">column</span></span></span><br />
<br />
the<span style="padding-left: 2em;">stigmatic<span style="padding-left: 2em;">cavity<span style="padding-left: 2em;">is<span style="padding-left: 2em;">deep</span></span></span></span><br />
posterior<span style="padding-left: 1em;">with<span style="padding-left: 1em;">a<span style="padding-left: 1em;">delicate<span style="padding-left: 1em;">membrane</span></span></span></span><br />
rupture<span style="padding-left: 4em;">if<span style="padding-left: 1em;">this<span style="padding-left: 1em;">be</span></span></span><br />
touched<br />
a<span style="padding-left: 2em;">viscid<span style="padding-left: 2em;">matter</span></span><br />
exudes<span style="padding-left: 2em;">if a drop instant withdrawing</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">and brought away</span><br />
pollinia<span style="padding-left: 2em;">nectar<span style="padding-left: 2em;">purple juice</span></span><br />
secrete<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and<span style="padding-left: 4em;">walk away</span></span><br />
<br />
anther<span style="padding-left: 9em;">and stigma</span><br />
cannot take place<span style="padding-left: 2em;">by way<span style="padding-left: 4em;">it</span></span><br />
goes in either this or cross<br />
back<span style="padding-left: 1em;">out<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Diptera<span style="padding-left: 1em;">or<span style="padding-left: 1em;">small<span style="padding-left: 1em;">species</span></span></span></span></span><br />
by<span style="padding-left: 1em;">way<span style="padding-left: 1em;">it<span style="padding-left: 1em;">goes<span style="padding-left: 1em;">as<span style="padding-left: 1em;">it<span style="padding-left: 1em;">entered on</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
a Culex<span style="padding-left: 5em;">to the front of the</span><br />
head<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Christ<span style="padding-left: 4em;">he says</span></span><br />
the only insect capable</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.23]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19<br /><br />[Fertilization of Pterostylis]</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.24]</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapl6VeHQtkkKwyBCfHpijhWCnB4q39EA62wbN5-4u5UhKWGSRMcuAOW04vjz7AOUrlCEGlcTeht7o-DLpQigRMJmqNUgDpZddJOlj-ha1kzGxpvgsHap0i3CblRXf4oKYaBt8okZAlgc/s1600/scan0018.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713527019027557266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjapl6VeHQtkkKwyBCfHpijhWCnB4q39EA62wbN5-4u5UhKWGSRMcuAOW04vjz7AOUrlCEGlcTeht7o-DLpQigRMJmqNUgDpZddJOlj-ha1kzGxpvgsHap0i3CblRXf4oKYaBt8okZAlgc/s400/scan0018.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 346px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>On The Fertilisation Of Cyrtostylis oblonga.</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">The great resemblance that this plant bears to Acianthus induced me to suppose that its fertilisation would be conducted on the same plan, and this appears to be the case.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">We find in Cyrtostylis as in Acianthus the lip horizontally spread out secreting abundance of nectar;</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The column arching over it the points of the rostellum hanging downwards with the pollinia firmly fastened to their upper margins;</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">So that an insect having once entered the flower can hardly avoid attaching itself to the pollen-masses and removing them on its departure.</span></li>
<br />
<br />
<li><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">The lip is narrow and quite plain the secreting glands are at its base; the nectar slowly trickles down each side of the midrib.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The pollen masses are falcate in shape they are laterally much compressed and extremely friable.</span></li>
<br />
<br />
<li><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">Notwithstanding the minuteness of the flowers they are frequently visited by insects chiefly minute species of Diptera.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The pollinia are not removed with the same regularity as in Acianthus nor are so many capsules produced.</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.25]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQVXPIOoF8PyuOaOGzfdsz3jhLePsoBjQ0GsaVF8d9x4ucFlUtiyANz9_DIeXpdwd6ikoEfvs-o1slTsI7mAsG9hhYOUQdOQ0a5jVSz4Cq9aw_UbHnNc8aXgUL5bMrJaWY0u_125APgA/s1600/scan0019.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526959580484242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQVXPIOoF8PyuOaOGzfdsz3jhLePsoBjQ0GsaVF8d9x4ucFlUtiyANz9_DIeXpdwd6ikoEfvs-o1slTsI7mAsG9hhYOUQdOQ0a5jVSz4Cq9aw_UbHnNc8aXgUL5bMrJaWY0u_125APgA/s400/scan0019.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 290px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On The Nesting Habits Of The Huia</b><br />
<br />
It will be gratifying to lovers of natural history<br />
to hear of the Huia<br />
in the Orongorongo Ranges.<br />
<br />
About the 20th. Of October last<br />
Mikaera brought to Mr.Buchanan<br />
an egg of this species<br />
from a cavity<br />
in a tree.<br />
<br />
Observing the old birds<br />
he had concluded there was a nest<br />
and felt with his arm.<br />
Finding it too deep<br />
he cut a “supplejack”<br />
and, bending this into a loop,<br />
he thrust it down<br />
and by this rude means<br />
<br />
He at length succeeded in bringing up an egg,<br />
although in a somewhat broken condition.<br />
<br />
Both embryo and shell<br />
are now in the collection of the colonial Museum.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.26]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22<br /><br />[Some Birds Found]</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.27]</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcApl8TRKM_fYuhorOQganzzo4kuIAhhSDcMhqKnKkfiPwWNTMvEHSv2c04Y4KdU6GnPB0RLmTn-y6FZut8pkHOT23hCtcwiooJTId1H_mDOz1S1UIYJGIoVLLFd3v9i6UZcP1fbT_GRY/s1600/scan0020.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526901082045954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcApl8TRKM_fYuhorOQganzzo4kuIAhhSDcMhqKnKkfiPwWNTMvEHSv2c04Y4KdU6GnPB0RLmTn-y6FZut8pkHOT23hCtcwiooJTId1H_mDOz1S1UIYJGIoVLLFd3v9i6UZcP1fbT_GRY/s400/scan0020.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>Some Moa Remains</b></span><br />
<br />
<b>Muscles.</b><br />
<br />
<i>a</i>. — Gastrocnemii:-<br />
<br />
The conjoined tendon of <i>G. internus</i> and <i>G. externus</i> is well seen,<br />
and its respective connections to the and exto-gastrocnemial<br />
<span style="padding-left: 18em;">remain.</span><br />
The inner insertion is neither so strong nor so extensive.<br />
<br />
The ento-gastrocnemial insertion begins behind and below<br />
The endo-metatarsal tuberosity by a rough patch which runs into<br />
A strong ridge that ends on the posterior aspect of the inner<br />
Tarso-metatarsus at a point about two inches above the Trachlea<br />
<br />
The ecto-gastrocnemial insertion is in its upper part made out,<br />
Owing to it’s being partly covered by a hardened inflexible skin.<br />
It is attached to the outer border of Tarso-metatarsus,<br />
And terminates in a distinct impression,<br />
From which it is separated by a deep but smooth groove.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>[This groove presents all the appearance of a vascular groove,<br />
In which an artery and a vein have formerly lain.]</i></div>
<br />
The outer insertion is separated from the bone at one point<br />
To allow a tendon* to pass from the front leg to the back;<br />
This point is at the junction of the upper third with the lower;<br />
But above and below this point the outer is very firm and strong.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
Between the two gastrocnemial surfaces a portion of the perios-<br />
teum of bone is left,<br />
And the periosteum receives many fibres from the gastrocnem-<br />
ius at these surfaces.</div>
<br />
________________________________________<br />
* <i>Can this tendon be that peculiar tendon of the Pectineus, Owen: (</i>or Rectus anticus femoris of Cuvier<i>), fig. 1, x.</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.28]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3GxObJcwQ95E8Szp9Nuevw-tni_Oif66soXbxrjnEnyLAVsi30y9izYIQ0lb8C9wAJOesG0jNKKml53yJR5fLRSn0Bj5RnibLxrkvuAOpZQz8zTmGGep98j2OaQyw86JKilhU1Nqq7L8/s1600/scan0021.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526838298930066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3GxObJcwQ95E8Szp9Nuevw-tni_Oif66soXbxrjnEnyLAVsi30y9izYIQ0lb8C9wAJOesG0jNKKml53yJR5fLRSn0Bj5RnibLxrkvuAOpZQz8zTmGGep98j2OaQyw86JKilhU1Nqq7L8/s400/scan0021.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 312px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>The Sphenodon</b><br />
<br />
Dr. Gray named it <b><i>Hatteria punctata</i></b><br />
Owen re-named it <b><i>Rhynchocephalus</i></b><br />
Myvert & Huxley went to <b><i>Sphenodon</i></b><br />
Gunther: <b><i>Hatteria</i></b><br />
<br />
The Maoris called it <i>Ruatara, Tuatara, Tuatete,</i> or <i>Kaweu</i>.<br />
<br />
Three species of Sphenodon<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">unlike in form and colour!</span><br />
<br />
(1.) Sphenodon punctatum,with myriads of light spots.<br />
(2.) Sphenodon, Buller, with much green and yellow.<br />
(3.) Sphenodon guntheri.<br />
<br />
<i>The dark form is in the north, the lightest in<br />
the south</i>.<br />
<br />
At just this time the position of ‘Sphenodon’ in the Sauropsida is not yet<br />
quite certainly known:<br />
Professor Seely writes of Lacertia, Rhynchocephalia, and Crocodilia.<br />
Dr.Gunther proposes the following division:-<br />
1. Squamata.<br />
11. Loucata.<br />
111. Cataphracta.<br />
<br />
He divides the <i>Squamata</i> into:-<br />
<i>Ophidia, Lacertila, Rhynchocephalia</i><br />
<br />
If external characteristics alone were considered, he says , it would mostly resemble Agamidae, of which genus Professor Peters thinks it an aberrant form. <br />
<br />
Rolleston thinks it ‘a low lizard.’</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.29]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KwsiPNCsbLhyx1IyBBztVW_DxTydWZrkHFOKwquZtzMiYnjOVL50KQLuMt6HxrVAsFZmQpNYAZqpEVRxY3sy3v9J-c1JfBx2jQ0JF-KawKDYkeX2Ctnw21b1IAFcUiua_XEFepSkmm0/s1600/scan0022.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526777411508370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8KwsiPNCsbLhyx1IyBBztVW_DxTydWZrkHFOKwquZtzMiYnjOVL50KQLuMt6HxrVAsFZmQpNYAZqpEVRxY3sy3v9J-c1JfBx2jQ0JF-KawKDYkeX2Ctnw21b1IAFcUiua_XEFepSkmm0/s400/scan0022.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 197px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMHp3W35ldf2yByzWp3mVZfQezp1IGu_I4qYjRmoW3-mU-38EEURh_ACaa01YQvXB2FkGdYoUcqvTWgQQbaqzaxcuC7FdxMLyrjJFedGAvxtAnp7M1Rg35X8A8zxl5v30Yw9xKbc-nWE/s1600/scan0023.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526714842313666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUMHp3W35ldf2yByzWp3mVZfQezp1IGu_I4qYjRmoW3-mU-38EEURh_ACaa01YQvXB2FkGdYoUcqvTWgQQbaqzaxcuC7FdxMLyrjJFedGAvxtAnp7M1Rg35X8A8zxl5v30Yw9xKbc-nWE/s400/scan0023.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 166px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Taniwhasaurus</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
A mass of vertebrae, a skull, and paddle bones.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">(The dorsal vertebrae procoelian.)</span><br />
<br />
The neural arches continuous,<br />
The anterior being longer in each case.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">[There is a rudimentary Zygosphene:</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">fragments of ribs are preserved:</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the inferior two-thirds of the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">circumference of the centra pre-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">sents an even striated surface.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The centra are compressed lat-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">erally, but not constricted.The</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">ribs are flattened and only slight-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">ly expanded at their insertion.]</span><br />
<br />
The paddle bones are remarkable.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The humerus has a flattened</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and much-recurved anconal</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">processes. Length 6in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6.5em;">Width 3in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Distal Width 6in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6.5em;">Radius 4in. Length.</span><br />
<br />
The carpals are thin and flattened,<br />
<br />
Only a few fragments of phalange are preserved.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
The head is in two parts:<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the orbital width is about 7 inches</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">The total length about 24 inches</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the length of the tooth series 14 in.</span><br />
<br />
The form of the symphysial surface<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">uniting the two romi, and the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">evident angle of divergence,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">would make the gape 7inches.</span><br />
<br />
The teeth are finely striated and<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">were set in the jaw with a</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">marked lateral divergence.</span><br />
<br />
There is a pterygoid tooth.<br />
<br />
<br />
Leicester Kyle<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 30-31]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26<br /><br />[Dinornis elephantopus]</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.32]</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8O0P6DGR5bVO2XIOMldr4p-MfKrgG5t80yJ5A_dENFcUrL4bldX7xvuHa90vRuUIY3VpP9Mb2YKrWIh1-ARAM1akJhwAkaD-37KNhIuYwI_pDo6L7NWm4-V0ylaTCypi-QWSLLWPiS68/s1600/scan0024.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526656760517842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8O0P6DGR5bVO2XIOMldr4p-MfKrgG5t80yJ5A_dENFcUrL4bldX7xvuHa90vRuUIY3VpP9Mb2YKrWIh1-ARAM1akJhwAkaD-37KNhIuYwI_pDo6L7NWm4-V0ylaTCypi-QWSLLWPiS68/s400/scan0024.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>A Raptorial Bird Of Enormous<br />
Dimensions</b><br />
<br />
(like the Roc)</div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
The pits for the attachment of the ligaments in the<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">inter-codyloid fossa are strongly marked.</span><br />
The femur is pneumatic.<br />
The proximal orifice large.<br />
The inter-muscular linear ridges are raised above <br />
<span style="padding-left: 18em;">the shaft.</span><br />
<br />
The epitrochanteric articular is prominent,<br />
The same being the case with Circus.<br />
The trochanter of both are more rounded.<br />
<br />
A fragment of a right humerus with both apophyses<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">broken off and leaving parent trace.</span><br />
The third rib on the right side,<br />
The first after the pleurapophyses,<br />
Articulates with the haemapophyses and with the <br />
<span style="padding-left: 18em;">sternum.</span><br />
[The upper portion of the epipleural appendage is<br />
<span style="padding-left: 16em;">broken off.]</span><br />
<br />
The ungual phalanx of the hallus.<br />
<br />
A second ungual phalanx.<br />
<br />
The fragment of a right humerus a wing portion.<br />
<br />
<i>No man could have stood against it</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.33]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28<br /><br />[Harpagornis moorei]</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.34]</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyi9V3nb4MsWqL4KpjJjcdwIRQz1xsZ5xvByqc2lHtYt1U-9HIk3x9xtvWOXj_Y4rIr1_geMCUyaDc2tTI6h7dq_aP7XT-uWdjlGKcW3ZdQTU28cmr8aQuGY_btCODqckmBIo-iX3Zu8/s1600/scan0025.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526583766692546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDyi9V3nb4MsWqL4KpjJjcdwIRQz1xsZ5xvByqc2lHtYt1U-9HIk3x9xtvWOXj_Y4rIr1_geMCUyaDc2tTI6h7dq_aP7XT-uWdjlGKcW3ZdQTU28cmr8aQuGY_btCODqckmBIo-iX3Zu8/s400/scan0025.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 153px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On Measurement Made</b><br />
<br />
The measurements<br />
<i>giganteus</i> and <i>robustus</i><br />
about which I shall speak.<br />
<br />
My conclusion will be<br />
subdivision made.<br />
<br />
Moreover<br />
the skulls<br />
differ so.<br />
<br />
<u>Length of Bone</u><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">9.8in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">22.8in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">12.8in.</span><br />
<br />
<u>Girth of Prox.</u><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">12.3in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">18.7in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">15.5in.</span><br />
<br />
<u>Girth of Shaft</u><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">6.8in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">6.3in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">7.7in.</span><br />
<br />
<u>Girth of Distal</u><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">15.2in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">14.5in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">17.4in.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
In the Tibia,<br />
one Femur,<br />
the Tarsus metatarsus.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.35]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholhJ6ThDd2Wf1zPHu33PUfHev7v3To-3rPeY6sYk8mr8KjAmOhDxYz2unkD6wcTXRxhF4UnUD5RtURhJkmzwHYT75AxD72mwW7DKtavmVJn3N0Z2MnaBK_LttreUUsas0h_NyoDVPqBE/s1600/scan0026.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526512405009378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEholhJ6ThDd2Wf1zPHu33PUfHev7v3To-3rPeY6sYk8mr8KjAmOhDxYz2unkD6wcTXRxhF4UnUD5RtURhJkmzwHYT75AxD72mwW7DKtavmVJn3N0Z2MnaBK_LttreUUsas0h_NyoDVPqBE/s400/scan0026.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 393px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>From A Catalogue Of Naturalized Plants</b><br />
<br />
<i>Observed in the Vicinity of Port Nicholson And Other Localities in the<br />
Wellington Provincial District, 1877</i>.</div>
<br />
<b>Ranunculaceae.</b><br />
<br />
<i><u>Ranunculus scleratus</u></i>, L. An anonymous writer in the ‘Educational<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Gazette’, vol.1.p.83, states that this species is found on</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the Porirua road. I have not seen Wellington specimens.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>acris</u></i>, L. Kaiwarawara etc.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>repens</u></i>, L. Common in most places.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>bulbosus</u></i>, L. Kaiwarawara.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>hirsutis</u></i>, Curtis. Old Porirua rd.—‘Educational Gazette’, 1.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">p. 83. Anonymous: R. bulbosus, L., is probably mis-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">taken for this species, which I have not seen in the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">colony.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>parviflorus</u></i>, L. The typical form is common about Welling</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">ton, Otaki, Hutt Valley, Wairarapa etc; it is easily disting</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">uished from R. australis, Br., by its comparatively robust</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">habit.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>muricatus</u></i>, L. Specimens supposed to have been collected</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">near Wellington are in the herbarium of the Colonial</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Museum.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i><u>philonotis</u></i>, Retz. Evans Bay, Hutt Valley, Otaki.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.36]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXs13PStO5XCfDJQgOdkyPz9GcVYruaAbiNGTN69ZMRn5ln1IH1pwATpOJuBGlQ2OyI_0XTzqG4hR0SyUZe97pxRKH8zpi2bvip_JG0WwTZmgpDJy517Vao7EQ3fn-n-Zz5yX4dwskqoE/s1600/scan0027.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526432835576690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXs13PStO5XCfDJQgOdkyPz9GcVYruaAbiNGTN69ZMRn5ln1IH1pwATpOJuBGlQ2OyI_0XTzqG4hR0SyUZe97pxRKH8zpi2bvip_JG0WwTZmgpDJy517Vao7EQ3fn-n-Zz5yX4dwskqoE/s400/scan0027.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 281px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>On A Rock Shelter Near The Opihi Gorge</b></span><br />
<br />
We were not taken to the best spot<br />
But to a long rock shelter on the north bank.<br />
The cave is about 200 yards long, 10ft. wide, 12ft. high.<br />
<br />
The entire surface of the rock is covered with drawings,<br />
Which are so defaced by modern scrawls<br />
That it is impossible to distinguish their true forms.<br />
<br />
Since the natives have lost their regard for these relics<br />
The eeling parties that frequent the spot<br />
Scratch rude drawings all over them.<br />
<br />
The one good specimen I could find<br />
Was near the eastern end of the cave<br />
At a height of fourteen feet from the ground.<br />
<br />
The black paint used by the artist<br />
Has stood exposure so well<br />
That the lines are now in relief.<br />
<br />
The parallel lines are very like the patterns<br />
On Maori baskets and the battens<br />
Of ornamental roofs.<br />
<br />
I saw everywhere these parallel lines and curves,<br />
But nothing like the Waikari drawings<br />
Which are outlines or coloured throughout.<br />
<br />
The Rev.Koti Ratu, Hone Paratene, and other intelligent natives<br />
Concur in the opinion that the drawing is a Tipua,<br />
But I think it is meant to represent a seal.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.37]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIefjOSq-UN8hh9NgVPrCe23XuL_XF9ZwH3K-h5I-bIx5Q2pRSUYOujVI3Fl10wz7dLdu8JH8qBp77t9ORQ3cil8Wnq0qvIPXOCLAMeJH_LCa37MUGFjStBzo0DxgW2di0_GSI4bI9PY/s1600/scan0028.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526365790037746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIIefjOSq-UN8hh9NgVPrCe23XuL_XF9ZwH3K-h5I-bIx5Q2pRSUYOujVI3Fl10wz7dLdu8JH8qBp77t9ORQ3cil8Wnq0qvIPXOCLAMeJH_LCa37MUGFjStBzo0DxgW2di0_GSI4bI9PY/s400/scan0028.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 293px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Notice of the Existence of a Large Bat in New Zealand.</b><br />
<br />
At Dr. Buller’s request<br />
I send the following observations:<br />
<br />
“In 1854<br />
(time of year uncertain),<br />
at half an hour after sunset,<br />
and moon at full,<br />
I saw, at Paikakariki, a large bat.<br />
<br />
It flew across about twenty feet,<br />
and was about that distance from me.<br />
<br />
I saw it perfectly.<br />
<br />
The body was far larger than that of a mouse,<br />
And somewhat smaller than that of a rat.<br />
The spread of the wings was not less than eighteen inches.<br />
<br />
The late Rev. R. Taylor informed me<br />
that he had seen a similarly-sized bat at Wanganui.<br />
Mr. Kirk informs me that he has seen<br />
Very large bats at the Clarence River.<br />
<br />
My bat may have been an Australian bat,<br />
Brought in some vessel,<br />
As that, also, of the Rev. Mr. Taylor.<br />
<br />
I should have thought so,<br />
But for Mr. Kirk’s observation.”<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.38]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiLDtBcBxTIKA8xJy2VcM0Q2gzRu8HWceWKPxdQ8u0VOCZNpWz6HCuh69Km-7plHwgq584zdFUO235rySz8WuiLbXHDWYxsd8X_O5i0iXZrF7gRSIkvEIHDXnqL6HoHnRD1XmXPcrXzpk/s1600/scan0029.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526296053491858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiLDtBcBxTIKA8xJy2VcM0Q2gzRu8HWceWKPxdQ8u0VOCZNpWz6HCuh69Km-7plHwgq584zdFUO235rySz8WuiLbXHDWYxsd8X_O5i0iXZrF7gRSIkvEIHDXnqL6HoHnRD1XmXPcrXzpk/s400/scan0029.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Notes On The Economic Properties Of Certain Native<br />
Grasses</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Microlaena avenacea</i></b></div>
This species produces a considerable quantity of rather coarse herbage, which is eaten by horses and cattle in the absence of better kinds. As it grows under the shade of trees, it is well adapted for sowing in woods to which cattle have access, but it is not suitable for mixed open pasturage.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Hierochloe redolens</i></b></div>
Further observation of this grass has confirmed the opinions already expressed, that although eaten by horses and cattle it is not adapted for general cultivation. In the South Island it ascends to 3,500 feet, and then at those higher altitudes becomes in its habit a less coarse pasturage.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Zoysia pungens</i></b></div>
A creeping-rooted grass, which often forms a dense sward of short herbage, especially in moist places near the sea. The herbage is sweet and nutritious, and is of quick growth after cropping. Although greedily eaten by sheep, its dwarf habit unfortunately makes it ineligible for mixed pasturage.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Agrostis pilosa</i></b></div>
This species is most abundant in the South Island, where it ascends from the sea level to 3,500 feet, and attains its greatest luxuriance in open spaces in forests. It is coarse in habit, and yields a large quantity of valuable herbage. It appears to be well adapted for mixed permanent pasturage.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i>Kaeleria cristata</i></b></div>
A slender grass of considerable value, although its yield is less than that of Meadow Fescue or Rye-Grass. Of similar habit and value to the Dog’s- Tooth Grass, Cynosurus cristatus. It is restricted to the South Island, and is cultivated in England. It is well adapted for mixed pasture.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.39]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAcCQIS66gO3Fi6Fb-NLo6stv0IQfR7EzPpWK260ZaX2oSuc7dHqupI8gnGSgtrSzmaA3WEu1Uc8B01Ua0x0hA6PD04PeBRigVi9JaMU1xK62HV8qcN4TX6z0DHO5qWJmm4aQOP6aoK8/s1600/scan0030.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526218422571954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrAcCQIS66gO3Fi6Fb-NLo6stv0IQfR7EzPpWK260ZaX2oSuc7dHqupI8gnGSgtrSzmaA3WEu1Uc8B01Ua0x0hA6PD04PeBRigVi9JaMU1xK62HV8qcN4TX6z0DHO5qWJmm4aQOP6aoK8/s400/scan0030.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 192px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Fossil</b><br />
<i><br />It was an expansive age,<br />watery, with calcium in it,<br />se we made bones,<br />all-purpose and specific,<br />singles, parts,<br />articulated frames<br />and for practice eggs with embryos.<br /><br />It was not our thought that they should live;<br />they were too gross.<br />We had a template even then<br />for trial and refining skill.<br />We also made some bits of skin,<br />footprints and nests,<br />set food-chains, time-lines,<br />things like that,<br /><br />and scattered skeletons aesthetically,<br />providing permanence for some<br />which were too good to lose.<br /><br />Through all that age we looked ahead<br />to golden times with knowledge in them,<br />brains and feet and thumbs<br />yet to come,<br />confident our craft would be explored<br />dug up and understood,<br />exhibited in galleries and loved,<br /><br />for art is eternal,<br />its beauties never die.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.40]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Essays</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.41]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBhBlB1WpZdd1kVWF5ysc81XNF7TVO4FQ3WDZRVUaIEnkBVDuY6Ux5bGCsJrs3BdsaXEo9Uw-OvPsVvCDsRh2V7qEFEh1raeqAE-RN48_R737y97yxncMSyPLMuqRRRBosuDaE-gmsuU/s1600/scan0031.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526155211001346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZBhBlB1WpZdd1kVWF5ysc81XNF7TVO4FQ3WDZRVUaIEnkBVDuY6Ux5bGCsJrs3BdsaXEo9Uw-OvPsVvCDsRh2V7qEFEh1raeqAE-RN48_R737y97yxncMSyPLMuqRRRBosuDaE-gmsuU/s400/scan0031.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 218px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Genius of the Phenomena</b><br />
<br />
<b>W</b>hence the activity which pours forth<br />
the boiling waters of Rotomahana<br />
to run glistening down the terraces<br />
of their constant formation?<br />
<br />
<b>W</b>herein the force that lights<br />
the red fires which burn ever<br />
in the crater of White Island?<br />
<br />
<b>W</b>hat the power<br />
that still draws up<br />
a cone in Ngauruhoe?<br />
<br />
<b>T</b>he reply from the waters of Rotomahana,<br />
from the fires of White Island,<br />
from the cone of Tongariro,<br />
is one word: “sulphur”<br />
<br />
<b>C</b>onceive how these flame-begot forces,<br />
confined and unable to escape,<br />
have raised the land into mountain-masses;<br />
have caused the crust of the earth<br />
to subside into caverns.<br />
<br />
<b>E</b>arthquakes but wait upon the fires below.<br />
<br />
<b>A</b>t boiling cauldron<br />
or bursting crater<br />
is “sulphur”.<br />
<br />
<b>I</b>t is the genius of the phenomena.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.42]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBvHW6GYxxIrNKdSYex8nafiBLUvoHqkpKFNxLOSIRKOO7adOk2QmcjvhCynsf6lAilzzypbVkCvnz9Ow1WI19D-GQlpD56dYeJK79F5ybBhh1Od2B-DV6Ncv06TNTqFopBbotUtnrRA/s1600/scan0002.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715802222970766674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCBvHW6GYxxIrNKdSYex8nafiBLUvoHqkpKFNxLOSIRKOO7adOk2QmcjvhCynsf6lAilzzypbVkCvnz9Ow1WI19D-GQlpD56dYeJK79F5ybBhh1Od2B-DV6Ncv06TNTqFopBbotUtnrRA/s400/scan0002.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPwnlD3jzh06E1AebGXwoTh3REjgAnhBPEFz3gPFl37kkNbWZTLkEG8JjP4ddykDUnE7vq_JQCexCMkh-fy5SBS-vrIGXh-GQnl8lEQgWaRkSrkHB1787MJ0prnjk3IoI2YviZPYGRR4/s1600/scan0003.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715802164216402146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZPwnlD3jzh06E1AebGXwoTh3REjgAnhBPEFz3gPFl37kkNbWZTLkEG8JjP4ddykDUnE7vq_JQCexCMkh-fy5SBS-vrIGXh-GQnl8lEQgWaRkSrkHB1787MJ0prnjk3IoI2YviZPYGRR4/s400/scan0003.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLchMvH5mXrOPJbEeGlKFnbhS-DLnT7yak5WAy0wLneMcdVWbOBX-6E6y2kpINfQqKJXoq7OY6tryOrEqPEP9Uc_nsQysgVj6ABaT71lwkGHsxSZJ0-NoJ9C3O22EjFNSRDckj_s_0jKI/s1600/scan0004.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715802108794908338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLchMvH5mXrOPJbEeGlKFnbhS-DLnT7yak5WAy0wLneMcdVWbOBX-6E6y2kpINfQqKJXoq7OY6tryOrEqPEP9Uc_nsQysgVj6ABaT71lwkGHsxSZJ0-NoJ9C3O22EjFNSRDckj_s_0jKI/s400/scan0004.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>The Comparative Atmospheric Pressure of New<br />
Zealand and Great Britain (Considered In Reference to<br />
Dr. Newman’s Theory of Physical Deterioration.)</b><br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>In a paper entitled<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>“Speculations on the Physiological Changes which obtain</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">in the English Race when Transplanted to New Zealand”</span></li>
</ol>
<br />
Dr. Newman<br />
In an ingenious argument<br />
Endeavoured to show<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>That in consequence of certain deficiencies in the</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Climate of New Zealand</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">The English race located here</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">May be expected to deteriorate</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Both physically and mentally</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">In future generations.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<li>The contention stated in syllogistic form is as follows: -<br />
<blockquote>
Major Premiss -- <i>Children born in countries<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">where the atmospheric pressure</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">is less have a tendency to be</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">inferior to those born where the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">atmospheric pressure is greater</span></i>.</blockquote>
</li>
<br />
<br />
Minor Premiss -- <i>In New Zealand the atmospher-<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">ic pressure is less than in Great</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Britain</span></i>.<br />
<br />
Conclusion -- Ergo — <i>children born in New<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Zealand should be inferior to</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">those born in England</span></i>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<li>Dr. Hahn of Vienna<br />
In his essay on the Climate of New Zealand,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">(Met. Report, N.Z., 1873, Hector, p.77)</span><br />
Says:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>“It is a well-known fact that air pressure</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">decreases very rapidly towards the Pole in the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Southern Hemisphere. We find this confirm-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">ed in New Zealand where the medium press-</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">ure of air at the level of the sea, between 37d.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">and 46d.S. latitude, decreases from 29.981</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">inches to 29.804 inches; whereas in the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Northern Hemisphere in these latitudes the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">pressure of air remains between 30.009 in.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">and 30.001 inches.”</span></li>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<li>Authentic observations made<br />
In both countries<br />
Are accessible,<br />
And being made under known conditions<br />
And with verified instruments<br />
Are readily intercomparable.<br />
<br />
Those taken in New Zealand,<br />
Under the auspices of the Meteorological Department,<br />
Comprise the barometric records of fourteen stations,<br />
Distributed over the length and breadth of these Islands,<br />
From Mongonui in the north <i>(latit. 35.1)</i><br />
To Southland in the south <i>(latit. 46.17)</i><br />
From Napier in the east <i>(long.176.55)</i><br />
To Hokitika in the west <i>(long.170.59)</i><br />
and extending over a ten year period</li>
<br />
<br />
<li>To make a fair comparison between the two countries<br />
I have selected the same number of stations<br />
In England, Scotland, and Wales.<br />
All these observations are for a period of ten years<br />
And are taken at sea level.</li>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b>GREAT BRITAIN<span style="padding-left: 3em;">NEW ZEALAND</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />
N. Lat.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Inches<span style="padding-left: 3em;">S. Lat.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Inches</span></span></span><br />
Elgin<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>57. 38<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.790</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Southland<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>46.17<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.803</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Culloden<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>57. 30<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.765</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Dunedin<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>45. 52<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.873</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Glasgow<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>55. 53<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.792</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Queenstown<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>45. 2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.987</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Durham<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>54. 46<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.810</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Christchurch<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>43.32<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.871</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Belfast<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>54. 36<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.882</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Bealey<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>43.2<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.805</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Armagh<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>54. 21<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.722</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Hokitika<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>42.41<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.932</span></i></span></span></span><br />
York<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>53. 58<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.872</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">C. Campbell<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>41.50<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.968</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Stonyhurst<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>53. 51<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.807</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Nelson<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>41.16<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.901</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Liverpool<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>53. 25<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.889</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Wellington<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>41.16<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.890</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Dublin<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>53. 22<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.886</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Wanganui<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>39.56<span style="padding-left: 1em;">30.070</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Greenwich<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>51. 28<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.926</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Napier<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>39.29<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.917</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Clifton<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>51. 28<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.809</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Taranaki<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>39.3<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.933</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Worthing<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>50. 49<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.956</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Auckland<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>36.50<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.930</span></i></span></span></span><br />
Helston<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>50. 7<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.977</span></i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Mongonui<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>35.1<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.977</span></i></span></span></span><br />
<br />
Mean ....... 29.848<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Mean ........ 29.918</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Hence it is plain that the mean atmospheric pressure of N.Z.,<br />
Instead of being lower than that of Great Britain,<br />
Is .07 inch higher,<br />
And so disappears<br />
The clever but illusive theory<br />
Built upon the contrary assumption.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
L.H. Kyle, 1876<br />
<br />
[pp. 43-45]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYhJBbUxLgURAwCJYbZmnE50sp59VoIqQB5AazyCC03SGJuT4xZV7mncg8Eds8CYGuOCmNSYLBLHa3WAfdODZDBLKZHTJOdLXojecBDz3mocXF1Vv5mYdroR-Ja4OOFX9V28kqceM8Nc/s1600/scan0062.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715811406910960754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyYhJBbUxLgURAwCJYbZmnE50sp59VoIqQB5AazyCC03SGJuT4xZV7mncg8Eds8CYGuOCmNSYLBLHa3WAfdODZDBLKZHTJOdLXojecBDz3mocXF1Vv5mYdroR-Ja4OOFX9V28kqceM8Nc/s400/scan0062.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 227px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Notes on Some Habits of the Frost Fish.</b><br />
<br />
Dr. Hector<br />
In his notes on the edible fishes<br />
Attached to Captain Hutton’s<br />
‘Catalogue of the Fishes of New Zealand’<br />
And under the head of the Frost Fish<br />
Or Hiku of the Maoris,<br />
<u>Remarks</u>:<br />
“<i>Nothing is definitely known of the habits of this fish,<br />
why it should be cast up on the land,<br />
the probability being that<br />
on the calm nights<br />
when the sea is smooth<br />
it pursues too close to the shore,<br />
and is left by the long swell of the ebb tide</i>.”<br />
<br />
It is true that the Frost Fish usually comes on shore<br />
During the moonlight nights of winter,<br />
But it also lands in Clifford Bay in the day<br />
With a southerly and smooth water.<br />
<br />
I can state that the fish is not cast up by the sea,<br />
But that it deliberately forces itself on shore,<br />
Selecting a shallow sandy beach for that purpose.<br />
<br />
On two occasions I stood between<br />
A Frost Fish and the beach,<br />
And turned him with a long stick<br />
Head to sea,<br />
But in a minute he turned again<br />
Going up high and dry.<br />
<br />
I gave up attempting to guide his decision,<br />
and took him home for breakfast.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.46]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RcffRIRpiudub-yS2Mhz1gCsftLbcDMkZa4OVBBeeqEWtKi7CjM1AsrBWx_WpLhwJiYHPPyZukAmCXTM86YkzY0-JFCAkC5h2P7qgULpL8FkCZUpAa7mVY25CwDLiAH0OYe6KgK9LZM/s1600/scan0036.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525801787388290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RcffRIRpiudub-yS2Mhz1gCsftLbcDMkZa4OVBBeeqEWtKi7CjM1AsrBWx_WpLhwJiYHPPyZukAmCXTM86YkzY0-JFCAkC5h2P7qgULpL8FkCZUpAa7mVY25CwDLiAH0OYe6KgK9LZM/s400/scan0036.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 150px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Forest Culture in the Austral<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Colonies</span></b></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
From remote ages<br />
Forests have been destroyed<br />
As if they were enemy.<br />
<br />
It is one of the enigmas<br />
Of human nature.<br />
<br />
Many an ancient glory<br />
Departed with its forests.<br />
<br />
Denudation of timber<br />
Produces barren soil,<br />
Increases insect life,<br />
Creates drought,<br />
Diminishes rain,<br />
Accelerates evaporation,<br />
Causes floods and<br />
Untimely frost,<br />
Degrades a nation.<br />
<br />
In this province<br />
A reckless destruction<br />
Has taken place<br />
And is still.<br />
<br />
A tree will grow 300 years<br />
To build a house<br />
That will rot<br />
In thirty.<br />
<br />
A man will burn a forest<br />
To light his pipe.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.47]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GnDYTLP4dNMoPtrNnjlqXzVq_DCNOUyl2uYexMgwIld5tHTR7IvgT7T7fmFu4p7hBwoECQQmhibo0h4_FaKwWkRhcZRVLDyKfANnGm0g7lfrrsx2DHjjL3MPWW-ZGzzqQ68tyMQXX-0/s1600/scan0037.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525737760123938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4GnDYTLP4dNMoPtrNnjlqXzVq_DCNOUyl2uYexMgwIld5tHTR7IvgT7T7fmFu4p7hBwoECQQmhibo0h4_FaKwWkRhcZRVLDyKfANnGm0g7lfrrsx2DHjjL3MPWW-ZGzzqQ68tyMQXX-0/s400/scan0037.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Some Observations On Native Forest Land</b><br />
<br />
Forest in the hand of natives<br />
should be bought,<br />
<br />
And forest with young trees<br />
should be closed,<br />
and all precaution taken,<br />
so that they may be kept<br />
as use and ornament<br />
for the centuries to come.<br />
<br />
Native trees have not been much grown.<br />
They may be raised<br />
with shade and moisture,<br />
and if the roots are fostered<br />
the Kauri, Rimu, Maire,<br />
Rata, Mangaio, Titoki,<br />
Totara, Puriri, and<br />
Pohutukawa will do well.<br />
<br />
It must not be forgotten<br />
that for timber purposes<br />
most of our timber trees<br />
require a century before<br />
they become available.<br />
<br />
Other than native trees<br />
must be resorted to.<br />
The Oak, Elm, Sycamore, Ash & Beech<br />
may be grown south of Auckland;<br />
on grassy plains and plateaux<br />
deciduous trees will succeed,<br />
and belts and plantations of coniferae,<br />
and suitable species from<br />
the great order of Eucalypti.<br />
Many of these will do well on our clay soils.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.48]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUoB7VX4rn9MIXBbSRX_vAik3UTY7PCUNzclC9jKcKxlJgfSRKKtx7WwXgQbY3MhmUrSIn8IbnNjU3z1440OUZOZO482ffIVTl1uHOgLgfxeLgy5Br2aJOaSVZva5K9r97_RlvY8HEa8/s1600/scan0038.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525680304739538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcUoB7VX4rn9MIXBbSRX_vAik3UTY7PCUNzclC9jKcKxlJgfSRKKtx7WwXgQbY3MhmUrSIn8IbnNjU3z1440OUZOZO482ffIVTl1uHOgLgfxeLgy5Br2aJOaSVZva5K9r97_RlvY8HEa8/s400/scan0038.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 299px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>The People</b><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">- <i>Analysis</i></span><br />
<br />
1. <u>PHYSIOLOGICAL</u><br />
1. <i>Individual</i><br />
<br />
1. Colour.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">6. Sensorial faculties.</span><br />
2. Height: shape.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">7. Puberty: natural selection: number</span><br />
3. Physiognomy: head.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">of children.</span><br />
4. Hair.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">8. Malformations: albinos mental.</span><br />
5. Constitution health: constitution: Teeth.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">9. Diseases: commoner accidents.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
2. <i>Social</i><br />
<br />
10. Ordinary habits: of men: of women.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(4.) Body Piercing, etc.</span><br />
11. Modes of obtaining subsistence -<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(5.) Marriage.</span><br />
(1.) gardening<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(6.) Polygamy and Divorce.</span><br />
(2.) farming<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(7.) Death: Mourning and Disposal</span><br />
(3.) industry<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(8.) Memorial.</span><br />
(4.) service.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">19. Distinctions of Rank.</span><br />
12. Division of Labour<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(1.) Privilege.</span><br />
13. Architecture: town planning.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(2.) Deprivation.</span><br />
14. Means of Conveyance.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">20. Property.</span><br />
15. Manufactures--<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(1.) Private right.</span><br />
(1.) Textiles.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(I) Definite.</span><br />
(2.) Implements of Agriculture and<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(11) Indefinite</span><br />
of War: tools and vessels.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(111) Inheritance</span><br />
(3.) Means of Communication and<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(1V) Succession</span><br />
Mechanical appliances.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(V) Usufructuary.</span><br />
16. Aesthetics: Musical Instruments and<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(V1) Peculiar: house, car.</span><br />
Other Fine Arts.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(2.) Common.</span><br />
17. Commerce, etc.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">21. Treatment of Diseases:Chemical,surgery</span><br />
18. Ordinary Events -<span style="padding-left: 4em;">palliative.</span><br />
(1.) Birth, etc.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">22. Acquired habits.</span><br />
(2.) Betrothal.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">23. Drinks.</span><br />
(3.) “Naming”.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">24. Masticatories.</span><br />
(4.) Festivals.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">25. Fondness for Children, and Pets.</span><br />
(5.) Games and Diversions.<span style="padding-left: 4em;">26. Devices for Self-improvement.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 49-50]</div>
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeBOYVxTcROhriIHg8RUeIlapZNsKsScaW6YyG_MoHGS1PQv6ReUBFqhHdGc3QY6kpJziQMy8irTd_QtsDwKVqaU64l10TI8ZTsEys1CrmNwSopa2AYFO9pjwIuUpuUc_KRd-J6inTYU/s1600/scan0039.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525606929736146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbeBOYVxTcROhriIHg8RUeIlapZNsKsScaW6YyG_MoHGS1PQv6ReUBFqhHdGc3QY6kpJziQMy8irTd_QtsDwKVqaU64l10TI8ZTsEys1CrmNwSopa2AYFO9pjwIuUpuUc_KRd-J6inTYU/s400/scan0039.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i><b>Autocthon</b><br />
<br />
Sprung from the elements<br />
simultaneous<br />
on the Isles;<br />
<br />
Or by instalments freed<br />
like flies from the mould<br />
pupescent;<br />
<br />
Or like Adam one,<br />
then a partner made like he<br />
for permanence;<br />
<br />
Or by the fertilities of the soil,<br />
oned this once<br />
in a rain too light to hear<br />
and almost too soft to feel,<br />
<br />
a warm breath from an idle sun —<br />
<br />
here’s another new world<br />
we’re made in!</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.51]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Pages of Tables and Graphs</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.52]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yV0-cOyfNt3NXYe80YElEVcfEKILoBZjrZ0KhDWn_5fX55L3q3hbiTpsIWs6cCOZ80-7eeBC6eZEveY_tSTyYAIzMq3DiODyuVxpzqRJnhKl5ZOQBvDljE4iuUtB9lF84C7kXL7bMG8/s1600/scan0010.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801971911544850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1yV0-cOyfNt3NXYe80YElEVcfEKILoBZjrZ0KhDWn_5fX55L3q3hbiTpsIWs6cCOZ80-7eeBC6eZEveY_tSTyYAIzMq3DiODyuVxpzqRJnhKl5ZOQBvDljE4iuUtB9lF84C7kXL7bMG8/s400/scan0010.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 354px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViEif3m3YbfFOoUR5Afybtb051scvB5xFRPRUS1BCkhzrO4yKSVV3M3jM4h2Dq1bQ1K13bTJ5q5CaEImGR5dJsMQS5Q1dO1Up9M8X70wcloprDrjk2MHYm8zdI6HlVr4uc3Vk_dSpeDI/s1600/scan0011.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801908317300706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiViEif3m3YbfFOoUR5Afybtb051scvB5xFRPRUS1BCkhzrO4yKSVV3M3jM4h2Dq1bQ1K13bTJ5q5CaEImGR5dJsMQS5Q1dO1Up9M8X70wcloprDrjk2MHYm8zdI6HlVr4uc3Vk_dSpeDI/s400/scan0011.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 326px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FYj-OvZh-sxtefal6bsTEb22VkbN2FNNQMIgtjY8zsk5U1GwBni_w-yU2p-u6X94fCPpQBUju6IGqG5ZYw7sNSMnRod5xt0yG_DX8g4WmIaWJPW-v4cUoskKNbstR6poqCYnjynXttY/s1600/scan0012.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801836761975922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3FYj-OvZh-sxtefal6bsTEb22VkbN2FNNQMIgtjY8zsk5U1GwBni_w-yU2p-u6X94fCPpQBUju6IGqG5ZYw7sNSMnRod5xt0yG_DX8g4WmIaWJPW-v4cUoskKNbstR6poqCYnjynXttY/s400/scan0012.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 335px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_oWQm8irSchLZNZ2jNYioyGcq8Dz1SP8EPusVBsT2uPHqiRpFZtypC0Il6zNTXljggqXnnWG4LtK9Fge-W7CoDbtv6DwjMzdOxhM44lUrKV8J_Wmk8d2MOrmS2g_eWV1BWLIK4l7RZA/s1600/scan0013.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801771810779186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw_oWQm8irSchLZNZ2jNYioyGcq8Dz1SP8EPusVBsT2uPHqiRpFZtypC0Il6zNTXljggqXnnWG4LtK9Fge-W7CoDbtv6DwjMzdOxhM44lUrKV8J_Wmk8d2MOrmS2g_eWV1BWLIK4l7RZA/s400/scan0013.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 395px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrh1Om6YRs7Fyn6zgSRaRS8MWSNJe3E4USiXZeby1EHekj5FFHYxl9BCOZWeaOIiTFwrHFNCyHZV-8ogRtIp7U8k-bXLx0pnWaonxWvvdRw0z3ioxdUKizbWqaOv9htSSHB-9f5TMlo8/s1600/scan0014.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801704207124338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWrh1Om6YRs7Fyn6zgSRaRS8MWSNJe3E4USiXZeby1EHekj5FFHYxl9BCOZWeaOIiTFwrHFNCyHZV-8ogRtIp7U8k-bXLx0pnWaonxWvvdRw0z3ioxdUKizbWqaOv9htSSHB-9f5TMlo8/s400/scan0014.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 322px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdalD8kBc3vQxR7kBRSsJv6IqsdM-fSgxRRAHT0-NgkSp-wqF42UBoa0tnNh9k303EDjcVQZKneorEoib1vOjakV0wrespjM6W8MtxGAiR-Sgz6ViQQxhtAOQX1RvUFjuH7dtmh66o-A/s1600/scan0015.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801635383247778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRdalD8kBc3vQxR7kBRSsJv6IqsdM-fSgxRRAHT0-NgkSp-wqF42UBoa0tnNh9k303EDjcVQZKneorEoib1vOjakV0wrespjM6W8MtxGAiR-Sgz6ViQQxhtAOQX1RvUFjuH7dtmh66o-A/s400/scan0015.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>On The Principle Of New Zealand Weather<br />
<br />
Forecast</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>This Diagram:</b><br />
<br />
<br />
On the <b><i><u>First Day</u></i></b><br />
the barometers were at 30.55<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Hokianga</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">wind N.W.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">30.47</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Wellington</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">wind N.N.W.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">30.30</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Bluff</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">wind N.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">As we advance the Diagram to the right--------- ></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
After an interval of twelve hours<br />
it has fallen nearly<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">1/10th.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Hokianga</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">5/100ths.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Wellington</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">1/10th.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at the Bluff</span><br />
<br />
<br />
without any change in wind direction<br />
though it will have grown stronger<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;">By the <b><i><u>Second Day</u></i></b> --------></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
we find pressure still diminishing<br />
<br />
<br />
the barometer has fallen to<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">30.40</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Hokianga</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">30.30</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Wellington</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">30.00</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">at Bluff</span><br />
<br />
<br />
the wind is more to the west<br />
but is a northerly gale<br />
south of the contour<span style="padding-left: 1em;">30.30</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">On the <b><i><u>Third Day</u></i></b> --------------------------></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
30.25<br />
at Hokianga<br />
wind W.<br />
<br />
30.10<br />
at Wellington<br />
wind N.W.<br />
<br />
29.60<br />
at Bluff<br />
wind N.W.<br />
<br />
<br />
Moving the Diagram to the right ------------------><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
Within the next twelve hours<br />
the barometer at Bluff<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">goes down to 29.55</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">and rises to 29.64</span><br />
<br />
the wind veering S. of W.<br />
as pressure increases <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>a southerly gale is now blowing over the South Island</i></div>
<br />
the barometer rises at Hokianga<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">from 30.25</span><br />
<br />
at Wellington it falls<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">to<span style="padding-left: 1em;">29.93</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;">On the <b><i><u>Fourth Day</u></i></b> --------></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
At Wellington the barometer falls to 29.88<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>and the wind is at the south</i></span><br />
<br />
<br />
At Bluff the barometer has risen to 29.90<br />
<br />
<br />
At Hokianga the barometer has risen a little<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>and the wind is now from the southward<br />
<br />
and the low area is to the eastward</i></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 53-58]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqcSLjoYXlWJ-5VwdjQPpPC_6ii5NPAvl_NdwCXTwJgH48lp_qWfYfQ0ki0oebu5nKfI53xhnr-U9rYYnxVNEG0RD-bAURbgzB3MI3sOc0rCBPih5k3CSPSLC7iwY65Zrkwtwr97xnRE/s1600/scan0046.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525147686424402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibqcSLjoYXlWJ-5VwdjQPpPC_6ii5NPAvl_NdwCXTwJgH48lp_qWfYfQ0ki0oebu5nKfI53xhnr-U9rYYnxVNEG0RD-bAURbgzB3MI3sOc0rCBPih5k3CSPSLC7iwY65Zrkwtwr97xnRE/s400/scan0046.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On The Ancient Dog of the New Zealanders</b><br />
<br />
It appears from the united testimony of the first visitors<br />
to this country, that the New Zealand dog was much like<br />
those of the other South Sea Isles:<br />
<br />
That it was a domestic animal<br />
small in size<br />
with pointed nose<br />
prick ears<br />
and little eyes.<br />
<br />
That it was stupid and ugly<br />
of various shades<br />
black brown and parti-<br />
with a short tail<br />
and lank hair.<br />
<br />
That it was sullen<br />
with no scent<br />
nor proper bark.<br />
<br />
That its skin was used for clothing<br />
its tail for ornament<br />
its flesh for food.<br />
<br />
That it was fed on fish and refuse offal.<br />
<br />
The dog on which Captain Cook and his officers feasted<br />
near the Traps off South Cape, on their first voyage, had<br />
been bred on board.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.59]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhVa1T9BY3bAXqj4hA8r6SBzAQ8VpSTBmmdxSmYzay9R5lAkmLo0xxlUEI11ay4Uui30U_nKM0eoRmIXDHPLD-ouYFB1kzPhPPa5v4idrfwK_sDJ2-qUjsGoGfT0Ny9y4dWQq_IhGrU/s1600/scan0047.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525073237990546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZMhVa1T9BY3bAXqj4hA8r6SBzAQ8VpSTBmmdxSmYzay9R5lAkmLo0xxlUEI11ay4Uui30U_nKM0eoRmIXDHPLD-ouYFB1kzPhPPa5v4idrfwK_sDJ2-qUjsGoGfT0Ny9y4dWQq_IhGrU/s400/scan0047.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 122px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Economy Of The<br />
Naultinus</b><br />
<br />
During the winter<br />
I looked at them<br />
three or four times.<br />
<br />
By October<br />
they were restless<br />
with three little ones!<br />
<br />
Two were spotted<br />
two were green<br />
as if in velvet.<br />
<br />
I gave them a<br />
glass dome with leafy<br />
twigs and water,<br />
<br />
Bits of meat<br />
of bread of<br />
roots and caterpillars.<br />
<br />
At length I<br />
put some living flies<br />
into their crystal palace.<br />
<br />
At length I<br />
caught some tiny flies<br />
for their young.<br />
<br />
But the lizards<br />
had no teeth<br />
and were weak.<br />
<br />
Though they grew<br />
in length they grew<br />
more frail and died.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.60]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45<br /><br />[Naultinus pulcherrimus and Catocala traversii]</span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.61]</div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPmLqiaEzkOjIsmJfa1HN0ACQsUbm9Fj2maUxgRtbfWteGhQp4ADEm5rPyQn0lP5bKydU7LiTzwGUC6HecXEn0boZBz4HlxLI4um2SKprKF2oMHoVq1ResgbBOjiDQ6H_Zm_gE7vN0v0/s1600/scan0048.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713524612421372626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghPmLqiaEzkOjIsmJfa1HN0ACQsUbm9Fj2maUxgRtbfWteGhQp4ADEm5rPyQn0lP5bKydU7LiTzwGUC6HecXEn0boZBz4HlxLI4um2SKprKF2oMHoVq1ResgbBOjiDQ6H_Zm_gE7vN0v0/s400/scan0048.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i><b>The Herpetologist Loses His Pets</b><br /><br />It is in appointed nature<br />that the cat should loosen a lid,<br />and it is in the nature of Heteropholis<br />that it should escape<br />to wherever nature calls it,<br />into thin flat darkness;<br /><br />So now they lie<br />under the hearth-rug,<br />in the sugar-bin,<br />and in the book-case<br />where fate has reserved space<br />between the 2-vol. Navarre edition of Rabelais<br />and Goethe’s Italian Journey,<br /><br />Where they lodge their green-and-silver bodies<br />in the spines, or where<br />one volume leans upon another,<br />living off lice,<br /><br />And though they would much rather<br />bask on twigs and live under rocks,<br />they are confident of peace<br />in such an exotic locale;<br /><br />It is interesting,<br />and they are grateful they can still live<br />where they are being studied,<br />among books which are full of the life of things,<br />and illustrations.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.62]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXIa7sYL6MLibcqBHKgOI9qoEqxah2L2aufEhYW8mQXrkBs3Td_PraCP2qzy46wI6Yfo55D324LJX7NqQhPJ4m5wJSxDYKdP-tTnBLF6R_6XPyPEPHwzjzkJBwMBxT6d7uLtHD0Capo3M/s1600/scan0049.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713524543905454082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXIa7sYL6MLibcqBHKgOI9qoEqxah2L2aufEhYW8mQXrkBs3Td_PraCP2qzy46wI6Yfo55D324LJX7NqQhPJ4m5wJSxDYKdP-tTnBLF6R_6XPyPEPHwzjzkJBwMBxT6d7uLtHD0Capo3M/s400/scan0049.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 346px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On the Hot Winds of Canterbury</b><br />
<br />
I was surprised to find in Ch.Ch.<br />
A strong N.W. gale come on to blow,<br />
Which continued for some days,<br />
And seemed to possess a large share<br />
Of the disagreeable characteristics<br />
Of the sirocco of Malta and Southern Europe,<br />
Or the desert winds of Australia,<br />
Whilst the sky presented the same hard features.<br />
<br />
The nor-wester blows for days and nights<br />
Withering the vegetation, crisping the leaves,<br />
And depressing the energies of animals and human beings.<br />
Then torrents of rain are being discharged<br />
Upon the mountains and forests of Westland,<br />
And in the region of Mt. Cook thunder prevails.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.63]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqd5O24Ts958AvfY7oVnkpGP4JwZo-Sl2ZB8SX5wXRkiDuFSKnJXY_pGg6CF-5YSGy8jxCWVkgm4tbVcLHDxAnNXkvDIXWjlsASHb7FeR5FS0Ll4WPq_Hski-PQ-mhsNlpvT6oG-Z4s/s1600/scan0050.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713524475327673746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwYqd5O24Ts958AvfY7oVnkpGP4JwZo-Sl2ZB8SX5wXRkiDuFSKnJXY_pGg6CF-5YSGy8jxCWVkgm4tbVcLHDxAnNXkvDIXWjlsASHb7FeR5FS0Ll4WPq_Hski-PQ-mhsNlpvT6oG-Z4s/s400/scan0050.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 245px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On The Disappearance of the Larger Kind<br />
Of Lizard From North Canterbury.</b><br />
<br />
<i>The following is a summary of the statements made by<br />
Te Aika, Te Uki, Iwikau, & Te ata o Tu:-</i><br />
<br />
Unu ngarara or ngarara burrows<br />
Were plentiful in the manuka<br />
On the north side of the Waimakariri<br />
Westwards to the ranges.<br />
<br />
The ngarara was darker than the ruatara,<br />
From two to three feet in length,<br />
And ten to twenty inches in girth.<br />
From neck to tail was a serrated crest.<br />
<br />
A ngarara was kept a pet at Kaiapoi.<br />
It was fed on small birds and cooked fern.<br />
It was gentle and liked being stroked,<br />
And could indicate that it was hungry.<br />
<br />
The mouth was full of teeth;<br />
Some at the front grew large.<br />
These were three or four inches long,<br />
And were prized as mat pins.<br />
<br />
A smaller kind lived in streams.<br />
Cats and fires and the rat<br />
Have made them extinct.<br />
Some Maoris ate them.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.64]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAvYSTTckMHjTmaMW4qIRohw6K6bha52UmOzD6urW0ioDIELuw7mXkTps4p0tXZPkcsrBu1_kqrMiXaJbdCK0j5-PoYXkEENaKSFk022XXaZGwLQESiMrYBbYSvSXgF0PnlEhuFLpTOQ/s1600/scan0051.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522889831700594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpAvYSTTckMHjTmaMW4qIRohw6K6bha52UmOzD6urW0ioDIELuw7mXkTps4p0tXZPkcsrBu1_kqrMiXaJbdCK0j5-PoYXkEENaKSFk022XXaZGwLQESiMrYBbYSvSXgF0PnlEhuFLpTOQ/s400/scan0051.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 315px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>On The Phyllocladus</b></span><br />
<br />
There are three species in New Zealand.<br />
<br />
The singular structure of their foliaceous appendages<br />
gives them special interest in the eyes of the botanist.<br />
<br />
True leaves are only produced in the young.<br />
<br />
The broad fern-like expansions<br />
which take the place of true leaves<br />
are by some termed ‘cladodia’<br />
and by others ‘phyllodia’,<br />
<br />
According to the point of view,<br />
<br />
Whether as consisting of abortive branches,<br />
or of a flattened petiole.<br />
<br />
As these organs develop flower buds<br />
they cannot be regarded as leaves,<br />
or as modified petioles,<br />
<br />
so the term ‘cladodia’ is most closely applicable.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.65]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH0lFWe9ybgxDKMviKrFmEMG1KMXskBTmPu12BDAcg9i4B-r9MVzGBmqRuM0jPh7jBB3moPD4YXTYgGw_JO5D2IWxfsgNZO5icUiA4edSKeLZUsstjW1zhP_zGUh-1raHJh2HKqtvFFQ/s1600/scan0052.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522812058653058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimH0lFWe9ybgxDKMviKrFmEMG1KMXskBTmPu12BDAcg9i4B-r9MVzGBmqRuM0jPh7jBB3moPD4YXTYgGw_JO5D2IWxfsgNZO5icUiA4edSKeLZUsstjW1zhP_zGUh-1raHJh2HKqtvFFQ/s400/scan0052.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSjudcd6fPTMvphpmt08SRkx8PyW3zsxfYtTd9oJc-lzdspxAkWmtpot-_23izT4OTyTwGKIsJz6YPPW6U2Tl8JC2ZYCShXF6JIUPHDzPTheTXZpZeOksP7aUrCSRXw_YTkm3et3hlTo/s1600/scan0053.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522695920584098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcSjudcd6fPTMvphpmt08SRkx8PyW3zsxfYtTd9oJc-lzdspxAkWmtpot-_23izT4OTyTwGKIsJz6YPPW6U2Tl8JC2ZYCShXF6JIUPHDzPTheTXZpZeOksP7aUrCSRXw_YTkm3et3hlTo/s400/scan0053.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 184px;" /></a>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Note On The Breeding Habits of the Katipo</b><br />
(Latrodectus katipo).<br />
<br />
On Nov. 4th., 1877,<br />
I put a female katipo<br />
in an empty, clear glass bottle;<br />
<br />
she at once began to make<br />
a fine irregular web,<br />
and on the morning of the 8th.,<br />
I found that during the night<br />
she had constructed and suspended<br />
near the neck of the bottle,<br />
<br />
a spherical cocoon,<br />
composed of a pale yellow silky web,<br />
through which one could see the purplish eggs;<br />
<br />
for the next two months<br />
the spider remained<br />
on or close to the cocoon;<br />
<br />
I put several flies and other insects<br />
into the bottle,<br />
all of which she at once killed<br />
and threw down to the bottom<br />
without eating.<br />
<br />
Early in January<br />
she shifted the cocoon close<br />
to one side of the bottle<br />
at the shoulder,<br />
<br />
and took up a position for herself<br />
three-quarters of the distance<br />
to the bottom of the bottle.<br />
<br />
By this time<br />
she was reduced<br />
to half the original size<br />
and was very inert, and,<br />
<br />
<br />
on the 7th. February, 1878,<br />
sixty young katipos<br />
issued from the cocoon.<br />
<br />
Next morning<br />
the mother lay dead<br />
at the bottom of the bottle;<br />
<br />
it must not be supposed<br />
that the old spider<br />
always dies in this way,<br />
for I had one<br />
which ate the greater part of her family<br />
before doing so.</blockquote>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[pp. 66-67]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 180%;"><br /><i>Appendix</i></span></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.68]</div>
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">51</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6npWVvMv3e4EoCPoMDT5lTCZXfEfgbgimMcY6zxiNxUqrGVh0W2Wx-jwHlChoTe89ENiuwIjozcKOEEJmgQ5lfyvarvPnwC7fLpGKAsfzVtJyS0eVhwKOPArMn7mgtbWm9uyc9VE4PMY/s1600/scan0054.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522635437814162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6npWVvMv3e4EoCPoMDT5lTCZXfEfgbgimMcY6zxiNxUqrGVh0W2Wx-jwHlChoTe89ENiuwIjozcKOEEJmgQ5lfyvarvPnwC7fLpGKAsfzVtJyS0eVhwKOPArMn7mgtbWm9uyc9VE4PMY/s400/scan0054.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 212px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b>Explanation Of Plate XXVIII</b></span><br />
<br />
<b>1. <i>Gymnostomum patulum</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Plant nat. size, and cap. enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a, b.</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Leaves enlarged.</span><br />
<i>c, d. e.</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Portion of leaves greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<b>2. <i>Gymnostomum knightii</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Cap. enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a, b.</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Leaves enlarged.</span><br />
<i>c, d.</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Portion of leaves greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<b>3. <i>Gymnostomum calcareum var. intermedium</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Cap. enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a, b.</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Leaves enlarged.</span><br />
<i>c.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Portion of leaf greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<b>4. <i>Gymnostomun sulcatum</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Plant enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Operculum and calyptra enlarged.</span><br />
<i>b, c, d.</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Leaves enlarged.</span><br />
<i>e.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Portion of leaf greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<b>5. <i>Gymnostomum areolatum</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Plant enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Leaf enlarged.</span><br />
<i>b.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Portion of leaf greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<b>6. <i>Gymnostomum angustatum</i>.</b><br />
<blockquote>
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Capsule enlarged.</span><br />
<i>a, b.</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Leaves enlarged.</span><br />
<i>c.</i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Portion of leaf greatly enlarged.</span></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.69]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">52</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1zOlrCZp0ERhJGbwfUe8aZasLFL2VbUrk0O0xtPOGixYS4IE5_Y4IDtlMw7XCcxv_sDv6kEfgdcHQ23m1tud2kgrDc9nkEv6-C9yMbCNGz7y2aM5pYXnAvu63IXIGtGsA7AsWqPDPc0/s1600/scan0055.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522574386564674" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjm1zOlrCZp0ERhJGbwfUe8aZasLFL2VbUrk0O0xtPOGixYS4IE5_Y4IDtlMw7XCcxv_sDv6kEfgdcHQ23m1tud2kgrDc9nkEv6-C9yMbCNGz7y2aM5pYXnAvu63IXIGtGsA7AsWqPDPc0/s400/scan0055.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Description Of Plate</b><br />
<br />
Fig.1.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Ehrharta thomsonii, Petrie. Nat. size.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">2.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Spikelet.</span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">3.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Upper pair of empty glumes.</span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">4.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Floret.</span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">5,5` Nervation of lower pair of empty glumes.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">6,6`<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">``<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">upper<span style="padding-left: 1em;">``<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">``<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">``</span></span></span></span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">7.<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">``<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">flowering glume.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">9,9` Scales</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">10<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Grain.</span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.70]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">53</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFHQGS5h1IyN-ak6QUFINzFlCCLp-cJvuJNRewKNP6YWjfVbZ0e7k8sqtKEtKXOUoU16oVOORWZzLlcnGNrv06Oq4qo07EquTocU1s9KTWWVX-0NLRSOd-qY_bN29xNPw0NBfKqdeAFE/s1600/scan0005.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715802045981994578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFHQGS5h1IyN-ak6QUFINzFlCCLp-cJvuJNRewKNP6YWjfVbZ0e7k8sqtKEtKXOUoU16oVOORWZzLlcnGNrv06Oq4qo07EquTocU1s9KTWWVX-0NLRSOd-qY_bN29xNPw0NBfKqdeAFE/s400/scan0005.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<b>On Forest Culture</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Mr. Gillies does not agree with Mr. Firth,<br />
That for the immediate future we should confine ourselves to the planting<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">of <i>Eucalypti</i> and <i>Coniferae</i>.</span><br />
There are many objections against the planting of <i>Eucalypti</i>.<br />
It would be scarcely necessary to do so in the north with the object of<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">inducing moisture,</span><br />
As the country is so narrow that it derives abundant moisture from the<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">sea.</span><br />
This is one of the questions which it would be better for us to consider in<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">a commercial aspect.</span><br />
It is one of those things which could be better undertaken by people who<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">understand it,</span><br />
Than by the Government, who does not.<br />
<br />
<br />
Tables have been furnished to show that the country has been denuded of<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">its forests, to a great extent,</span><br />
And it has been stated that thousands of acres have been destroyed by<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">bushmen lighting their pipes,</span><br />
And that sawmill proprietors waste tremendous quantities of timber.<br />
But if we look into the absolute facts we will come to a different<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">conclusion.</span><br />
We will find it is simply the natural requirements of the people<br />
And the necessities of trade that must be met.<br />
<br />
At first, bushmen selected the best trees,<br />
But now the timber trade has increased to such dimensions<br />
That the saw-mill proprietors cut down all the trees that are suitable,<br />
And utilise even the branches,<br />
By splitting them into shingles.<br />
<br />
In my opinion,<br />
The idea of conserving our native forests to the extent proposed by<br />
<span style="padding-left: 15em;">Mr. Firth</span><br />
Is quite Utopian.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
L.H.Kyle, 1875.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.71]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">54</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEz4vQ0BcqUGZUU16gV9JiDN4bMi4IaTZPWJkBgK8dK36TWch_rSgYWyanFZaNrlESDSw11Z9LOwpB1CsjuaBUu0VfbjmFWMAle6oBZl1l8som9ESUo0N757D8JOVlwlylDkhF6wk1Yk/s1600/scan0017.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801364857572482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAEz4vQ0BcqUGZUU16gV9JiDN4bMi4IaTZPWJkBgK8dK36TWch_rSgYWyanFZaNrlESDSw11Z9LOwpB1CsjuaBUu0VfbjmFWMAle6oBZl1l8som9ESUo0N757D8JOVlwlylDkhF6wk1Yk/s400/scan0017.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 331px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mr. Buller To the Rev. Mr. Taylor, Sir:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li>There are 160, not 136.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Koekoea</span> does not 'bury itself in mud at the bottoms of<br />rivers'.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Notornis</span> is more than twice the size of the Weka.</li>
<li>There is no such bird as <span style="font-style: italic;">Hieracidea Novae Zelandieae Gouldii</span>.</li>
<li>There is no such owl as <span style="font-style: italic;">Athene albifons</span>.</li>
<li>Of the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Huia</span>: the tail contains twelve feathers, not four; the<br />bill is ivory white, not yellow. It does not move like a kanga<br />roo.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tui</span> breeds only once a year; its nidification is in the<br />spring.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Matata</span> has a graduated, acuminate tail.</li>
<li>The errors under the head of “<span style="font-style: italic;">Troglodytinae</span>" are obviously<br />typographical.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Tieke</span> has a vermilion caruncle on each side pendant<br />from the angle or corner of the mouth.</li>
<li><span style="font-style: italic;">Aplonis Zelandicus</span>. The author mistakes the bird.</li>
<li>The suggestion that the <span style="font-weight: bold;">Kaka-korako</span> belongs to <span style="font-style: italic;">Tricho-<br />glossus</span> is unfortunate.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Kea</span> is described as a bird of red plumage.</li>
<li>I have never seen a bird with a 'perfectly bald skull of a red<br />colour'.</li>
<li><span style="font-weight: bold;">Himantopus Novae Zelandiae</span> has a black bill, not a red<br />one.</li>
<li>The <span style="font-weight: bold;">Totoara</span> is Petroica albifrons.</li>
</ol>
<br />
I am actuated solely by a desire to serve the cause of truth, which is the foundation of all human science.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[p.72]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">55</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcA_O_efx0fEgulV44xnnqOKmn8crvjzkZYgMETopTL6UXOR5qSKB-JZ_vYxPonAdqfElQ5rGjhxOwRQNs70wSl0O7cF9YgBHul426IPkjhbAnV_7Lh2WdX8NbXtm-gZoVOyONiUCdIo/s1600/scan0016.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5715801559170859858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivcA_O_efx0fEgulV44xnnqOKmn8crvjzkZYgMETopTL6UXOR5qSKB-JZ_vYxPonAdqfElQ5rGjhxOwRQNs70wSl0O7cF9YgBHul426IPkjhbAnV_7Lh2WdX8NbXtm-gZoVOyONiUCdIo/s400/scan0016.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>ERRATA</b></div>
<br />
<b>PAGE</b><br />
13,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">line 19<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>for</i> and and <i>read</i> and.</span></span><br />
22,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">line 14<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> similiarty <i>read</i> similarity.</span></span><br />
25,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">line 1<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;"><i>for</i> Marqunesan <i>read</i> Marquesan.</span></span><br />
34,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">for reference to note against canoes, see page 33 at the foot.</span><br />
38,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">line 8<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> sefula <i>read</i> safulu.</span></span><br />
70,<span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">line 5<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the top, <i>for</i> their <i>read</i> the.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">[low as high water</span></span></span><br />
106,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 2<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> as high as low water, <i>read</i> as ^</span></span><br />
107,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 15<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>dele</i>. and <i>insert</i> ?</span></span><br />
118,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 2<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> pnt <i>read</i> put.</span></span><br />
140,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 11<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>for</i> Kauroo <i>read</i> Kauru.</span></span><br />
176,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 7<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the top, <i>for</i> me ta <i>read</i> met a.</span></span><br />
184,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 9<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> Eperia <i>read</i> Epeira.</span></span><br />
186,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 9<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the top, <i>for</i> peats <i>read</i> bents.</span></span><br />
189,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 23<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>for</i> other <i>read</i> outer.</span></span><br />
193,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 20<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> these <i>read</i> there.</span></span><br />
195,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 11<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> reference <i>read</i> preference.</span></span><br />
196,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 2<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the top, <i>for</i> oblosignata <i>read</i> albosignata.</span></span><br />
198,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 3 and 10 from the bottom, and 199, line 2 from the top,</span><br />
204, art. 25, <i>for</i> au<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>for</i> albosiquata <i>read</i> albosignata.</span><br />
204, art. 25, <i>for</i> auctirostris <i>read</i> acutirostris.<br />
209, <i>for</i> D11/12 <i>read</i> D12/11.<br />
213,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 6<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> larger <i>read</i> longer.</span></span><br />
227,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 14<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> as <i>read</i> us.</span></span><br />
235,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 23<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> referenct o <i>read</i> reference to.</span></span><br />
254,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 18<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, for <i>natualists</i> read <i>naturalists</i>.</span></span><br />
262,<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><i>et seq.</i> Art.XXXII, <i>for</i> Captain Brown <i>read</i> Captain Broun.</span><br />
269,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 12<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> P.reticulatis <i>read</i> P.reticularis.</span></span><br />
271,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">No.28, <i>for</i> Tetroreo <i>read</i> Tetrorea.</span><br />
332,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 21<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> fortunately <i>read</i> forthwith.</span></span><br />
333,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 17<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>after</i> retarded <i>insert.dele,after</i> chloride.</span></span><br />
336,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 18<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> which <i>read</i> while.</span></span><br />
340,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 12<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> both <i>read</i> water.</span></span><br />
342,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 21<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>dele</i> not.<span style="padding-left: 7em;">prusside.</span></span></span><br />
346,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 19<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> nitro-prussic <i>read</i> nitro-^</span></span><br />
350,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 11<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> Mahutangi <i>read</i> Mahurangi.</span></span><br />
386,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 17<span style="padding-left: 2em;">from the top, <i>for</i> radiatian <i>read</i> radiation.</span></span><br />
439,<span style="padding-left: 3em;">line 7<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">from the bottom, <i>for</i> know <i>read</i> known.</span></span><br />
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[p.73]</div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn51">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn51" name="_ftn51" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">56</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz68EbPlXz-aj84h4d7wpNXo_aoR8LsNP8RdnVD-hpsFaZeoQ143geWNBBiNCbQoaus2ux52qGv9D3aUZD-shYIOlo-hum3FoH6goGxbmE4sUfBNijkHLBgvQTHdxQjjiw2iyzidnn0JE/s1600/scan0058.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522316132533330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz68EbPlXz-aj84h4d7wpNXo_aoR8LsNP8RdnVD-hpsFaZeoQ143geWNBBiNCbQoaus2ux52qGv9D3aUZD-shYIOlo-hum3FoH6goGxbmE4sUfBNijkHLBgvQTHdxQjjiw2iyzidnn0JE/s400/scan0058.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 174px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
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<i><b>Galapagos</b><br /><br />These are the things we respect —<br />the Apteryx, the Sphenodon,<br />a feather nearly fur,<br />a snail a frog<br />a lizard that gives birth to young<br />and wetas with huge heads;<br />things death has passed.<br /><br />We love them for that,<br />but now they die<br />and it seems a sign,<br />so we devise protection<br />least the loss of one<br />lead to the loss of each other.<br /><br />We make oceans all around,<br />border controls,<br />and great depths of sky.<br /><br />We make songs<br />expensive experiments<br />murder mustelids.<br /><br />Still they die,<br />however we kill those<br />that kill them,<br /><br />in our love,<br />as if we are the vehicle for time.</i><br />
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[p.74]</div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />[<i>Variant Texts</i>]:</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn52">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn52" name="_ftn52" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">[36]</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHu9_54ZWohsnczGTif2cpZawTYOh1e9-uqxbLrY2ZT3JdrsDSoU_U_RNQa7-rheqAxGiaZoP5Jvgu4us6ZCY7YcJOKUXh8iKaZju-67S1GWRTJddbgVX7PJSIw0JFojKnjhljJLLtFB0/s1600/scan0032.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526088423464626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHu9_54ZWohsnczGTif2cpZawTYOh1e9-uqxbLrY2ZT3JdrsDSoU_U_RNQa7-rheqAxGiaZoP5Jvgu4us6ZCY7YcJOKUXh8iKaZju-67S1GWRTJddbgVX7PJSIw0JFojKnjhljJLLtFB0/s400/scan0032.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BvkHQTeOkauBDvW78zkaCLBFxrMoF_ZPwOEVO1oCEdGovi6O-u6IY0KmxTLTmCx1JenLIz0NN3PQuZYJhn-TcShGquXGtWJP8rluqnjrVfE1lJnDyKyha2H18kBrkLYDiQFFRsFr09o/s1600/scan0033.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713526024403903778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2BvkHQTeOkauBDvW78zkaCLBFxrMoF_ZPwOEVO1oCEdGovi6O-u6IY0KmxTLTmCx1JenLIz0NN3PQuZYJhn-TcShGquXGtWJP8rluqnjrVfE1lJnDyKyha2H18kBrkLYDiQFFRsFr09o/s400/scan0033.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7nVdmQK8SH6ONpTAae7TC83bWgnpCevFdyTb1181VDUvZUx7-tNXyl_sYvnY0__tbf8k4Ve-tsmErVtdY76cQBIH9VzPR5lIz-0NRDjETbbHzzMN-r6u6xpsMEPfAHUsNrM8NqxGXUY/s1600/scan0034.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525958541568946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI7nVdmQK8SH6ONpTAae7TC83bWgnpCevFdyTb1181VDUvZUx7-tNXyl_sYvnY0__tbf8k4Ve-tsmErVtdY76cQBIH9VzPR5lIz-0NRDjETbbHzzMN-r6u6xpsMEPfAHUsNrM8NqxGXUY/s400/scan0034.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 305px;" /></a></div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn53">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn53" name="_ftn53" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">[37]</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPE4Hsyc7zqPPhYrcPS_37d-rZSphuotpgJQiBnGPoBkkyeh6sPsyZiTKBDdfKcfR6eu8jHf7h2aB98bnVZ7DTq97kBbXSbWppPGhYLo3tzs4TejCmddRcIF0eqNTdm_2qHuNd7T0UPY/s1600/scan0035.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713525875005889154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisPE4Hsyc7zqPPhYrcPS_37d-rZSphuotpgJQiBnGPoBkkyeh6sPsyZiTKBDdfKcfR6eu8jHf7h2aB98bnVZ7DTq97kBbXSbWppPGhYLo3tzs4TejCmddRcIF0eqNTdm_2qHuNd7T0UPY/s400/scan0035.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 218px;" /></a></div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn54">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/the-galapagos-tracts-c1999-2006.html#_ftn54" name="_ftn54" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">[53]</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgZmzhDzUOjWXvxVc4l6arDsEkQhb9LRiPmxdZgaDUz6KAPYjPF0egZdM4mME99np7ohUgSswz_PSEcgPWkSlWrhS7bez_0LiOOrSL4NspuJBDbpgoevINvZmT8TjyCztI-Hae4dl7t4/s1600/scan0056.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5713522510415896098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBgZmzhDzUOjWXvxVc4l6arDsEkQhb9LRiPmxdZgaDUz6KAPYjPF0egZdM4mME99np7ohUgSswz_PSEcgPWkSlWrhS7bez_0LiOOrSL4NspuJBDbpgoevINvZmT8TjyCztI-Hae4dl7t4/s400/scan0056.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 339px;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-69860070020404576662012-01-08T08:11:00.009+13:002017-11-26T10:55:40.650+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 7 (2004-2006)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s1600/Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591520396857632402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s400/Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-twenty-eight.html">Shorter Poems: 7</a></span></b><br />
(2004-2006)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">A Person, Two; if not the Sun</a> [22/1/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">‘To Father Huc’s tree of Tartary / on which we are each leaves’ poetry.’</a> [26/1/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Ev</a> [30/1/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">If the words say silence suffers less / They suffer silence</a> [26/3/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Portent</a> [7/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">The Tinder Box</a> [7/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Mother</a> [7/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">View From the Roundabout</a> [16/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Home</a> [16/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">Native At Midnight</a> [16/5/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">Diary Of A Country Cop</a> [17/6/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">To a Daughter Who Has Taken Her Life</a> [11/8/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">For A Lost Longdrop</a> [16/12/04]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">Tell Me</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">Water Talk</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">The Little Mermaid</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Useless Love</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">Educating The Stream</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">Opus</a> [6/1/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">The Four Comforts</a> [4/2/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">Scar</a> [8/2/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">The Toro Tree</a> [8/2/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">Gloomy Friday</a> [15/3/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">When The Bus Stops</a> [4/7/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">The Rain-Callers</a> [4/7/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">Herodotus</a> [7/7/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">Paris</a> [8/7/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">The New Mayor at the Old Mine</a> [11/10/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">time out</a> [17/10/05]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">Pre-Loved Days</a> [16/1/06]</li>
<blockquote>
<i>Rain Poems:</i>
<br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">Quiet Rain</a> [19/1/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">The Southerly</a> [19/1/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn33" name="_ftnref33" title="">Welcome</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn34" name="_ftnref34" title="">Yesterday</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn35" name="_ftnref35" title="">Flood</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn36" name="_ftnref36" title="">From The East</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn37" name="_ftnref37" title="">Night Rain</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn38" name="_ftnref38" title="">With Ice</a> [2/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn39" name="_ftnref39" title="">Of Earth and Sky</a> [2/2/06]</li>
</blockquote>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn40" name="_ftnref40" title="">The Botanist and his Dog</a> [15/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn41" name="_ftnref41" title="">The Tree</a> [15/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn42" name="_ftnref42" title="">The Sky Must Fall</a> [15/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn43" name="_ftnref43" title="">We Were Talking</a> [15/2/06]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn44" name="_ftnref44" title="">Nematoceras triloba</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn45" name="_ftnref45" title="">The Creeping Sky Lily</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn46" name="_ftnref46" title="">Actinotus suffocta</a> [n.d.]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6xlhuX2wKWuvBq0UEMXfRqqbezahd4NVlelKVRMgnM6YYdQU1lcVomTgRPZqFEjMB2eY1adeQOHS_6M-85a0D0qdzlJ9myIAVtY3FmCLVHbE8xuPpiFVVzggqtm67xgaxfr8aDYcY_o/s1600/sp6+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP6xlhuX2wKWuvBq0UEMXfRqqbezahd4NVlelKVRMgnM6YYdQU1lcVomTgRPZqFEjMB2eY1adeQOHS_6M-85a0D0qdzlJ9myIAVtY3FmCLVHbE8xuPpiFVVzggqtm67xgaxfr8aDYcY_o/s400/sp6+01.jpg" width="203" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Person, Two; if not the Sun</b><br />
<br />
Loss has sent them all<br />
to bed<br />
<br />
no gain to rise<br />
if not the sun<br />
<br />
a car<br />
a person, two<br />
with the sun<br />
<br />
but loss<br />
forsook<br />
and sorrow<br />
<br />
and rain<br />
drear<br />
<br />
if not the sun<br />
two-a-car<br />
in the rain<br />
<br />
but no sun<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[22/1/04]<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://www.arts.org.nz/kyle.htm"><i>Southern Ocean Review</i></a> 33 (2004))</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTBaTGoqzONQZ3-ozZyz5ywwU19LlW1bkUvwgrbYg4Xr51_OqLnYnOSRQLemCaZ0Zc1inGv3OoHZbBVpYvOYNsbUbf2MP-RT8mzl5ubcXT8azq1-vq4T1LUnB6WcQLpeRQ6c4DwpaYwk/s1600/sp6+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUTBaTGoqzONQZ3-ozZyz5ywwU19LlW1bkUvwgrbYg4Xr51_OqLnYnOSRQLemCaZ0Zc1inGv3OoHZbBVpYvOYNsbUbf2MP-RT8mzl5ubcXT8azq1-vq4T1LUnB6WcQLpeRQ6c4DwpaYwk/s400/sp6+02.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>‘<i>To Father Huc’s tree of Tartary<br />
on which we are each leaves’ poetry</i>.’</b><br />
<br />
Each one of us<br />
leaves’ or leave’s<br />
on or of<br />
<br />
scribbled <br />
or sung in the wind<br />
listened lounging<br />
or read<br />
in the shade<br />
under<br />
<br />
at the top of the steppes<br />
<br />
a totem<br />
<br />
the Monsignor<br />
a prince of the church<br />
a shaman<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">who</span><br />
carried on a palanquin<br />
from Tibet<br />
to the edge of the sea<br />
<br />
noting<span style="padding-left: 2em;">making</span><br />
the tree of Tartary<br />
who’s leaves are the words of the world<br />
<br />
Everything<br />
we each ever<br />
<br />
for you and me<br />
for Louis and Loraine<br />
who found the book<br />
and have since never<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[26/1/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JESdLnLmG5frfU8E7slxXfd-bbX6dZidVLifOirtW50mQ9YQtaMoXJD9V23D5ffrbPoCbSvElrziWTHOkeqBpchx3cTXTDIqp05YywdmoS87oCNQdPbgeTzU5-IrRXmhWkSVtAR1yp8/s1600/sp6+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3JESdLnLmG5frfU8E7slxXfd-bbX6dZidVLifOirtW50mQ9YQtaMoXJD9V23D5ffrbPoCbSvElrziWTHOkeqBpchx3cTXTDIqp05YywdmoS87oCNQdPbgeTzU5-IrRXmhWkSVtAR1yp8/s400/sp6+03.jpg" width="189" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ev</b><br />
<br />
You can’t say she’s lost her mind<br />
because it’s there,<br />
but she doesn’t see things through any more.<br />
<br />
She starts<br />
but doesn’t end<br />
her sentences,<br />
<br />
or anything for that matter,<br />
<br />
which is fair enough<br />
when you think of it –<br />
there’s a lot begun that shouldn’t be,<br />
but it just doesn’t do<br />
and it’s hard on the others.<br />
<br />
She’ll have to go;<br />
so she won’t be coming here,<br />
not any more.<br />
<br />
Think what change that will bring:<br />
who’ll do the raffles?<br />
And the pickles at the sale?<br />
There’ll be no more pavlovas,<br />
and those trifles she did<br />
with streaks in them!<br />
<br />
She never said much<br />
and she didn’t do anything else,<br />
but it’s a sign, isn’t it?<br />
<br />
It’s getting to be near the end of the line.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[30/1/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0Ik1xcJxuXGfSGKmj2JH-LwHLzq4jGvFbfLGkg97aN3czgKNs61fyd74VpFFYfzEtdhDT4KfAV4oVLbZK62BUg31sVgBUngtMpfGUgxl2rgtuRnqvXa8mN1q5np5P3TfYNsLwW0JXMQ/s1600/sp6+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI0Ik1xcJxuXGfSGKmj2JH-LwHLzq4jGvFbfLGkg97aN3czgKNs61fyd74VpFFYfzEtdhDT4KfAV4oVLbZK62BUg31sVgBUngtMpfGUgxl2rgtuRnqvXa8mN1q5np5P3TfYNsLwW0JXMQ/s400/sp6+04.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>If the words say<span style="padding-left: 1em;">silence suffers less</span><br />
They suffer silence</b><br />
<br />
you have to know <br />
precisely<br />
or you suffer<br />
more or less<br />
what they mean<br />
<br />
what they suffer<br />
<br />
say –<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">silence –</span><br />
itself a word<br />
which is the trick<br />
when you say it<br />
<br />
which is the point<br />
and is the whole<br />
<br />
of the pain<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[26/3/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciWUxKK8gs3gvDh2FvZyRpxi9Ba3WVjDcDj8CKT0w9eNQWc-X34XmC-qcSlrbVTtZzXf_eUJ3xnov5OZqYv8ofw5Cbd1DFemB-1jHfWyo5xZ8rhEnO6LTnmNs2KMwExJGf5pg90xvpcA/s1600/sp6+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhciWUxKK8gs3gvDh2FvZyRpxi9Ba3WVjDcDj8CKT0w9eNQWc-X34XmC-qcSlrbVTtZzXf_eUJ3xnov5OZqYv8ofw5Cbd1DFemB-1jHfWyo5xZ8rhEnO6LTnmNs2KMwExJGf5pg90xvpcA/s400/sp6+05.jpg" width="233" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Portent</b><br />
<br />
since she died<br />
it’s rained all the time<br />
<br />
drizzling mist<br />
in fog<br />
<br />
now and then<br />
some sun<br />
a distant blue<br />
<br />
but nothing<br />
to dry the lawn<br />
<br />
soon enough it’s on again<br />
quietly<br />
from over the hill<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[7/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAxl8-H7gUQFbkq4xzjfQ_XIMAbPUdYDLKtZl2Bkxua2Sh6kQjWBah9FUV2Kp6wyz_NO9eYqxjpoWa1iQRmaLJ_9IR17g1En0TRRkzVxpoB4GHGO8WJesgwu9EgvOEwWZMkclrMgYqJ0/s1600/sp6+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbAxl8-H7gUQFbkq4xzjfQ_XIMAbPUdYDLKtZl2Bkxua2Sh6kQjWBah9FUV2Kp6wyz_NO9eYqxjpoWa1iQRmaLJ_9IR17g1En0TRRkzVxpoB4GHGO8WJesgwu9EgvOEwWZMkclrMgYqJ0/s400/sp6+06.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Tinder Box</b><br />
<br />
My dog’s eyes are big as plates<br />
he guards my boughs my bole<br />
in which I store the treasure<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in the box</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">on which he sits</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in patience</span><br />
<br />
He growls at my desires –<br />
for the princess in her copper cot<br />
for clothes that flame at night<br />
and for God<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in the box</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">on which he sits</span><br />
<br />
When I am done<br />
he lies at the door<br />
to the tunnel of my soul<br />
and watches me<br />
<br />
with eyes as big as cups as plates<br />
<br />
big brown eyes<br />
<br />
and rolls them<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[7/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULsUIR7-rf01x5BGZWKdapMR1m4ufEzaWLiLPDYLCYOSkMt35vE1SVXYtQt-_kfxVCDjJNL3mzyAlY0MalmDzUTtN63uJICVsq_R8j3L27y0_L-03kKGrkBB4wQbINbOzSlt2hWIdYrg/s1600/sp6+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgULsUIR7-rf01x5BGZWKdapMR1m4ufEzaWLiLPDYLCYOSkMt35vE1SVXYtQt-_kfxVCDjJNL3mzyAlY0MalmDzUTtN63uJICVsq_R8j3L27y0_L-03kKGrkBB4wQbINbOzSlt2hWIdYrg/s400/sp6+07.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mother</b><br />
<br />
In this the leisure of my age<br />
days mill behind<br />
like sheep on the hills,<br />
and I think of you<br />
<br />
that you endured<br />
his infidelities drunken-ness<br />
the poverties and scandal<br />
that he made.<br />
<br />
Of him I think with anger,<br />
of you with love<br />
and I work to envisage<br />
you both.<br />
<br />
For him I need no effort –<br />
it’s myself I see,<br />
but for you<br />
whom I adored<br />
I find no face.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[7/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgC6pEOaBPKGSe4uDZP_CaabFwbu0RAeP64Pcmu55S3Zt7yahtlQolMHGj0cHLiCAEfSS3dgIuxNvsrYUjYw5ZXo_GyyHmDeXiUxkAS7g4rgsxqn3NwJlTcEXigc767lo-K2VWmRVNLQ/s1600/sp6+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwgC6pEOaBPKGSe4uDZP_CaabFwbu0RAeP64Pcmu55S3Zt7yahtlQolMHGj0cHLiCAEfSS3dgIuxNvsrYUjYw5ZXo_GyyHmDeXiUxkAS7g4rgsxqn3NwJlTcEXigc767lo-K2VWmRVNLQ/s400/sp6+08.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>View From the Roundabout</b><br />
<br />
To check me<br />
a friend sometimes says:
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>It all depends<br />
on your point of view.<br />
<br />
If you take a photo<br />
looking down the line<br />
the world lies equally<br />
on either side.<br />
<br />
A view from the bridge<br />
is expansive,<br />
but from the river<br />
the bridge is inconsequent.<br />
<br />
The historian sees sequentially,<br />
the botanist in particular.<br />
<br />
Physicists hold<br />
that the real is in the atom<br />
and your chair<br />
is a phenomenon</i>.</blockquote>
So that makes the smaller<br />
The nearer to reality?<br />
I ask.<br />
<br />
<i>We see what we select</i>,<br />
he says.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKE5dMuhzkjrltWwvbBVorBfYU4sH806ISqY60jQZviSyJy-xC43_5rsprSlRkpC9DrT_QmsNS9PQ8PA58NaNvvJKC5O6itVXjvpG8Nji1IqAiJo7jo4LQo5vz-IJoe53bzoZsrsd66E/s1600/sp6+09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpKE5dMuhzkjrltWwvbBVorBfYU4sH806ISqY60jQZviSyJy-xC43_5rsprSlRkpC9DrT_QmsNS9PQ8PA58NaNvvJKC5O6itVXjvpG8Nji1IqAiJo7jo4LQo5vz-IJoe53bzoZsrsd66E/s400/sp6+09.jpg" width="178" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Home</b><br />
<br />
This town has infirmities<br />
<br />
She’s old<br />
and she’s poor<br />
<br />
She hasn’t the will for treatment<br />
nor the wealth<br />
<br />
She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her<br />
and doesn’t like the pain<br />
so she palliates<br />
and hides in the bush<br />
<br />
Her past is not a proud one<br />
and she’s never been a looker<br />
but she’s lived<br />
and still lives<br />
at one hundred and ten<br />
gazing out dreamily over the sea<br />
<br />
Her past she’s hidden in the trees<br />
in case there’s something to hide<br />
<br />
It’s a tale of small heroics<br />
and she’s unconfident<br />
<br />
If you find her<br />
you might not like what you see<br />
for age is only noticed<br />
when it’s painted –<br />
<br />
but her story is one to be heard<br />
and her relics are rich<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0yRo9ciP8aR4lOAD_a4SPqn75jyYCaVWVI3yvHTM72nOqKST0bmXgUevuC-wUosmWYvwt89wNyXApJTT4NVl-KrUrT_RnQRJgLRJc9NwzfEJfYaL9bl4D3MaXGGluyj9jRgDIWPD49JQ/s1600/sp6+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0yRo9ciP8aR4lOAD_a4SPqn75jyYCaVWVI3yvHTM72nOqKST0bmXgUevuC-wUosmWYvwt89wNyXApJTT4NVl-KrUrT_RnQRJgLRJc9NwzfEJfYaL9bl4D3MaXGGluyj9jRgDIWPD49JQ/s400/sp6+10.jpg" width="143" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Native At Midnight</b><br />
<br />
We stay up late,<br />
crowded in the house,<br />
talking of those things<br />
that silence brings to mind –<br />
sombre late-life things,<br />
with laughter to cover.<br />
<br />
I leave before the hour<br />
to have midnight at home<br />
<br />
I know the track<br />
and can find my way<br />
by the sounds of the stream.<br />
<br />
All’s in its place,<br />
each black silhouette<br />
mud moss manuka scent<br />
each over-reaching bush<br />
and the piping of a relict frog.<br />
<br />
Tonight there’s more:<br />
it’s in the silence<br />
about to move,<br />
in the air,<br />
at my feet:<br />
an amiable love<br />
behind the familiar,<br />
<br />
made from my mind<br />
and now running free,<br />
as new as the year<br />
and endemic.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/5/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ2nXXcZE3614-bYsxtL6N5UZ6U2HjCUx2UPbtJxZut-uOi0ZTrbXmTmtFGUuxQaUJfjCzPrZaJhFj_XQEiz2PygSo3d7Dz2Oor04Wz86kfO6IwS5i9RsJJGY8RJIT1wrrr0ZGVIBoVQ/s1600/sp6+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCZ2nXXcZE3614-bYsxtL6N5UZ6U2HjCUx2UPbtJxZut-uOi0ZTrbXmTmtFGUuxQaUJfjCzPrZaJhFj_XQEiz2PygSo3d7Dz2Oor04Wz86kfO6IwS5i9RsJJGY8RJIT1wrrr0ZGVIBoVQ/s400/sp6+11.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpruacTIFpTEokn_K89OjxY-Kg_OMBFKFDCIsoBfNjB6YvGoG9Prrds4s_za1_rex0H4f_flmPwSfJ6o0zjkBLUN1wOOoJ0ZKNtQ3p6LmNoWmnFXrfgTpYqdrVlYD3det4MExQRana1gA/s1600/sp6+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpruacTIFpTEokn_K89OjxY-Kg_OMBFKFDCIsoBfNjB6YvGoG9Prrds4s_za1_rex0H4f_flmPwSfJ6o0zjkBLUN1wOOoJ0ZKNtQ3p6LmNoWmnFXrfgTpYqdrVlYD3det4MExQRana1gA/s400/sp6+14.jpg" width="270" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Diary Of A Country Cop</b><br />
<br />
(<i>Extracted from the Mataki Community Newsletter, May 2004</i>)</div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Hello to all you locals out there.<br />
<br />
Senior Constable Dave Gilthorpe from Mataki police here again.<br />
<br />
It’s been a while (once again) since I last wrote this page, and although it will be a long one I guarrantee that it won’t take you as long to read this as it will take me to type it. Just as well there’s no motor racing on the Telly otherwise I would be otherwise unavoidably detained.<br />
<br />
And yes, I found my notebook so here goes.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><b>DATE<span style="padding-left: 3em;">TIME<span style="padding-left: 3em;">EVENT</span></span></b></span></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
24.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>I was working with the other staff on the annual drug recovery operation with the Hellicopter*. It was a good day</i>.</span><br />
<br />
24.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">2315hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended an address on the Spit* where a man had visited his wife. She did not want him there so I took him back to his car and he was Tresspassed from the address</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0030hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>On the way home from the above I saw a suspicious vehicle parked near the statue*.I stopped and spoke to them and they said they had run out of petrol. When the driver started the car it fired up so I followed them. They did a runner at the river</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1030hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>A search warrant was executed at a Spit address and Cannabis plants and cookies were found. A rifle was also seized as none of the occupants was licensed</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1130hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Another search warrant at a Riverside* address for Cultivation and Possession. He has appeared in Court and been convicted of both</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1230hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Another search warrant at a Mataki address. Same thing. He will be appearing in Court in June</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>I spent the rest of the day in the Hellicopter and it was a great day and a lot of hard work. The best thing was that it was a typical Mataki day no wind no clouds and you could see for miles</i>.</span><br />
<br />
27.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">2309hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I was working a Nightshift (2100hrs-0500hrs) and stopped a car being driven by a Forbidden driver. He was not a happy camper* when I impounded his car, as I am required to do because he is Forbidden</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
28.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0415hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended a Domestic where a partner had arrived home drunk after being kicked out of the house and had gone to sleep in the garage. He was taken home to his parents. There have been no problems</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
29.02.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0400-0450hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Working in town again and I attended to noisy party complaints but there was nothing in it</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
03.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1330hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended a Verbal Only* between a couple at the Spit. There were no problems. They just needed someone to talk to and I came in</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>*1.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘Drug Recovery’: i.e. the destruction of the Cannabis plantations in the bush. This operation is enjoyed by the Police and marked by the locals with derisory picnics.</span><br />
*2.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘the Spit’: a beach community at the river mouth.</span><br />
*3.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘the Statue’: a sculpture of intertwining dolphins standing near the jetty.</span><br />
*4.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘Riverside’: a dairy farming community 13ks upstream from Mataki.</span><br />
*5.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">’Verbal Only’: police jargon for a dispute not involving violence.</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><b>DATE<span style="padding-left: 3em;">TIME<span style="padding-left: 3em;">EVENT</span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
05.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">2045hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended an incident where a 15yr old driver decided he wasn’t going to stop and then he decided to leg it. He did not have a licence. That cost him a $400 ticket as well as being Forbidden*</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
08.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1745hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended a burglary at Riverside where some sheds had been entered and property stolen. The owner got it back. A suspect will be spoken to. Burglaries in our area should not be tolerated. The victims of these offences are left feeling anxious and unsafe, and no person should feel like that because of the crimes of lazy and dishonest people. Each victim is different and I know what I’m talking about because I’ve been burgled twice and both times I was living where I am now at this place the Police Station. You may Laugh. I got the people who broke in here*</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
11.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>I worked in town as the Court Orderly</i>.</span><br />
<br />
19.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">2135hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I stopped a Toyota car on the Main rd. and processed the driver for drink driving. This guy was over twice the legal limit and was suspended for 28 days. He is appearing in Court</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
23.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0830hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>As a result of enquiries I charged a milk tanker driver with Careless Use</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
23.03.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1945hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended an address at the Spit (once again!) where a drunk male had phoned police making stupid threats. He had got thrown out and had nowhere to go. I took him to town. End of story</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
30-31.03.04<span style="padding-left: 7em;"><i>I spent two days in the City doing baton pepper spray and firarms training. Both were interesting and good days*</i>.</span><br />
<br />
01.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>Court Orderly again</i>.</span><br />
<br />
03.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0730hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended at Riverside where it was reported that a horse had been shot. The horse was still up and mobile but it had a hole in its head where there shouldn’t have been one. It had been hit by the train. The horse is doing fine</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
03.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1930hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>As a result of 3 phone calls to the Police Comms centre and 3 to my wife* I stopped a white Familia car that was hooning in High St. I impounded the car for 28 days</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>*1.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘Being Forbidden’ i.e. by law being denied the right to drive a vehicle.</span><br />
*2.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">There is opinion in Mataki that the burglaries were light-hearted.</span><br />
*3.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘did a runner’: police jargon for ‘legging it’.</span><br />
*4.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">S/Constable Gilthorpe would have enjoyed the break from police routine.</span><br />
*5.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">S/Constable Gilthorpe then lived in the police house at the back of the police station.</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>•</b></div>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><b>DATE<span style="padding-left: 3em;">TIME<span style="padding-left: 3em;">EVENT</span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
05.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0100hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended a Domestic at the Spit where a person allegedly breached a Protection Order and assaulted another occupant in the same house. Neither victim wanted the matter to go any further</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
06.07.2004<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>I attended a 2-day 4wheel drive course and had a great time. I learnt a few things about 4wheel driving that I did not know and took the Rodeo Patrol in places that I would not have ordinarily gone. For a ‘Holden’ it didn’t go to bad</i>.</span><br />
<br />
09.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1300hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I went along to a vacant section and located 2 cannabis plants</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
11.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">0730hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I attended a town address for another Verbal Only. More spleen venting. I then went home</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
16.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1035hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I spoke with an 8yr old who I saw playing chicken with the train. Not a good thing. Please know where your kids are and what they are doing as I don’t want to have to tell you that they won’t be doing anything again ever. It’s bad for the train driver too</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
16.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1930hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I was called out to Riverside where it was reported that there was someone lying on the road outside the cemetary. Was where he was lying a sign I don’t know. By the time I got there he was wandering along the road. I took him to his home</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
18.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1000hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>I was flagged down while in town and ended up with a mother and daughter from Australia who were having a major Verbal in High St. They both sure knew how to swear and didn’t hold back even when I was with them*</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
22.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">2130hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Three hunters were reported missing after failing to return from the Blackwood where they went to recover a deer. We organised the search but they walked out</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
25.04.2004<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1300hrs<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>This really shows the intelligence of some people out there. The public toilets had foaeces scattered around the floors and walls. This was cleaned up by a volunteer, and when that person went back to check it, some toe rag* had tried to set fire to the toilet paper</i>.</span></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>As you can see it has been a little busy and for every job reported in this article there has been the associated paperwork that goes with it. So if you think that I haven’t been busy based on what’s written above bear in mind the associated paperwork. If incidents have been reported that are not recorded here, don’t be offended or upset it probably means they have been recorded directly on to the computer. As always there has been traffic work and patrolling to be done as well, so I am kept very busy out here, with the family too*.<br />
<br />
If you have any issues or any information feel free to ring on (06)5758 103 or e-mail to davegilthorpe @ police.govt.nz.</i><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>*1.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">This incident is also noted in the Mataki News 19.4.04 as ‘Fracas in High St.’</span><br />
*2.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">‘Toe Rag’: down-and-outer; a term of affectionate abuse.</span><br />
*3.<span style="padding-left: 1em;">At this time S/Constable Gilthorpe had four children at home, all of them attending the local school.</span><br />
</i></blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/6/04]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i> 46 (2012): 78-83.)</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAjxUepWsjBJN0WnQosKYGXziJBF3wrovxiusa56dg6TbamB6omPFw03rxIJigV7G5GEf_1vx-aur1xEEzUzLdDwXNHwEtR06-QPqy9BmXHkQ72IL20aW2-K3qSjuL3c7cYqi06cxa0M/s1600/sp6+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLAjxUepWsjBJN0WnQosKYGXziJBF3wrovxiusa56dg6TbamB6omPFw03rxIJigV7G5GEf_1vx-aur1xEEzUzLdDwXNHwEtR06-QPqy9BmXHkQ72IL20aW2-K3qSjuL3c7cYqi06cxa0M/s400/sp6+15.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>To a Daughter Who Has Taken<br />
Her Life</b><br />
<br />
You opened the door<br />
before the knock<br />
and when you saw<br />
who waited there<br />
you left us<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">bereft</span><br />
<br />
You might have stayed<br />
until we came –<br />
we brought refreshment<br />
<br />
but it was a thing<br />
you had to do<br />
<br />
a privilege<br />
you claimed<br />
<br />
Your friend<br />
had the key –<br />
<br />
your familiar<br />
<br />
who had no use for words<br />
and who presumed<br />
<br />
We heard you depart<br />
and called you –<br />
<br />
poor company<br />
you had<br />
<br />
there’s better<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/8/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpePeXwrX014UWEx5ZlOYl1jNdfwDexH4VMAx-FlAoKtherJ2hlKFUhWNtV2Ut27HtrkpCOW3dMJvufRGkvcTH6eeBxwSJ5CtXeAOL9ODf8E2T6C8bcbzI7yI2BtjhVCpW7h9t6ekT6M0/s1600/sp6+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpePeXwrX014UWEx5ZlOYl1jNdfwDexH4VMAx-FlAoKtherJ2hlKFUhWNtV2Ut27HtrkpCOW3dMJvufRGkvcTH6eeBxwSJ5CtXeAOL9ODf8E2T6C8bcbzI7yI2BtjhVCpW7h9t6ekT6M0/s400/sp6+16.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>For A Lost Longdrop</b><br />
<br />
It’s off the back porch<br />
of white plastic purity<br />
religious on the floor<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">with water</span><br />
<br />
It was out the door<br />
up twelve brick steps<br />
in a box on a rock<br />
with door enough to hide<br />
up to the knees<br />
<br />
all else exposed<br />
to the wind<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the rain</span><br />
<br />
I would drape a coat about me<br />
and mind the ice on the steps<br />
<br />
and I came to know the night<br />
to tell the stars<br />
to hear the first bird at dawn<br />
and listen to the last<br />
to see if Nev was up<br />
and Carol in her kitchen<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">by the creek</span><br />
<br />
Now I’m warm dry<br />
and purpose-set<br />
kept from risk<br />
and clean<br />
<br />
but I know nothing<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/12/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIpUOC05Ww-bZzW-cV5jPvDNCPHo899eZpmWpXc8YHv4vq3YJf-F7vucel3kCtnRXZ-f2q3t2pSJYfmvWgo3BuCVymWwmGpY4hv69RMPBNWZV9DmPGy9Bu3arLcP4E8sdWs0v9A0Ewa0/s1600/sp6+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVIpUOC05Ww-bZzW-cV5jPvDNCPHo899eZpmWpXc8YHv4vq3YJf-F7vucel3kCtnRXZ-f2q3t2pSJYfmvWgo3BuCVymWwmGpY4hv69RMPBNWZV9DmPGy9Bu3arLcP4E8sdWs0v9A0Ewa0/s400/sp6+17.jpg" width="258" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Tell Me</b><br />
<br />
The very fierce wolf of Agobio<br />
offended neither man nor beast<br />
and walked amongst the people<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">companionably</span><br />
<br />
Reminding them<br />
of years<br />
before the sword<br />
<br />
when wolves had food enough<br />
and lions would lie with lambs<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">habitually</span><br />
<br />
They mourned the wolf<br />
when he died<br />
and then began to forget<br />
<br />
to forget the man in the beast<br />
who could love and mind and comfort<br />
<br />
and the hope<br />
that the wild<br />
might provide<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ke7Udu128ddcVJT3EV2yUrYcMDL-FE2yi1bwg1QC3UUrezA9OX7Qr3QMWpxxq-XoaSB9qiCgkYbSTSN7gh8EZCqYFIPmT_yHe-vanYm8yomAuJru6U8_A3lEWiYaQa5q_BCyOp9JsSU/s1600/sp6+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2Ke7Udu128ddcVJT3EV2yUrYcMDL-FE2yi1bwg1QC3UUrezA9OX7Qr3QMWpxxq-XoaSB9qiCgkYbSTSN7gh8EZCqYFIPmT_yHe-vanYm8yomAuJru6U8_A3lEWiYaQa5q_BCyOp9JsSU/s400/sp6+18.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Water Talk</b><br />
<br />
my creek<br />
has the sound<br />
of people talking<br />
<br />
sometimes <br />
it roars<br />
like a crowd in a park<br />
<br />
mostly<br />
it talks<br />
in a small meeting<br />
<br />
of success<br />
at having come so far<br />
<br />
of happenings<br />
in its course<br />
<br />
it chatters<br />
quite seriously<br />
<br />
as if profound<br />
<br />
in vowels<br />
of no significance<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQWau_FdQjWRNDtZttGOrNgg5FmNiz6wsE4Izt2eejpOu4ovsrTxDTA-aS5MXpfvgcPIBJOSD23AISU4Qgpxi_8xiAHR8ft7SH5savjYsBo888C9ofyDS7bSnWLyXzNtZWXKAqqgVisk/s1600/sp6+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTQWau_FdQjWRNDtZttGOrNgg5FmNiz6wsE4Izt2eejpOu4ovsrTxDTA-aS5MXpfvgcPIBJOSD23AISU4Qgpxi_8xiAHR8ft7SH5savjYsBo888C9ofyDS7bSnWLyXzNtZWXKAqqgVisk/s400/sp6+19.jpg" width="248" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Little Mermaid</b><br />
<br />
There was a time when I could sing –<br />
now I am dumb<br />
<br />
There was a time when I had no feet –<br />
now I dance<br />
<br />
I dance with my love<br />
in the overwater world –<br />
I may not speak<br />
<br />
Each step I take<br />
is a tearing in two –<br />
I don’t talk of it<br />
<br />
He is my feet<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">my voice</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">and my soul</span><br />
<br />
each step with him<br />
each step in the world<br />
is incision<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLx7M9zMkeMhZUyQXuW3J_flWdXTLb_QddYFfFR-QaKrOl2RbdVBjSnLqPvhkUuoiGjlimd9t_QfqKnL9FRU3ymubYPqALameosCO1uVdPzfJMla471vb6ny1xq7RHzlAzUGnUoswGOA/s1600/sp6+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKLx7M9zMkeMhZUyQXuW3J_flWdXTLb_QddYFfFR-QaKrOl2RbdVBjSnLqPvhkUuoiGjlimd9t_QfqKnL9FRU3ymubYPqALameosCO1uVdPzfJMla471vb6ny1xq7RHzlAzUGnUoswGOA/s400/sp6+20.jpg" width="268" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Useless Love</b><br />
<br />
<i><b>Like</b></i><br />
cutting trees to make a view<br />
only drinking water<br />
refusing to worry the children<br />
<br />
<i><b>Like</b></i><br />
biographical Christmas cards<br />
and happy e-mails<br />
<br />
<i><b>Like</b></i><br />
herbs and homeopathy<br />
thinking your instinct’s a spirit<br />
<br />
<i><b>Like</b></i><br />
returning to nature<br />
seeking salvation in diet<br />
<br />
when all the time the facts are there<br />
and you only see what’s moving<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAD54xuUr9HzZIP3cXEIqsr0BR2DnSOKwn9918RyRXUqOhmllREvvd-m0tgd_dz82TzMDmylee5EoBIjMBaUgeS0N8W6C-Xi2oDfhtyp41O3UhAvLoRsQakr8LHGUaIxXey_jtzCnRDi8/s1600/sp6+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAD54xuUr9HzZIP3cXEIqsr0BR2DnSOKwn9918RyRXUqOhmllREvvd-m0tgd_dz82TzMDmylee5EoBIjMBaUgeS0N8W6C-Xi2oDfhtyp41O3UhAvLoRsQakr8LHGUaIxXey_jtzCnRDi8/s400/sp6+21.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Educating The Stream</b><br />
<br />
We didn’t know it<br />
when it was young<br />
and now it’s set in its ways<br />
<br />
has dug itself deep down into the rock<br />
from source to sea<br />
and is useless<br />
does nothing for us<br />
gets in the way<br />
<br />
It needs to be diverted<br />
round the south side of town<br />
piped<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to irrigate</span><br />
and dammed<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to generate</span><br />
<br />
We could leave some of the bush<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">for looks</span><br />
and car-park the bit near the hall<br />
put shops under the bridge!<br />
<br />
Think how that would look<br />
with the cliffs behind<br />
<br />
The gorge will make a landfill site –<br />
it could do for years<br />
<br />
and the rest of the stream<br />
that’s left from the dam<br />
will make a settling pond.<br />
<br />
Some might think we interfere<br />
but a thing should have a use<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrp1FwrGzpvD83sAAJ7HdTQ_YyJmxcieVlOgOdBsbrWGzA0YjFugvKHo8e-gnBhHxKmmRoNVBevTkSTnRjtE4g-PeShAFUuxyEpvM_H4kl7a5HhBlY6yFXE55s0Tp8WGiu8HvywUVtBVk/s1600/sp6+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrp1FwrGzpvD83sAAJ7HdTQ_YyJmxcieVlOgOdBsbrWGzA0YjFugvKHo8e-gnBhHxKmmRoNVBevTkSTnRjtE4g-PeShAFUuxyEpvM_H4kl7a5HhBlY6yFXE55s0Tp8WGiu8HvywUVtBVk/s400/sp6+22.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Opus</b><br />
<br />
I worry<br />
about repairing the roof<br />
<br />
It’s steep<br />
and high<br />
<br />
The spouting has gone<br />
and there’s nothing to hold to<br />
<br />
iron’s perished<br />
barge-board’s decayed<br />
the header-tank rests on rotten wood<br />
to be renewed<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">painted</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">replaced</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">in parts</span><br />
which I will do<br />
impatiently<br />
<br />
but first I must stand sound<br />
on something<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to be devised</span><br />
laid upon the iron<br />
and attached<br />
at the ridge<br />
of the roof<br />
<br />
to which I will secure myself<br />
to clamber<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">in safety</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">to paint</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">and repair</span><br />
<br />
It’s been made by many hands<br />
and is a house worth respect<br />
<br />
but not life<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/1/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yXiKs54F-B5qT93W93Bkh_b778OxLrbwKVpcASFRlg4vW103rKEyisrBflwSL6d_5rp9h73Ia98GDgyWjOrrMmlV_-4kCLEscyDd7MFvQxdaQKkeB-mF8hqP3eZhMJyfQt0ao5T4ho0/s1600/sp6+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5yXiKs54F-B5qT93W93Bkh_b778OxLrbwKVpcASFRlg4vW103rKEyisrBflwSL6d_5rp9h73Ia98GDgyWjOrrMmlV_-4kCLEscyDd7MFvQxdaQKkeB-mF8hqP3eZhMJyfQt0ao5T4ho0/s400/sp6+23.jpg" width="136" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-0mOsXrve7ZNDoEswnKBzJxiYoRhlttgO4zYhu1lCD_jJbHUeLQE3vb9CuwAJJ62xhIYoMyPVehy8iI24ThWHzoh-0OGhy0O9mYtGJCVgNFumWwzWEBvTF8a4dUqJMbU9TNnMbIUfXY/s1600/sp6+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC-0mOsXrve7ZNDoEswnKBzJxiYoRhlttgO4zYhu1lCD_jJbHUeLQE3vb9CuwAJJ62xhIYoMyPVehy8iI24ThWHzoh-0OGhy0O9mYtGJCVgNFumWwzWEBvTF8a4dUqJMbU9TNnMbIUfXY/s400/sp6+24.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Four Comforts</b><br />
<br />
A ghost came to me<br />
in my dreams<br />
as one who died<br />
eight years ago and said:<br />
<br />
<i>This is the end of the year my dear,<br />
what would you like for the next?</i><br />
<br />
And I said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">My woman –</span><br />
I would like to love her<br />
not as I love you<br />
but differently,<br />
for her.<br />
<br />
And it said – <i>Done</i>.<br />
<br />
The ghost came again<br />
as one who died this year<br />
and said:<br />
<br />
<i>This is the end of the year, Dad,<br />
what would you like for the next?</i><br />
<br />
And I said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">My dog Red –</span><br />
whose love has no limit<br />
and knows me,<br />
that he not go.<br />
<br />
And it said – <i>Done</i>.<br />
<br />
It came again <br />
as my mother<br />
whom I’d forgot<br />
and said:<br />
<br />
<i>This is the end of the year, my dear,<br />
what would you like for the next?</i><br />
<br />
And I said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">Space –</span><br />
bush and streams<br />
and no next door.<br />
<br />
And it said – <i>Done</i>.<br />
<br />
Lastly it came as my father,<br />
and said:<br />
<br />
<i>This is the end of the year, boy,<br />
What would you like for the next?</i><br />
<br />
And I said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">Freedom –</span><br />
I’ve done as you asked,<br />
let me do as I want.<br />
<br />
And it said – <i>Done</i>.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[4/2/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJv2KBRxS0houDq-dY2TymYuSPhTTz4cKls5G2tYDt-D60fGQgBU37das8zcQo5S_4BD1dVMrx6uFMNZQEILMk2AfX4Ek-1tDUIcOl0LN36K0gX2x603tRDdixnp4eQcpoSV-AaBoG9s/s1600/sp6+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZJv2KBRxS0houDq-dY2TymYuSPhTTz4cKls5G2tYDt-D60fGQgBU37das8zcQo5S_4BD1dVMrx6uFMNZQEILMk2AfX4Ek-1tDUIcOl0LN36K0gX2x603tRDdixnp4eQcpoSV-AaBoG9s/s400/sp6+25.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Scar</b><br />
<br />
You were playing<br />
with your brother<br />
in the pungas<br />
by the creek<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and you fell</span><br />
<br />
A dead stem<br />
pierced your palm<br />
as you fell<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and lodged there</span><br />
<br />
It festered<br />
and left a scar<br />
with stretched skin<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">like tendons</span><br />
<br />
An ugly thing<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">you said</span><br />
and closed your hand<br />
<br />
I found it<br />
something to love<br />
<br />
And now<br />
long after death and sorrow<br />
when I hold another’s hand<br />
my finger finds your scar there<br />
and touches<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[8/2/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fzhy6qSmOZkxO0TiBZTWYEz4Dzjd8vgi5-hezYEHjtlGst5NCbDSFlFXv-mULZwtn_B-j1L3KF8pa8SYZLh81aLz2Yk-31AhY6EALY1WS20s7wBy3wv6A0OjGiOHm80R2OHjxJ1jPdk/s1600/sp6+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8fzhy6qSmOZkxO0TiBZTWYEz4Dzjd8vgi5-hezYEHjtlGst5NCbDSFlFXv-mULZwtn_B-j1L3KF8pa8SYZLh81aLz2Yk-31AhY6EALY1WS20s7wBy3wv6A0OjGiOHm80R2OHjxJ1jPdk/s400/sp6+26.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Toro Tree</b><br />
<br />
We slept in the shade<br />
of the toro tree<br />
with our feet in the sun<br />
<br />
We had leaves and sounds<br />
and the wind<br />
<br />
(the sound of the earth<br />
is the spin of the wind)<br />
<br />
Red smelt the wind<br />
<br />
To smell the wind<br />
you put yourself in other parts<br />
to tell what sets it<br />
<br />
I smelt the green things<br />
at our feet<br />
the sun on them<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[8/2/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOh7R6kFtCwt3Ds1OECv2BdLC_lNJntSWiQ4SD7EMsFgBE2zLFju8RLJiKH-EgDa34XgUb7_xHfDrBHH71WS_rRQ8koRGVFH9cTTOW0X999MbkEHcIwdeIVKq_hmAlDBaWKKTH4kQflk/s1600/sp6+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjlOh7R6kFtCwt3Ds1OECv2BdLC_lNJntSWiQ4SD7EMsFgBE2zLFju8RLJiKH-EgDa34XgUb7_xHfDrBHH71WS_rRQ8koRGVFH9cTTOW0X999MbkEHcIwdeIVKq_hmAlDBaWKKTH4kQflk/s400/sp6+27.jpg" width="151" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Gloomy Friday</b><br />
<br />
It’s hard to say goodbye<br />
<br />
I like John Campbell<br />
and I wish him well in his<br />
‘Fight For 7pm’<br />
<br />
This cover’s been with me<br />
for a week –<br />
at the top right corner there’s<br />
‘BRAIN SEX’<br />
at the bottom there’s<br />
Paul and Susan<br />
and some soldiers<br />
with explosions behind them<br />
<br />
John looms impressively<br />
his eyes have something to tell me<br />
but it’s Friday night<br />
the end of the NZ Listener week<br />
<br />
My viewing and my listening<br />
are done and<br />
as I put the house to bed<br />
I must fold the Listener<br />
flatten it<br />
and force it into the rubbish<br />
<br />
It’s significant<br />
and I press the book<br />
with heavy feet<br />
<br />
Flat are the joys of 59<br />
the desperate news of 3<br />
the fatuous realities of 1<br />
and the delicate Concert aesthetics<br />
<br />
One week of a good life<br />
<br />
I wish it ended Saturday night<br />
<br />
And Friday wasn’t like this<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[15/3/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOcUTtXthmH921GSMQM60KouNJyQCfkVyBoBo3CMuqBy9gg9FfwA_12c1pdCGn7iE1NFI6MoP7FUVGqGw8r-zYFlF13eMwFRgCaC7XOwp-OAMWFCIiTxQol2FfeLIw6Og6wbJBU54wXg/s1600/sp6+28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwOcUTtXthmH921GSMQM60KouNJyQCfkVyBoBo3CMuqBy9gg9FfwA_12c1pdCGn7iE1NFI6MoP7FUVGqGw8r-zYFlF13eMwFRgCaC7XOwp-OAMWFCIiTxQol2FfeLIw6Og6wbJBU54wXg/s400/sp6+28.jpg" width="184" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>When The Bus Stops</b><br />
<br />
‘<i>There aren’t enough paintings of chaos</i>’ – Jeffrey Harris<br />
<br />
<br />
There aren’t enough pictures of chaos<br />
for these apocalyptic times,<br />
when a city could go in an instant,<br />
a people be laid low.<br />
<br />
It needs to be imagined<br />
in its immanence.<br />
<br />
A film may pretend<br />
or a video,<br />
but we know the media<br />
and it’s not the crack of doom we fear<br />
but the disintegration,<br />
<br />
when all the people<br />
in the cinema here<br />
have no reason to leave,<br />
<br />
and no-one gets off<br />
at the bus stop,<br />
<br />
when there’s nothing at work<br />
nor need to go home<br />
and nobody wants to cook dinner,<br />
<br />
when it seems there’s no reason for reason –<br />
this is the end that looms.<br />
<br />
It needs to be in pictures and books<br />
envisaged, with faces,<br />
so we can talk about it.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[4/7/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnB3C_yD1hMln0qDcONK_Y3358wHPBpbW3Xcx6XC79_oPs0n_Gk7-zclTCDWXPZY_4vJfs72HDt6dMIjdli4XeFgGth07IVfc94cwGtfkuDQx_xtGSHqc8sf_1H31hX8R6hkBjz2gqzw/s1600/sp6+29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRnB3C_yD1hMln0qDcONK_Y3358wHPBpbW3Xcx6XC79_oPs0n_Gk7-zclTCDWXPZY_4vJfs72HDt6dMIjdli4XeFgGth07IVfc94cwGtfkuDQx_xtGSHqc8sf_1H31hX8R6hkBjz2gqzw/s400/sp6+29.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Rain-Callers</b><br />
<br />
It’s got so<br />
that rain is our normal condition –<br />
if it doesn’t come<br />
for several days<br />
we want it<br />
<br />
an empty sky<br />
and a crackling turf<br />
seem offensive<br />
<br />
Though sunlight is warm<br />
and a clear night is encouraging<br />
though a dry lawn is best to mow<br />
and we need to rest the fire<br />
<br />
the place won’t work<br />
unless there’s more<br />
than two metres of rain in a year<br />
and is best near three<br />
<br />
without that<br />
we shrink and shrivel<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">our ferns tire</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">mosses close</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">fungi crack</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the swamps resign</span><br />
and our creeks expose their beds<br />
to grow green<br />
<br />
Then we start to encourage the clouds<br />
to thicken those out to sea<br />
and call them down from the tops<br />
<br />
We cheer them as we watch them grow<br />
we stand out the front and lead them on<br />
and thrill at the fog’s first wisp on the hill<br />
<br />
and listen above the radio<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">the neighbour’s saw</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">the impatient dog</span><br />
for the first hint of patter<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">on the roof</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[4/7/05]<br />
<br />
(<i>The Press</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucC33tRz4RjvNDVlp5zdLiqbQ6gX0ac_bKiOITsimqSYEuXZWRdSUCwKszUJFyJ5QslZ7mCE3rSrervpTBGj_OnoVrzu7zb67RklNvezEXau0lHyzbq1HtAFmPnoaaa-l23mi3Rhq_As/s1600/sp6+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhucC33tRz4RjvNDVlp5zdLiqbQ6gX0ac_bKiOITsimqSYEuXZWRdSUCwKszUJFyJ5QslZ7mCE3rSrervpTBGj_OnoVrzu7zb67RklNvezEXau0lHyzbq1HtAFmPnoaaa-l23mi3Rhq_As/s400/sp6+30.jpg" width="255" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5uDXNik78z6ripwsINUtfDO-EQm9A9zqVid_pKiGvW49pGdkEWyd3mBxQydA7egjCRhrPkidTK_nnWzjjOXDcOU3C4Xhkau6lstDlGysQDHT3yqIXTd7P5VTNvq10tgy_DTZrzrCyAM/s1600/sp6+32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="315" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEje5uDXNik78z6ripwsINUtfDO-EQm9A9zqVid_pKiGvW49pGdkEWyd3mBxQydA7egjCRhrPkidTK_nnWzjjOXDcOU3C4Xhkau6lstDlGysQDHT3yqIXTd7P5VTNvq10tgy_DTZrzrCyAM/s400/sp6+32.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Herodotus</b><br />
<br />
<b>Babylon,</b><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">which is of the following description –</span><br />
<br />
the city stands in a spacious plain<br />
and is quadrangular,<br />
and shows a front on every side of one hundred & twenty stades;<br />
such is the size of the city of Babylon.<br />
<br />
<i>A violent storm arose, broke the bridge in pieces, and scattered the whole work</i><br />
<br />
It is adorned in a manner surpassing any city.<br />
A moat deep wide and full runs entirely round it;<br />
next, there is a wall fifty royal cubits in breadth<br />
and in height two hundred.<br />
<br />
<i>When Xerxes heard of this he commanded that the Hellespont should be scourged with 300 lashes</i><br />
<br />
Here I think I ought to explain in what manner the wall was built.<br />
As they dug the moat they made bricks of the earth that was taken out;<br />
and when they had moulded a sufficient number<br />
they baked them in kilns.<br />
Then making use of hot asphalt for cement<br />
and laying wattled reeds between the thirty bottom courses of bricks,<br />
they first built up the sides of the moat<br />
and afterwards the wall itself in the same manner.<br />
The bitumen is from the River Is.<br />
<br />
<i>and that a pair of fetters should be let down into the sea</i><br />
<br />
On the top of the wall,<br />
at the edges,<br />
they built dwellings of one story<br />
fronting each other,<br />
and they left a space between these dwellings sufficient for turning a chariot with four<br />
In the circumference of the wall there are a hundred gates,<br />
horses<br />
all of brass,<br />
as also are the posts and lintels.<br />
In this manner Babylon is encompassed with a wall.<br />
<br />
<i>He likewise sent instruments to brand the Hellespont</i><br />
<br />
The city consists of two divisions<br />
For a river called the Euphrates separates it in the middle;<br />
this river, which is broad deep and rapid<br />
flows from Armenia and falls into the Red Sea;<br />
the wall therefore on either bank has an elbow carried down to the river<br />
<br />
<i>and charged those who flogged the waters to utter these words:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Thou bitter water!</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Thy master inflicts this punishment upon</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">thee because thou hast injured him although</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">thou hast not suffered harm from him.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">King Xerxes will cross over thee whether</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">thou wilt or not.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Thou art a deceitful and briny river.</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
Another wall runs round, though narrower.<br />
The city itself<br />
which is full of houses three and four stories high<br />
is cut up into straight streets<br />
as well as the transverse ones that lead to the river.<br />
At the end of each street a little gate is formed in the wall along the river side,<br />
and they are all made of brass.<br />
<br />
<i>He commanded them to chastise the sea in this manner</i><br />
<br />
In the middle of each division of the city fortified buildings are erected;<br />
in one, the royal palace,<br />
with a spacious and strong enclosure,<br />
brazen-gated,<br />
and in the other the precinct of Jupiter Belus,<br />
a square building of two stades on every side.<br />
<br />
<i>and to cut off the heads of those who had joined the Hellespont</i><br />
<br />
In the midst of this precinct is built a solid tower of one stadt<br />
both in length and breadth.<br />
On this tower rises another and another upon that,<br />
to the number of eight.<br />
An ascent to these is outside,<br />
running spirally round the towers.<br />
<br />
About the middle of the ascent there is a landing-place and seats to rest on;<br />
and in the uppermost tower stands a spacious temple,<br />
and in this temple is placed a large couch,<br />
and by its side a table of gold.<br />
<br />
This is the tower of Babylon.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[7/7/05]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrjeu5IiijfU2bzGZOt4Td3dpKimDZVGb13DnO10CFQqzsHr3dpfaQm2ktoNqrXAUCz4eej2BKHym26rWmUGI2cL0mGCdCQvVleEVnYlSEm4j9HW6E2K7SC1Y_2WqtZNULb-7SjwASpg/s1600/sp6+33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirrjeu5IiijfU2bzGZOt4Td3dpKimDZVGb13DnO10CFQqzsHr3dpfaQm2ktoNqrXAUCz4eej2BKHym26rWmUGI2cL0mGCdCQvVleEVnYlSEm4j9HW6E2K7SC1Y_2WqtZNULb-7SjwASpg/s400/sp6+33.jpg" width="228" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Paris</b><br />
<br />
When I last saw Paris<br />
He was off with that girl,<br />
Nellie was her name, I think.<br />
She was the most successful of his abductions.<br />
<br />
Later there were a number of others.<br />
<br />
The success of the first impressed him.<br />
Being young,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">he loved the notoriety,</span><br />
And being an aristocrat<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">he was spared consequences.</span><br />
<br />
We were friends since childhood,<br />
And it seems to me now<br />
That he liked to be seen to be manly –<br />
He couldn’t just seduce<br />
He had to exhibit.<br />
<br />
You and I are content<br />
With private delights and rewards,<br />
But with Paris –<br />
When he made love<br />
The rest of the world must too.<br />
<br />
From that<br />
The legends grew,<br />
And from being an aristocrat.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[8/7/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJIymutMQogDFdNhCfeiqemsah3aINWTcCHs5tmilObJmwWzILjwy8vhUKiNAT3r3gWPlMCegxujV22PmgJD2iGSwOu0D-HZT2ez118v7SvEd5rOR_PyvtwH4T7i2y50R_yiNHEdISWQ/s1600/sp6+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKJIymutMQogDFdNhCfeiqemsah3aINWTcCHs5tmilObJmwWzILjwy8vhUKiNAT3r3gWPlMCegxujV22PmgJD2iGSwOu0D-HZT2ez118v7SvEd5rOR_PyvtwH4T7i2y50R_yiNHEdISWQ/s400/sp6+34.jpg" width="126" /></a><br />
<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3khO46j6OEdh1XzX9x4tIsN3Um14ASHggCoxjlxeOiiINlwraxVOEOL61DF7dfyYNrgLt1q9uwpqUSY8LDRP2EqsHVGguY-gHNaMoJ5uT18xEBVOWBTfCm7VE1on0WW_beqeZHgDhNPc/s1600/sp6+36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3khO46j6OEdh1XzX9x4tIsN3Um14ASHggCoxjlxeOiiINlwraxVOEOL61DF7dfyYNrgLt1q9uwpqUSY8LDRP2EqsHVGguY-gHNaMoJ5uT18xEBVOWBTfCm7VE1on0WW_beqeZHgDhNPc/s400/sp6+36.jpg" width="162" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The New Mayor<br />
At the Old Mine</b><br />
<br />
The Mayor doesn’t know<br />
where he is<br />
<br />
No-one asks him<br />
what’s on the agenda<br />
nor are there minutes<br />
<br />
He hasn’t spent a cent<br />
so there’s no balance<br />
<br />
There’s no report to give<br />
nor anything to vote upon<br />
so he sits<br />
<br />
and looks at<br />
the Glasgows over the rise<br />
the sea to the west<br />
lots of pakihi in between<br />
sunlit people around the ruins<br />
<br />
and a blue blank page<br />
for the sky<br />
<br />
To one who scarce can<br />
clear the books<br />
this is reward<br />
<br />
if only it<br />
could hang about his neck<br />
as insignia –<br />
some small weight<br />
of the value of infinity<br />
some small emblem<br />
of perfection<br />
<br />
This little parade<br />
had not seemed worth<br />
the attendance –<br />
unlikely<br />
and in a disreputable place<br />
<br />
Now he wonders<br />
if he must leave<br />
if he might get this sun<br />
to last forever<br />
if he<br />
on his knees<br />
should petition for exemption<br />
from the natural state of office<br />
<br />
God<br />
with his secular arm<br />
might order it<br />
<br />
give respite <br />
from the politics<br />
that push his power<br />
the pressing of those<br />
who want his influence<br />
the quick eye of the curious<br />
for evidence of fault<br />
<br />
Should he go now<br />
<br />
He stands<br />
in his uncomfortable bulk<br />
<br />
The world’s<br />
at the foot<br />
of the hill<br />
<br />
The western curve of the sea<br />
gives evidence of the ball<br />
he stands upon<br />
<br />
His spirit lifts –<br />
it’s a feat to stand<br />
on immensity<br />
<br />
small worlds confuse him<br />
<br />
Perhaps there’s a guide<br />
a map of paths<br />
something written long ago<br />
from experience<br />
as a key<br />
<br />
The air’s scented<br />
like a clean room<br />
a soft primal spacious smell<br />
<br />
He must move around<br />
greet people<br />
and be strong<br />
<br />
After all<br />
(he reflects)<br />
the job’s quite good of its kind<br />
the trouble is<br />
that its kind isn’t good<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/10/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6usiXizOsdzkR1bqJLs15xTbHbKqJS4I3yM5wXrJdU7ylHZV9tD0HS_X0gCr4pTtip9Bq-Lduvw6gb0rpKWGYS25dYz9HBtP6cNBkyhQJB2vgTjRzhhPjRm2XAOsximIbpeXwsLv6k0/s1600/sp6+37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir6usiXizOsdzkR1bqJLs15xTbHbKqJS4I3yM5wXrJdU7ylHZV9tD0HS_X0gCr4pTtip9Bq-Lduvw6gb0rpKWGYS25dYz9HBtP6cNBkyhQJB2vgTjRzhhPjRm2XAOsximIbpeXwsLv6k0/s400/sp6+37.jpg" width="166" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>time out</b><br />
<br />
the dog’s asleep<br />
the creek runs low<br />
the ferns stand still<br />
<br />
nothing’s at work on the road<br />
<br />
this peace could last<br />
<br />
so<br />
let no-one knock at the door<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">nor ring</span><br />
get up<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">walk by</span><br />
or think of me<br />
<br />
let all the world trick time<br />
and quiet its aged anxieties<br />
<br />
for an hour<br />
let me be<br />
until I come substantial<br />
<br />
then<br />
when edged again<br />
and boundaried<br />
<br />
call me forth<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/10/05]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2brKDXu18W8H6HUTPLmEusxBLPajWvT02P9GzN3jJ5uXToHcHYEDqxhptuMnV1MtCebUdbf8tjVtj3xRzAcCiSfCvTt8T44UCWMdVJmu5hx2slv4VgXiUqeEX_lZsc15DlJLXw8KsQkY/s1600/sp6+38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2brKDXu18W8H6HUTPLmEusxBLPajWvT02P9GzN3jJ5uXToHcHYEDqxhptuMnV1MtCebUdbf8tjVtj3xRzAcCiSfCvTt8T44UCWMdVJmu5hx2slv4VgXiUqeEX_lZsc15DlJLXw8KsQkY/s400/sp6+38.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Pre-Loved Days</b><br />
<br />
While she went shopping<br />
I sat in the car<br />
and listened<br />
<br />
He was leaning against the wall<br />
big-muscled and easy-boned<br />
in summer gear<br />
talking on the phone:<br />
<br />
‘You said it was bran-new<br />
but I had a look<br />
and the shoulder-strap’s missing’<br />
<br />
he said<br />
listened<br />
and then –<br />
<br />
‘Please stop calling me Dave<br />
Dave went months ago<br />
I’m Mark.’<br />
<br />
I was appalled<br />
There were people passing<br />
I thought they would stop in their tracks<br />
and stare<br />
I called out –<br />
‘Gee Mister<br />
you sure got the raw prawn there’<br />
<br />
He looked at me<br />
seated as a passenger<br />
in my new woman’s car<br />
<br />
He came over<br />
put his face close to mine<br />
and stared at me hard<br />
with short-focussed eyes<br />
<br />
‘I’ll refrain from comment on your situation’<br />
he said<br />
and went<br />
<br />
I’m sad he got me wrong<br />
but it could have been worse<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/1/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqDcwltnz7GZ9veQTNlvenkkMKUdItfBG-LZ5-CbMBGJaMvAE291EGvm0qsWr-c9zidKooKWDBMtqtmzx6AYS7i1aH0Ofbby3WbxvBFA8KARujMUcmnvY0easOchld5UtS5t-14BxqOc/s1600/sp6+39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoqDcwltnz7GZ9veQTNlvenkkMKUdItfBG-LZ5-CbMBGJaMvAE291EGvm0qsWr-c9zidKooKWDBMtqtmzx6AYS7i1aH0Ofbby3WbxvBFA8KARujMUcmnvY0easOchld5UtS5t-14BxqOc/s400/sp6+39.jpg" width="214" /></a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><b>Rain</b>:</span></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Quiet Rain</b><br />
<br />
There’s a night rain<br />
that whispers on the roof<br />
<br />
You hear the spouting running full<br />
<br />
It’s good to sleep to<br />
because it’s unvarying<br />
and falls all night with intensity<br />
in fog<br />
and windless<br />
<br />
It’s been dry<br />
for a week or two<br />
<br />
the creeks are low<br />
there’s dust on the ferns<br />
the mosses are closed<br />
<br />
water’s running out<br />
and you’re worried about fire<br />
<br />
This rain comes at dusk<br />
and it goes at dawn<br />
<br />
leaving 16mm in the gauge<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[19/1/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0H6I0RoAICtVqZ-TloGrjb5cal9toYjDpAV737hFvXptn-oMCqOrP2cllFpu4towBNElVTUsP-_BpxSO8cDkvk5sjXg-6qCHvZARg3xFwDp7DnuuVZ_9IW3505VBpKWvGL7ESCBobpO4/s1600/sp6+40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg0H6I0RoAICtVqZ-TloGrjb5cal9toYjDpAV737hFvXptn-oMCqOrP2cllFpu4towBNElVTUsP-_BpxSO8cDkvk5sjXg-6qCHvZARg3xFwDp7DnuuVZ_9IW3505VBpKWvGL7ESCBobpO4/s400/sp6+40.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Southerly</b><br />
<br />
This came into a clear sky<br />
<br />
It had rained for a week<br />
mostly of the thick sort<br />
one step up from drizzle<br />
and when it cleared <br />
to the north<br />
in a rising sun<br />
we thought it gone<br />
<br />
so we opened the house<br />
and put it out to air<br />
<br />
then this came over the hill<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">from the south</span><br />
a white-topped bank<br />
but black at the base<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">with a wedge</span><br />
that slid its cutting edge<br />
over the tops towards us<br />
<br />
I shut up the garage<br />
and covered the wood<br />
brought in the tools<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and waited</span><br />
<br />
It lasted forty minutes<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">7mm @ 8deg.</span><br />
with a rumble or two<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">but no hail</span><br />
<br />
and went on its way<br />
without a following cloud<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[19/1/06]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNDUtLWBoFwA4ILtrIyeJarXnC7jdI3vQXny7mz0TwHIK9UIQgbhEXrbmPElAIXXXvCtIoF7SBF6hKsCIQf5wHGPIVI54huX8OR8gbBvEyZXQK5DyGjooOSbay2XattYYERwUlZvJivc/s1600/sp6+41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiNDUtLWBoFwA4ILtrIyeJarXnC7jdI3vQXny7mz0TwHIK9UIQgbhEXrbmPElAIXXXvCtIoF7SBF6hKsCIQf5wHGPIVI54huX8OR8gbBvEyZXQK5DyGjooOSbay2XattYYERwUlZvJivc/s400/sp6+41.jpg" width="161" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Welcome</b><br />
<br />
In the kowhai<br />
at the gate<br />
there are four tuis<br />
and two more<br />
flitting about<br />
from tree to tree<br />
<br />
There’s a bellbird in the broadleaf<br />
and another<br />
in the lichened-over beech<br />
<br />
Other species join too<br />
<br />
It hasn’t rained for a couple of weeks<br />
and now rain’s on its way<br />
<br />
from the north<br />
where this weather starts<br />
sending its intent ahead<br />
in clouds<br />
which build from the dry<br />
and gather to a cover<br />
<br />
Sparrows chaffinches blackbirds<br />
and the thrush know<br />
(with their indigenous mates)<br />
that normal life<br />
is about to resume<br />
and they sing<br />
as if it’s sunrise<br />
<br />
from all over the town<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoVIOUTpbCRPi6RRLvZ0XzNsH-q77u9SG2IPkttAIdfYRN1AWhT4p5q0m6vXml6BiYayKEfxKcmsZS5_h6fxr4QulL6UW93_5Nc8P4flYQw8JbZk_oCWUSY8OTwqibonvWYATYLP97sYs/s1600/sp6+42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoVIOUTpbCRPi6RRLvZ0XzNsH-q77u9SG2IPkttAIdfYRN1AWhT4p5q0m6vXml6BiYayKEfxKcmsZS5_h6fxr4QulL6UW93_5Nc8P4flYQw8JbZk_oCWUSY8OTwqibonvWYATYLP97sYs/s400/sp6+42.jpg" width="155" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Yesterday</b><br />
<br />
It rained<br />
in fog<br />
all day<br />
<br />
spurts that stung<br />
because you couldn’t see them coming<br />
and surprised<br />
<br />
with drizzle in between<br />
or other light stuff<br />
<br />
Then <br />
a bit before lunch<br />
it grew darker<br />
and the rain set in<br />
<br />
After lunch<br />
there’s usually time<br />
to chop the wood<br />
and gather coal<br />
but this kept on<br />
filled the tank<br />
scoured the path<br />
muddied the lawn<br />
<br />
and washed through the bush<br />
taking with it<br />
dead leaves and green<br />
to the river<br />
<br />
to the falls<br />
which it roared at<br />
shaking and thundering<br />
the town<br />
<br />
At sunset<br />
the fog floated off<br />
the rain eased away<br />
and the cloud was cleared<br />
by the moon<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtP7u8UL1F9TkvwaAPPAUBHJ13AHm4svY10eGu_zvNHgLn0iIlqeRphBD25NRrrb-i4W7mHp1uIiknumDMj_tT0G5TUMsIdfLIRrVMIGkH7883ab5nbpppqjsZlmPcFwUQuGbvKEh4yU/s1600/sp6+43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghtP7u8UL1F9TkvwaAPPAUBHJ13AHm4svY10eGu_zvNHgLn0iIlqeRphBD25NRrrb-i4W7mHp1uIiknumDMj_tT0G5TUMsIdfLIRrVMIGkH7883ab5nbpppqjsZlmPcFwUQuGbvKEh4yU/s400/sp6+43.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Flood</b><br />
<br />
Rain stalks on precipitate legs<br />
charcoaled on the sky<br />
<br />
you can’t hear it come<br />
for the noise of the creek<br />
and the farther sea<br />
<br />
Its clouds a marvellous edifice<br />
billow on white billow<br />
And brown within<br />
<br />
then all the quarter’s black<br />
<br />
A lightning strikes the moor<br />
the crack of it hurts<br />
<br />
Some big drops fall<br />
then a rain of hail<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">banging on the roof</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">bouncing</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to split wood</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and splinter glass</span><br />
<br />
A gull is beaten to the road<br />
where it cowers until<br />
the hail’s overwhelmed by rain<br />
a downpour at first<br />
then a torrent a burst<br />
still mounting to<br />
a river on the path<br />
a flood on the lawn<br />
to the creek raging <br />
down the hill to the road<br />
flooding through the houses<br />
out to a muddied sea<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmrsNOScVkmz96Stl0Ec-CRDks4XPKBDEU6btKtZUuPK-ZF5bqQmcKvA0ffcMQ9gl_d7yKEzDanjUBxHTaMt-4jkQa-sRBCQAh3XOadspDkYsCjmdnhXui6s2nCp45n2Ilhq7wKvyJdo/s1600/sp6+44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRmrsNOScVkmz96Stl0Ec-CRDks4XPKBDEU6btKtZUuPK-ZF5bqQmcKvA0ffcMQ9gl_d7yKEzDanjUBxHTaMt-4jkQa-sRBCQAh3XOadspDkYsCjmdnhXui6s2nCp45n2Ilhq7wKvyJdo/s400/sp6+44.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>From the East</b><br />
<br />
If the wind is from the east<br />
rain comes in a golden light<br />
from an arch at the lee of the range<br />
<br />
made by the wind as it pours over<br />
pushing the cloud high and thin<br />
and clearing the air<br />
<br />
you can see the Tasman Mountains<br />
the rocks on the Glasgow Peaks<br />
the cut in the hill that the Ngakawau’s made<br />
<br />
But as the wind turns to the north<br />
cloud thickens out to sea<br />
where rain begins and eases in<br />
<br />
the yellow greys<br />
the mountains fade<br />
and all the world’s monotonous<br />
<br />
dripping and drumming<br />
<br />
then fog<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0i1eZcmA7iC32uiPpFOr2TdzPhTNw5GHEET2mAH_Esy_KXSNrC2iP0FPpp01qcJPnAKnWbU6B-sPYm262hRB_tKDgvctZD0TvppOtnHQcfv8b2tSWxSGwXuC-L05eFYEaL0OV3Lyfys/s1600/sp6+45.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw0i1eZcmA7iC32uiPpFOr2TdzPhTNw5GHEET2mAH_Esy_KXSNrC2iP0FPpp01qcJPnAKnWbU6B-sPYm262hRB_tKDgvctZD0TvppOtnHQcfv8b2tSWxSGwXuC-L05eFYEaL0OV3Lyfys/s400/sp6+45.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Night Rain</b><br />
<br />
Night rain <br />
sends a shadow <br />
into late afternoon<br />
<br />
the sun doesn’t set<br />
<br />
a veil spreads eastwards<br />
white at the edge<br />
but darkening<br />
over a steel sea<br />
<br />
lower clouds bank<br />
at the horizon<br />
<br />
there’s no wind and<br />
a few drops of rain fall<br />
as darkness sets<br />
<br />
we bring in the wood<br />
and pull the blinds<br />
to make refuge<br />
<br />
to pretend<br />
at security<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1y4yNfkBKOzL-sPNXC4VhQ_PFY2OXeZ8lA60z1aVeb_a1Hxqmlr_zqZcF3woYoWcejx3CFJHxjJNwfHFhHhEzClMNaV3tqq7_ESCD_DaGZQjBsyMaFrfO7RXcJYIooRHd5H8KdSIv20/s1600/sp6+46.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJ1y4yNfkBKOzL-sPNXC4VhQ_PFY2OXeZ8lA60z1aVeb_a1Hxqmlr_zqZcF3woYoWcejx3CFJHxjJNwfHFhHhEzClMNaV3tqq7_ESCD_DaGZQjBsyMaFrfO7RXcJYIooRHd5H8KdSIv20/s400/sp6+46.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>With Ice</b><br />
<br />
A winter wind<br />
and wet from the south<br />
has ice in it<br />
<br />
small grit<br />
sliding down the glass<br />
metallic on the roof<br />
and rustling in the leaves<br />
<br />
colder still<br />
and solid stuff<br />
<br />
a small white sand<br />
that builds against <br />
the doors and sills<br />
and in the grass<br />
<br />
Into this the white flakes fall<br />
a few at first then<br />
more until the only sound<br />
is their whispering<br />
into a trance of white<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5UNiKhiaho1c7HVuih4sckUF___x0NBuZ3vpu2QHaOcCye59VURCudsKcZq3RPVWRSvey3lYHeviAsznlpKtzHZHIsVElffmjeIlQBqpYEkOBMu1fbgOL_fC4yft3HPmRzRYz5cuu6g/s1600/sp6+47.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5UNiKhiaho1c7HVuih4sckUF___x0NBuZ3vpu2QHaOcCye59VURCudsKcZq3RPVWRSvey3lYHeviAsznlpKtzHZHIsVElffmjeIlQBqpYEkOBMu1fbgOL_fC4yft3HPmRzRYz5cuu6g/s400/sp6+47.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Of Earth and Sky</b><br />
<br />
and prophetic rain<br />
that has from the first few drops<br />
a sense of purpose<br />
<br />
It doesn’t waver on the roof<br />
or if it pauses<br />
has a roar in reserve<br />
waiting in the hills<br />
<br />
that indicates resolve<br />
to return in strength<br />
and endure day<br />
after day in darkness<br />
<br />
until every hearth is flooded<br />
every room holds damp<br />
and the creek rattles<br />
clamps and bangs<br />
like old machinery<br />
<br />
until all is beaten down<br />
impregnated and subdued<br />
in this cold copulation<br />
of earth and sky<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfeECMKgtHtXuWUyQEl6A4Qp6h7nr3-9DZ0zw7vPyrGf9T20_h4_4qxHzCpkFTqpoTUGJnaaFaZfZbF1LvgElR4LxsTYbQ0E_7DpuozT3eNkpf8SoisSD9y_v3ptaGLI4vFb5stHmVMY/s1600/sp6+48.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyfeECMKgtHtXuWUyQEl6A4Qp6h7nr3-9DZ0zw7vPyrGf9T20_h4_4qxHzCpkFTqpoTUGJnaaFaZfZbF1LvgElR4LxsTYbQ0E_7DpuozT3eNkpf8SoisSD9y_v3ptaGLI4vFb5stHmVMY/s400/sp6+48.jpg" width="185" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Botanist and his Dog</b><br />
<br />
Out on the moors<br />
he goes under<br />
I go over<br />
<br />
I see what grows up<br />
he sees ground<br />
the root of things<br />
under-growth<br />
where it starts<br />
the smells and the greenery<br />
where small life hides<br />
<br />
I see the consequence<br />
the lovely and the disparate<br />
the flower<br />
the fruitfulness<br />
the browning off to die<br />
<br />
It’s a dog’s life<br />
in the undergrowth<br />
of mystery and surprise<br />
not so changeable a darkness there<br />
<br />
as in my world<br />
which is seasonable<br />
in quarters of growth<br />
and memory<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[15/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWc97oWWhQW1n_xxL6VpMCKeYm4ViuEcI8jny0dcuXeAS_KZnUobdglZfnteEe3juRkZC317CreFAk2Dx9BJT1errCJeWn9VHKy5hkP1nDTvZBeOfnoi2cb3fXviKJ_h9ay8tU5sRNfM/s1600/sp6+49.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlWc97oWWhQW1n_xxL6VpMCKeYm4ViuEcI8jny0dcuXeAS_KZnUobdglZfnteEe3juRkZC317CreFAk2Dx9BJT1errCJeWn9VHKy5hkP1nDTvZBeOfnoi2cb3fXviKJ_h9ay8tU5sRNfM/s400/sp6+49.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Tree</b><br />
<br />
They say you block the view<br />
that you stand in the way<br />
of the sea<br />
<br />
that you spoil things<br />
with arms outflung<br />
<br />
that you don’t know your place<br />
<br />
and do damage to the prospect<br />
which is too immense for a vegetable<br />
<br />
They say you’re all very well but - - -<br />
should grow in a gorge<br />
or at a mountain’s foot<br />
so we could look down on you<br />
<br />
not at or through<br />
<br />
but the sea is encompassing<br />
and goes right round the world<br />
<br />
a tree is unique<br />
<br />
you are the view<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[15/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznYSdIyvLWpAJE8-VDWMhTrZjuuBuUk8yHH90hHoIcw7cYhIPzLrhyphenhyphenCi8PLDtqsGRVWZXNDMMo_s4DLFamXYdooQ9EnrtEcDdanmPPDt9Lv19eX7BXOXYhtFgMngp-6JC6_jvsmsvo2s/s1600/sp6+50.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgznYSdIyvLWpAJE8-VDWMhTrZjuuBuUk8yHH90hHoIcw7cYhIPzLrhyphenhyphenCi8PLDtqsGRVWZXNDMMo_s4DLFamXYdooQ9EnrtEcDdanmPPDt9Lv19eX7BXOXYhtFgMngp-6JC6_jvsmsvo2s/s400/sp6+50.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Sky Must Fall</b><br />
<br />
My floor is mould<br />
my sky is of leaves<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and must fall</span><br />
for the tree is a weed<br />
spreading trailers <br />
that multiply to smother<br />
<br />
It’s an old tree<br />
its branches spread in canopy<br />
<br />
Out of its reach a mamaku<br />
makes rightful claim<br />
a holly struggles<br />
and an azalea in the kamahi<br />
for this was a household once,<br />
this mound on which I prime my saw<br />
was where the kitchen chimney stood<br />
and the other a bedroom fire<br />
<br />
the flat below<br />
scrub-covered now<br />
was road<br />
for the butcher grocer and confectioner<br />
fish-and-chips and shoes<br />
<br />
cellars are still there<br />
water tanks<br />
and asphalt under fern<br />
but no people –<br />
<br />
they went years ago<br />
<br />
My tree will fall<br />
the light flood in<br />
the vegetation change<br />
and history continue to decay<br />
to something new<br />
<br />
then another tree will fall<br />
light will come again<br />
and another road perhaps<br />
to perfection<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[15/2/06]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n1AkbHTXfE0OZniS14gwCtIaQXuy8Zly-3ezgp4T6CqeJ7ViNQZrM9ONPnOyMVTwhDJ1KV1FE64t_9TYbdPv02ENNFzhTiJ5Z7KF3TB-Pr94FwVYPACSGqF3sj5uEae9WbYxVjvm6OI/s1600/sp6+51.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1n1AkbHTXfE0OZniS14gwCtIaQXuy8Zly-3ezgp4T6CqeJ7ViNQZrM9ONPnOyMVTwhDJ1KV1FE64t_9TYbdPv02ENNFzhTiJ5Z7KF3TB-Pr94FwVYPACSGqF3sj5uEae9WbYxVjvm6OI/s400/sp6+51.jpg" width="189" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>We Were Talking</b><br />
<br />
We were talking<br />
and when you come to think<br />
of all we were talking about<br />
it’s as you said –<br />
it’s all been done before<br />
<br />
fasting, solitary prayer<br />
decades of celibacy<br />
levitation miracles and martyrdom<br />
<br />
none of it’s stuck<br />
if you take my meaning<br />
<br />
it’s as if God died a long time ago<br />
and all we remember are the bits –<br />
we’re no nearer the whole<br />
and we’re mired in ourselves<br />
<br />
our powers decay –<br />
miracles to bending spoons<br />
an ethic to a con<br />
<br />
As you said –<br />
there’s nothing new for venture<br />
it’s all evasion now<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[15/2/06]<br />
<br />
(<i>The Press</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0-SDxeEQGzhkDAGrd8PjJMJWlSvNKXDGW4MluSsEbqGmo7SSZ-Gi-OFJTlaV2yw3iXdKKySW0mInDPda3kcUufQanxfVeQQlLjA1wwoE6hRCRLRTQF06LQ647fA7SgNvrnvT3tPFbU0/s1600/sp6+52.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0-SDxeEQGzhkDAGrd8PjJMJWlSvNKXDGW4MluSsEbqGmo7SSZ-Gi-OFJTlaV2yw3iXdKKySW0mInDPda3kcUufQanxfVeQQlLjA1wwoE6hRCRLRTQF06LQ647fA7SgNvrnvT3tPFbU0/s400/sp6+52.jpg" width="216" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Nematoceras triloba</b><br />
<br />
<i>Beech Spider</i><br />
<br />
Sometimes male<br />
And other times not<br />
See the Latin<br />
<br />
Changed names<br />
And fudged identities<br />
<br />
With the inner surface<br />
Of your lamina<br />
Retrorsly papillose<br />
With your median apiculate lobe<br />
You manage a presence<br />
That can be immense<br />
<br />
And then you vanish<br />
Leaving a few plants behind<br />
On the edge of the bush<br />
<br />
You don’t flower much<br />
And you’re not a great looker<br />
But you can spread yourself about<br />
At home in higher places<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">LHK</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">JC</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i> 34 (2007): 27)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9B4dJAoeNrg5zddnMhWQcn0O0vLswi9zB8bJ6pUW4_AUcso2UcxPrg0XcOwUeMlOF_3abSh7SO7iJA1eCJTj0yksJ9RfTuKHhrNjpEOtS9Pg5z2aCZx1bCtgrkosyl-xJy7tRW1l5MQ/s1600/sp6+53.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl9B4dJAoeNrg5zddnMhWQcn0O0vLswi9zB8bJ6pUW4_AUcso2UcxPrg0XcOwUeMlOF_3abSh7SO7iJA1eCJTj0yksJ9RfTuKHhrNjpEOtS9Pg5z2aCZx1bCtgrkosyl-xJy7tRW1l5MQ/s400/sp6+53.jpg" width="237" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Creeping Sky Lily</b><br />
<br />
Montane<br />
in a sward<br />
or a diffuse patch<br />
<br />
the bllom pale within<br />
blue at the tips<br />
ice-blue<br />
or the sky<br />
<br />
small grassy green leaves<br />
at the lip of a bank<br />
at the edge of a bog<br />
in other stuff<br />
<br />
trigonous<br />
loculicidal<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i> 34 (2007): 28)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-7-2004-2006.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUdfPao2hOqAA8J1R27esBMvp6N2MkZFywqWXfuxCYHj6Vq4nYsq5mJC775P12pXHLmfOHrOM2XlpMsoN-utGsRtST-bQ4vflplmGC5D1ysHz7fqq8817uZ8H9YUC9fpf0dZHFgor6-8/s1600/sp6+54.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkUdfPao2hOqAA8J1R27esBMvp6N2MkZFywqWXfuxCYHj6Vq4nYsq5mJC775P12pXHLmfOHrOM2XlpMsoN-utGsRtST-bQ4vflplmGC5D1ysHz7fqq8817uZ8H9YUC9fpf0dZHFgor6-8/s400/sp6+54.jpg" width="158" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Actinotus suffocta</b><br />
<br />
<i>The Patch-Plant</i><br />
<br />
Low herb <br />
With creeping branching stems<br />
Forming compact patches<br />
<br />
Stylopodium stout<br />
And ill-defined<br />
<br />
So small<br />
You could be the young<br />
Of any green thing<br />
<br />
Of a moss<br />
<br />
A slime mould<br />
Peripatetic<br />
On a bank<br />
<br />
They should have let you go<br />
Without a name<br />
<br />
Anonymous<br />
Anomalous<br />
<br />
Patching up the pakihi<br />
With humility<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">LHK</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">JC</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i> 34 (2007): 29)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-68112165365654342552012-01-07T10:00:00.008+13:002017-11-26T10:55:51.187+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 6 (1999-2004)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s1600/Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591520396857632402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s400/Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-twenty-seven.html">Shorter Poems: 6</a></span></b><br />
(1999-2004)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">At The Falls</a> [4/4/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Outage</a> [4/4/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">The City Lies Foursquare</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Mr. Gonzales</a> [10/5/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Battle of the Bands</a> [10/5/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Lyn’s Zinnias</a> [14/8/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">The Great Buller Coal Plateaux</a> [10/10/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Omnia Propter Femina</a> [10/10/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Cars Cash and Convertibles</a> [8/11/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">I am two weathers</a> ... [11/11/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">The Plateau</a> [11/11/00]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">Downpour</a> [30/10/01]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">The Lesser Leptopteris</a> [30/10/01]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">Trail-Blazer</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">A Bone at the Bushline</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Before the Throne</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Summer, Sumner, 1946</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">Mr Muir and Mr Emerson</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">A Work Of Love In Remembering One Dead</a> [31/5/02]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">The Impresario’s Muse</a> [31/5/02]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">Poa cita</a> [31/5/02]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">Endstop</a> [20/12/02]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">Posterity</a> [20/12/02]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">The Pit-Ponies' Picnic</a> [1/7/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">Swing-Bridge</a> [1/7/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">Night Shelter</a> [28/8/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">(Proust Says)</a> [12/9/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">I Like It When The Sun Doesn’t Shine</a> [12/9/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">Happy Valley</a> [31/10/03]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">In High Fog</a> [20/1/04]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGTku3Y04V5sCkpNg8g73YxAB-XwcxvwbZHU1T6-O6rd554rk19bT3vRzG24ajwtnZYPLxuyLdFZyZzjd6bY6UNHS2t6UKZarwnLZiJ6Q1oanZaRJ_KGNq7mFfA1q4AInvmntOWA31ek/s1600/sp6+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSGTku3Y04V5sCkpNg8g73YxAB-XwcxvwbZHU1T6-O6rd554rk19bT3vRzG24ajwtnZYPLxuyLdFZyZzjd6bY6UNHS2t6UKZarwnLZiJ6Q1oanZaRJ_KGNq7mFfA1q4AInvmntOWA31ek/s400/sp6+01.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>At The Falls</b><br />
<br />
We would go down<br />
at this time,<br />
when the day was still<br />
and the sunlight slanted through the leaves,<br />
<br />
to the rocks,<br />
and would help each other<br />
over the mossy parts.<br />
<br />
Once we would have jumped across<br />
and never feared a slip.<br />
<br />
We shared confident years<br />
and a common joy.<br />
<br />
I hold the memories of both<br />
but dream here alone.<br />
<br />
I understand the still air<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">love the leaves</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and comprehend the age,</span><br />
but I cannot understand<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the acts of God.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[4/4/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo5vwUm9Twq2iA1F6tEbJmiPs_H1EH4Nd_SWWzFGuXfh6oCN01yFkb8GDIwZPQ2HY2n1xs1rOurSW1XSCWABQ5bCVFiVymUW_X4hM2jfwiTuG0PyU2jMUKquHOBmIntHHP9QkAE_WNnI/s1600/sp6+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdo5vwUm9Twq2iA1F6tEbJmiPs_H1EH4Nd_SWWzFGuXfh6oCN01yFkb8GDIwZPQ2HY2n1xs1rOurSW1XSCWABQ5bCVFiVymUW_X4hM2jfwiTuG0PyU2jMUKquHOBmIntHHP9QkAE_WNnI/s400/sp6+02.jpg" width="177" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Outage</b><br />
<br />
The night we talked<br />
when the lights went out<br />
was good, I thought,<br />
by firelight flickering<br />
like wit<br />
and lightning<br />
that struck the line<br />
and insulator.<br />
<br />
You were drunk<br />
but that didn’t matter much.<br />
You talk best sense<br />
when you’re drunk,<br />
and we dropped our debate<br />
into the impenetrable dark.<br />
<br />
At first I couldn’t hear<br />
for the rain on the roof<br />
and the wind at the window,<br />
but soon I picked the line of your argument<br />
for youth,<br />
out of the din,<br />
<br />
Its wonder at the world it hasn’t made,<br />
its ruthlessness at us<br />
who hold its space.<br />
<br />
You were right, of course,<br />
though I beat you into submission.<br />
I wasn’t much concerned with truth<br />
but with the return of light,<br />
when the storm would stop,<br />
the threat withdraw<br />
so I –once power was restored –<br />
could say goodbye,<br />
and with reason go to bed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[4/4/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKwY24q5MXWtuXELdsjwvJbnrQkKZmvcIelNH5xmHY2-L0As_0t4KG65JCJcvtNGtiajK8uKR_WlVlBLYH9bfWCtVJLZt8cuQBdR4iMMuLygqJX1EBS5HIxKBb2q4H7qkS71Js6epOEA/s1600/sp6+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieKwY24q5MXWtuXELdsjwvJbnrQkKZmvcIelNH5xmHY2-L0As_0t4KG65JCJcvtNGtiajK8uKR_WlVlBLYH9bfWCtVJLZt8cuQBdR4iMMuLygqJX1EBS5HIxKBb2q4H7qkS71Js6epOEA/s400/sp6+03.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The City Lies Foursquare</b><br />
<br />
It happened <br />
that in those days there was<br />
whatever you wanted:<br />
<br />
Wells lit by long blue lights<br />
dogs with eyes as big as saucers<br />
geese that talked and knew botany<br />
some emperors wise and some foolish<br />
talking tools and legs that didn’t know their business<br />
wizard wolves and transmutations<br />
flying beds and magic aprons<br />
inquisitive birds;<br />
<br />
Boxes cupboards and purses that held secrets.<br />
<br />
Nothing kept its shape.<br />
<br />
Days did not necessarily succeed days.<br />
<br />
Some trees bled and life, though interesting,<br />
was generally tragic.<br />
<br />
In consequence of this variability<br />
people wrote books<br />
with illustrations in them<br />
and put things right<br />
<br />
into programmes<br />
that plan<br />
<br />
so the world doesn’t crumble<br />
under our eyes.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSuARTiGVKU3ZrzZS9TVjGJ9ankjAeN7xo0XK23RiluQCsMHpkD3abmFmBH78cjsJTHfYJb2a9IlCfn5mixaT-oI5O5GNvvIQZ5SiQ6YHAG7EXcuEhMJe0vMFJK9TZC4WTRqEou6nZEM/s1600/sp6+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYSuARTiGVKU3ZrzZS9TVjGJ9ankjAeN7xo0XK23RiluQCsMHpkD3abmFmBH78cjsJTHfYJb2a9IlCfn5mixaT-oI5O5GNvvIQZ5SiQ6YHAG7EXcuEhMJe0vMFJK9TZC4WTRqEou6nZEM/s400/sp6+04.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mr. Gonzales</b><br />
<br />
There’s nothing of his wardrobe left<br />
but buttons.<br />
<br />
He never bought flash,<br />
nothing with gold<br />
or lustres.<br />
<br />
Depth and durability<br />
were what he went for,<br />
hints of treasure<br />
modestly concealed<br />
in all his clothes.<br />
<br />
I couldn’t keep the trousers<br />
nor the suits,<br />
underwear nor shirts –<br />
they choked me,<br />
<br />
but buttons go in tins and bags and drawers<br />
and are so easily recalled.<br />
<br />
I like to think I do<br />
and then undo him,<br />
set him free<br />
then tidily restrain.<br />
<br />
I kiss each piece of shell and bone –<br />
my love for past proprieties,<br />
relicts of a work well done,<br />
for creased and cleaned and shining years.<br />
<br />
May his spirit fly free –<br />
it’s loosed now,<br />
and divested.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[10/5/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYT-3k9uhBoFNxKsFrXYJ0rbI-dylWknSKYlnqDzyN8ItA_0oxGZAh1kAzlyeox67EjjS8ZN4-ngnda0AN_RLWMrPam98ok4L6ZrxxrDWdIc91GCcnR6GvhGt9Z7qDa6xJLezDElrHpk/s1600/sp6+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuYT-3k9uhBoFNxKsFrXYJ0rbI-dylWknSKYlnqDzyN8ItA_0oxGZAh1kAzlyeox67EjjS8ZN4-ngnda0AN_RLWMrPam98ok4L6ZrxxrDWdIc91GCcnR6GvhGt9Z7qDa6xJLezDElrHpk/s400/sp6+05.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Battle of the Bands</b><br />
<br />
Want me to write it down?<br />
Forget it –<br />
I’ve the shakes.<br />
<br />
We booked four bands –<br />
you need to be sure –<br />
but not one would be first.<br />
<br />
They took an hour to sort it out,<br />
then the first<br />
left gear at home<br />
and drove back through the gorge<br />
to get it.<br />
<br />
The second band got up to play<br />
but the drummer tripped<br />
and broke his arm.<br />
<br />
We doped him<br />
but he got too out-of-it.<br />
<br />
The third band wasn’t all there.<br />
<br />
the fourth band wasn’t much good<br />
and once it started wouldn’t stop,<br />
<br />
So everyone got drunk and stoned<br />
and smashed the place<br />
and left.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[10/5/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3B_MsHW-7c4zz6-PX6xtjzFIu1oRsVq4QdFODylpuNQodIP7I5HYJLM8M_71J7gCgfFvVbFUZl7Mcnf348m0wUBnPoGo7OlWi5VOpKEu7iV2OcTAQzuTciHwRM18wSHzBZgVnOuQbz1Y/s1600/sp6+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3B_MsHW-7c4zz6-PX6xtjzFIu1oRsVq4QdFODylpuNQodIP7I5HYJLM8M_71J7gCgfFvVbFUZl7Mcnf348m0wUBnPoGo7OlWi5VOpKEu7iV2OcTAQzuTciHwRM18wSHzBZgVnOuQbz1Y/s400/sp6+06.jpg" width="262" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Lyn’s Zinnias</b><br />
<br />
She says the wind sweats crickets<br />
there’s necessity for zinnias<br />
<br />
I’m looking for a particular perspective<br />
one that will inform in pure reason<br />
will show the spaces why they’re there<br />
between you and me and other living things<br />
the thoughts and all who go to make them<br />
like memories necessities and the tedium of the street<br />
when no-one talks for fear of change<br />
nor gives advice lest things get worse<br />
why melancholy gives a certain pleasure<br />
and fine weather’s colder after rain<br />
that one cloud’s separate from another<br />
they even on the largest scale never circle the world<br />
(as we who are linked to satellites can tell)<br />
the closest closeness never measures union<br />
nor best intentions ever perfect love<br />
make understanding from objective speech<br />
of science and psychology philosophy the wise<br />
or wisest commentators that I know of on T.V.<br />
for there too in spite of advanced techniques<br />
the perfect aim is never hit gaps not closed<br />
and on it wanders flounders flops a bit<br />
and flummoxes unsure in imperfect fit<br />
aware or half aware of a lack of accomplishment<br />
nothing quite right and nothing quite done<br />
with no-one around to stop it<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[14/8/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutkSdEgtvlct8Kr8PIxtTY8wonAbpSCxnI480uXeLWFNNZ01sfgEoO3-65yk6ZNafAUukg-jhOes07J6wG1Z4v9Y5eXi_tROHdWwQKtm3uMySQCLI_A8wvAcS3Rs2zXL-lAVsrcTRqh0/s1600/sp6+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgutkSdEgtvlct8Kr8PIxtTY8wonAbpSCxnI480uXeLWFNNZ01sfgEoO3-65yk6ZNafAUukg-jhOes07J6wG1Z4v9Y5eXi_tROHdWwQKtm3uMySQCLI_A8wvAcS3Rs2zXL-lAVsrcTRqh0/s400/sp6+07.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Great Buller Coal Plateaux</b><br />
<br />
Half of this is out of time<br />
the other half is looking for affinities<br />
<br />
There are sounds<br />
much like water<br />
and a sky always receding<br />
into an accumulation of infinity<br />
<br />
The air is stalled<br />
there is no other noise to hold it<br />
<br />
Space is enclosed by level lines<br />
and you must hear the landscape <br />
to know the words<br />
<br />
the thought that makes the sentence<br />
<br />
The question ‘who’? disappears<br />
in this light<br />
from the farthest sources<br />
of a broken dawn<br />
<br />
acid soil<br />
famished rock<br />
<br />
Here we are to be found –<br />
the mines<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">on Sunday morning</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[10/10/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UgbCHCw5liL9MYlL44mWSSPM3ACLIXkp1FIMIM_fRYPiR27JkPt5bWj8UvKzfLRiXhNHlLeA4Y1b7SH0y1N-5hMARSVkTfHdTatkWWgoVoIMSZIA7WtbSmgS7MyeRuZp5p9PAYzlcUQ/s1600/sp6+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2UgbCHCw5liL9MYlL44mWSSPM3ACLIXkp1FIMIM_fRYPiR27JkPt5bWj8UvKzfLRiXhNHlLeA4Y1b7SH0y1N-5hMARSVkTfHdTatkWWgoVoIMSZIA7WtbSmgS7MyeRuZp5p9PAYzlcUQ/s400/sp6+08.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Omnia Propter Femina</b><br />
‘<i>a witty tribute to Doris Day</i>’<br />
<br />
The shoes are maroon<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the feet are fun</span><br />
They are the same colour<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">as my feet</span><br />
The apple in her hand is not<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">to be eaten</span><br />
Like the sleeves of her fluffy<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">mohair cardigan</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">which hang from</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">her shoulders &</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">swing empty</span><br />
It has a soft sound with a<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">sharp edge</span><br />
Like her shoulders in the<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">pale blue blouse</span><br />
The skirt is heavy enough <br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">to swish</span><br />
Her eyes are outlined too<br />
The music is a sort of tartan<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">in checks</span><br />
<br />
She sings ‘I’m in the pink’<br />
A rectangular song<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and meandering</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-eMu2Uau5waLssCBPKw1Uu6_XYudnffZtkF1yIJ-2GUttSw7c_cHudAmlJT7raiiP8U3euaz6AbSdxEZXaMhzAuCdIwl-7u2NJKpGF0pn1VuhX9GZsLl9b0ZKzpKjSYmlHfQhRWpDyM/s1600/sp6+09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi-eMu2Uau5waLssCBPKw1Uu6_XYudnffZtkF1yIJ-2GUttSw7c_cHudAmlJT7raiiP8U3euaz6AbSdxEZXaMhzAuCdIwl-7u2NJKpGF0pn1VuhX9GZsLl9b0ZKzpKjSYmlHfQhRWpDyM/s400/sp6+09.jpg" width="241" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Cars Cash and Convertibles</b><br />
<br />
Driving south into longer days<br />
where people package money and time<br />
with discretion,<br />
we think of their ways.<br />
<br />
There is no particular in mind<br />
but the end of it –<br />
those things that happen<br />
when the debt is paid.<br />
<br />
We buy and own and spend<br />
lest tomorrow be unequal to its task;<br />
it’s part of our creed.<br />
<br />
Time is money,<br />
you can save it, we say,<br />
absurdly –<br />
both decompose;<br />
<br />
Yet for the mystic<br />
death is bliss,<br />
they say –<br />
it can make a fine end.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[8/11/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOD32XGP1l2ZAh3GX8noxtNNq4F4rT_03840kO0poHwFGhG9iPV0k1pGbLh57ctl8T_Bb92ylMNheD_GiCSZx4YoEaV1smb0dfPQH34LzrJNyJ0nRU7C7hbuiPJ1izZwDQkM49STs8l4/s1600/sp6+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTOD32XGP1l2ZAh3GX8noxtNNq4F4rT_03840kO0poHwFGhG9iPV0k1pGbLh57ctl8T_Bb92ylMNheD_GiCSZx4YoEaV1smb0dfPQH34LzrJNyJ0nRU7C7hbuiPJ1izZwDQkM49STs8l4/s400/sp6+10.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I am two weathers –<br />
at night and by day<br />
<br />
as with a mountain<br />
or a shore-line<br />
<br />
where the cause of the change<br />
is the sun<br />
<br />
mine is the prospect –<br />
at night I go to bed<br />
<br />
and have nothing to fear<br />
<br />
but the fear itself<br />
of all that I’ve done<br />
<br />
in the day<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/11/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5TD4PJ-edQdaPyxuDMugrbKQfuhPgozUQt_6kdu3Tpb-95KDAfgYLnpJ4R71-0acsKawpUu-L6xfR38j1Ij9eIfyUiHp9OesknY6gtZsnSW41t224ANWW4JWmXYFRd6q3aH4dI8G9wA/s1600/sp6+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjN5TD4PJ-edQdaPyxuDMugrbKQfuhPgozUQt_6kdu3Tpb-95KDAfgYLnpJ4R71-0acsKawpUu-L6xfR38j1Ij9eIfyUiHp9OesknY6gtZsnSW41t224ANWW4JWmXYFRd6q3aH4dI8G9wA/s400/sp6+11.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Plateau</b><br />
<br />
Never is there anyone else<br />
just these plants<br />
and the rocks<br />
and bushes worn to the shape of the rocks<br />
and a heaviness<br />
of generation<br />
as if between the loins of creation<br />
that here it’s made<br />
from silica wind sun and rain<br />
<br />
That here it ends<br />
in this white glass dust<br />
that blows in drifts on the sandstone shelf<br />
beaten along by the rain<br />
<br />
To smother the plants<br />
that might have lived<br />
if left<br />
to the frost and sun and the rain<br />
<br />
A cold crusted surface<br />
time too<br />
that washes rock and leaf and root<br />
with wind sun and rain<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/11/00]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjaySxjVRJLenO0EYbPd1QPX56Xjm8MAKgakCdn9SW0Ca-YhHAFjUHOCLyT4I6fi16aCr9lu3WKO8-66l0nlbyMWf-Gypm-siuRhA-CTPdYR9GaHMdGw_qsADkw5EgVSl9mlp3AUxpo4/s1600/sp6+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhjaySxjVRJLenO0EYbPd1QPX56Xjm8MAKgakCdn9SW0Ca-YhHAFjUHOCLyT4I6fi16aCr9lu3WKO8-66l0nlbyMWf-Gypm-siuRhA-CTPdYR9GaHMdGw_qsADkw5EgVSl9mlp3AUxpo4/s400/sp6+12.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Downpour</b><br />
<br />
There may be silence<br />
a waiting silence<br />
that saps other sounds<br />
and wakes me<br />
<br />
The house flinches<br />
<br />
A taughtening before a quake<br />
A still intruder muffled at the door<br />
<br />
There’s heaviness outside –<br />
all breathing swept up in<br />
<br />
But there’s no signal<br />
nothing in advance<br />
of the torrent that crashes<br />
the oppression<br />
<br />
Of the weight of it<br />
and the roar<br />
that I must wait out<br />
and cower before<br />
<br />
Lest it be winter<br />
that’s come upon me<br />
and the perpetual storm<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[30/10/01]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPye_5BIWVow4mX9AZRFiN4VJRLJ6h0V1OhFRym32yfLSBvklI5iGFXF-q3A5aJiSAFDsjpvUoOaYonHHXVebHa9Yzn_ydh5lcgADpoUtI5rCrmQM3ALty9oJnCa67yfQPwzVuRbVqhs/s1600/sp6+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJPye_5BIWVow4mX9AZRFiN4VJRLJ6h0V1OhFRym32yfLSBvklI5iGFXF-q3A5aJiSAFDsjpvUoOaYonHHXVebHa9Yzn_ydh5lcgADpoUtI5rCrmQM3ALty9oJnCa67yfQPwzVuRbVqhs/s400/sp6+13.jpg" width="224" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Lesser Leptopteris</b><br />
<br />
At first you don’t see –<br />
they’re floating <br />
in the colour of their shade<br />
on thread stems<br />
each frond placed and none replacing,<br />
entire unmarked proportionate.<br />
<br />
Note the perfection –<br />
a branch could have fallen<br />
a slip could have taken some away<br />
animals crushed or eaten<br />
frost burnt storm dishevelled,<br />
<br />
But nothing can have happened here for years;<br />
no enemy gnaws at their roots<br />
nor sickness stains the green,<br />
they multiply as space provides<br />
there’s room for each<br />
and water, food<br />
--they’ve found their paradise.<br />
<br />
Mine dies.<br />
I grieve at it<br />
the loss, the loneliness.<br />
<br />
My dreaming feet ache on the moss –<br />
I’ve changed my life for this.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[30/10/01]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoL_cDqB7DbP8OW9y4neDHTfQPXTasWPhNBfll7ENubT1YLcfbYkQYEDAQ1UiDqy1B1QlRDczaR22oUpXvZlTcPjNutBhyphenhyphenHFMfn8VQ1-xJEsCbLZPn4PY6Wre9PIc9UVjT0JbvyoXNq4/s1600/sp6+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYoL_cDqB7DbP8OW9y4neDHTfQPXTasWPhNBfll7ENubT1YLcfbYkQYEDAQ1UiDqy1B1QlRDczaR22oUpXvZlTcPjNutBhyphenhyphenHFMfn8VQ1-xJEsCbLZPn4PY6Wre9PIc9UVjT0JbvyoXNq4/s400/sp6+14.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Trail-Blazer</b><br />
<br />
not what you think<br />
don’t turn away<br />
<br />
I’ve been down Dominion Road<br />
from Blondies<br />
to the extension of the extension<br />
<br />
I bought a car at the Roskill yard<br />
had lunch at Navaho<br />
a drink at the R.S.A.<br />
and bought a book<br />
<br />
I’ve done it all<br />
so I smell a bit<br />
and there are smears on my face<br />
of dust<br />
<br />
I’ll shower and change<br />
find a fresh shirt<br />
brush my pants<br />
<br />
it’s cost a bit<br />
but it’s worth the trip<br />
<br />
I’ve made<br />
<br />
the shops and super-marts<br />
emporiums<br />
sky horse takeaway canton thai<br />
pre-loved videon hallal meat<br />
<br />
and all the money machines that say no<br />
<br />
soon I’ll be clean again<br />
<br />
believe it<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedeUdGxKni-Trn2xREYJOK0foG1elkbsXw0UIj5HHCA1fbP38M6FrsFAibFnYIJFT8_FPsjIHbqp6y733bca95xNZhgR5blVJdS3OzI-Z3oqTFFvy5M0O4S9GnoRHTxWY-9vHdUL0P9o/s1600/sp6+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhedeUdGxKni-Trn2xREYJOK0foG1elkbsXw0UIj5HHCA1fbP38M6FrsFAibFnYIJFT8_FPsjIHbqp6y733bca95xNZhgR5blVJdS3OzI-Z3oqTFFvy5M0O4S9GnoRHTxWY-9vHdUL0P9o/s400/sp6+15.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Bone at the Bushline</b><br />
<br />
Dusk dulls the granite cliffs<br />
mists across the meadow<br />
and the dog dances in it<br />
<br />
The first morepork warns of the night<br />
though the sky’s still light<br />
and the dog bows before it<br />
<br />
asking all who witness this<br />
who love the gift<br />
to play<br />
<br />
and worship the man<br />
who with him is alone<br />
in all these rocks and flowers<br />
<br />
and is made one<br />
with the immensity<br />
through love<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVboQ6DDCZevM7SjMucDSAP4gx4p1CBC3J6acTgD89l4SMQ35DeRhcz30otx7vxGIT2pN02zOshCTod7cOxDGoQB1_JFnP8byQTrAyCq5pot44ReqEVdDEgOjMPgEeeS_41XGVJ_W2TM/s1600/sp6+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoVboQ6DDCZevM7SjMucDSAP4gx4p1CBC3J6acTgD89l4SMQ35DeRhcz30otx7vxGIT2pN02zOshCTod7cOxDGoQB1_JFnP8byQTrAyCq5pot44ReqEVdDEgOjMPgEeeS_41XGVJ_W2TM/s400/sp6+16.jpg" width="227" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Before the Throne</b><br />
<br />
My long-drop has many residents<br />
<br />
A fantail has come to hunt them<br />
<br />
He wants me out of it<br />
Flies in my face when I call<br />
<br />
A cat covets the bird<br />
he sits black-and-white<br />
at the top of the steps<br />
and stares<br />
<br />
Though he does not threaten<br />
I see that to claim my rights<br />
of ownership or necessity<br />
will break the food-chain<br />
<br />
and cause greater distress<br />
to these lower forms of life<br />
than any I might suffer<br />
by abstention<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ci7aF450AIpG6pgQB1ouxZzD7hkHwODvIBzPNLrQprpgo92quGWTMaOiLWQovT685A1aP43AlU7wGWJwU-TsebQC9Og93aunuzOOAm7vntqkuA1N7JBti4MRxAjQvnHJqHz52VUWVkQ/s1600/sp6+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1ci7aF450AIpG6pgQB1ouxZzD7hkHwODvIBzPNLrQprpgo92quGWTMaOiLWQovT685A1aP43AlU7wGWJwU-TsebQC9Og93aunuzOOAm7vntqkuA1N7JBti4MRxAjQvnHJqHz52VUWVkQ/s400/sp6+17.jpg" width="307" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Summer, Sumner, 1946</b><br />
<br />
There was a season of fire<br />
as there were other seasons<br />
of huts in the sandhills<br />
gangs in the quarry<br />
sledging on the tussock and<br />
gully-jumping<br />
but this was a season for fire<br />
<br />
Word would go round of<br />
time and place appointed<br />
<br />
I would climb to the top of the hedge<br />
and there –<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">at four and where planned</span><br />
the first white whiff<br />
of smoke on the hill<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtS5uHu60_9jPCQXP3eDNKYidhDvHZC6etCtSWkYhoBXiToz6D5Vo6LT7_4tRFHtXZ4_6-17EadFUyJdvDTsREK51qUCctELVSRkRlw_v6LiTW3y4F5CWfnYJt7-NKfCceKZcaxIJGWY/s1600/sp6+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimtS5uHu60_9jPCQXP3eDNKYidhDvHZC6etCtSWkYhoBXiToz6D5Vo6LT7_4tRFHtXZ4_6-17EadFUyJdvDTsREK51qUCctELVSRkRlw_v6LiTW3y4F5CWfnYJt7-NKfCceKZcaxIJGWY/s400/sp6+18.jpg" width="265" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ9NspUG4AhFJh9CrfK2NWUwDBRwqgK7Jb6i9xzFvZwrywnBxWHgmzpJUTPsTlNzpz3mTdfbCa1y9c-Xc1MhqgKD9EuohsN7dpOtiwMGufMroUXEO-tgbtdiB-3Lygh4pcpqLvPfvAaI/s1600/sp6+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ9NspUG4AhFJh9CrfK2NWUwDBRwqgK7Jb6i9xzFvZwrywnBxWHgmzpJUTPsTlNzpz3mTdfbCa1y9c-Xc1MhqgKD9EuohsN7dpOtiwMGufMroUXEO-tgbtdiB-3Lygh4pcpqLvPfvAaI/s400/sp6+19.jpg" width="261" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj025ZM2D2QvdTsXV5uZvm7BJNLsNlLwGCZVaTfdpiDb7v0VpW3pAk4LlpXMj2-oRCQxdNvxr6qa6QP0USWDTz2JxEp7Ioq5xn4dGdRNrlsBGC4mfBgQPkfQShSBpHkXuu7O0DjZi6UI/s1600/sp6+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbj025ZM2D2QvdTsXV5uZvm7BJNLsNlLwGCZVaTfdpiDb7v0VpW3pAk4LlpXMj2-oRCQxdNvxr6qa6QP0USWDTz2JxEp7Ioq5xn4dGdRNrlsBGC4mfBgQPkfQShSBpHkXuu7O0DjZi6UI/s400/sp6+20.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mr Muir and Mr Emerson</b><br />
<br />
I was ever calling on everybody within reach to admire the trees,<br />
<br />
But I found no-one half warm enough until Emerson came.<br />
<br />
I felt sure that of all men he would best interpret their sayings.<br />
<br />
I met him in Yosemite.<br />
<br />
He seemed serene as a sequoia, his head in the Empyrean.<br />
<br />
Forgetting his age plans duties ties of every sort<br />
<br />
I proposed a camping trip in the heart of the mountains.<br />
<br />
I said: ‘The mountains are calling;<br />
<br />
Let plans and parties and dragging duties go their improper ways.<br />
<br />
We’ll go up a canyon singing your own song.<br />
<br />
Up there lies a new heaven and a new earth; let us go to the show.’<br />
<br />
But the shadows were growing and he leaned on his friends.<br />
<br />
They laughed at my promise and held Mr. Emerson to the trails and hotels.<br />
<br />
<br />
I saw him two days more.<br />
<br />
I told him we might go to the sequoias if he would camp in the grove.<br />
<br />
I quoted his notes: ‘Come listen what the pine-tree saith’ etc.<br />
<br />
And pointed out the noblest trees as kings and high-priests.<br />
<br />
He said but little while his smile faded away.<br />
<br />
His party said it would never do to lie out in the cold night air.<br />
<br />
In vain I urged that there was not a single cough nor sneeze in all the sierra;<br />
<br />
I pictured the climate I would make and praised sequoia flame,<br />
<br />
Urging them to come and make an Emerson night of it,<br />
<br />
But theirs was a Boston commentary.<br />
<br />
<br />
I concluded to stop with him at the hotel but he hardly spoke all evening.<br />
<br />
The poor bit of time was soon spent.<br />
<br />
Next morning I urged him again to stay:<br />
<br />
‘You are yourself a sequoia’ I said.<br />
<br />
‘Stop and get acquainted with your brethren’.<br />
<br />
But he was as a child in the hands of his friends.<br />
<br />
It was now the afternoon of the day and of his life<br />
<br />
And his course was into the sunset.<br />
<br />
<br />
The party mounted and rode away in wondrous contentment.<br />
<br />
Emerson lingered in the rear of the train,<br />
<br />
And when he reached the top of the ridge took off his hat and waved me.<br />
<br />
I walked in the trees until sundown,<br />
<br />
When I built a great fire had all to myself and took heart.<br />
<br />
The trees had not gone to Boston nor the birds and he was still with me in spirit.<br />
<br />
He sent books and wrote advising me not to stay too long.<br />
<br />
I was to come to his house and he would show me to better people.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9Z_6bIrRjoI7IG0iYHXPTAxxqMYYlqD-zWPKpbm0qkG5h_eFifHpqer1NQ9jPkoicYi5pKEVOQUYMW_ci375sK_uzOOpeAEpVQ9Z82H5iZRxTY8IudxJEp14kaYf5FxQ3VmCPM0pVfM/s1600/sp6+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9Z_6bIrRjoI7IG0iYHXPTAxxqMYYlqD-zWPKpbm0qkG5h_eFifHpqer1NQ9jPkoicYi5pKEVOQUYMW_ci375sK_uzOOpeAEpVQ9Z82H5iZRxTY8IudxJEp14kaYf5FxQ3VmCPM0pVfM/s400/sp6+21.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Work Of Love In Remembering<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">One Dead</span></b><br />
<br />
The pack the staff the hat<br />
and bag of plants<br />
lie in a heap on a higher place,<br />
<br />
A cairn perhaps<br />
or temporal memorial,<br />
<br />
Due to rot if given time<br />
undisturbed<br />
unclaimed,<br />
<br />
To tell of one<br />
who couldn’t cross the creek<br />
who coming to it found a flood.<br />
<br />
The pack holds scraps<br />
of an interrupted lunch,<br />
<br />
The bag holds evidence<br />
of a changed and changing world<br />
<br />
by rain –<br />
<br />
first slanted through the trees<br />
then in a storm<br />
and now this pakihi overflows.<br />
<br />
I am kept from my road<br />
<br />
amphibious,<br />
uncertain in this fog and rain<br />
if I’m near home<br />
or if I will be home again.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/5/02]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIycXZe-fygSUPK2Av3eApf-PYeKSg_ngu9vb4B3xTFgBS6zDUsg_G2iNwHzuy8fIBrPsbqoo6UbaxD_qB-MxpJe41C1-FsAAq22Yz-v89OdyREWcW7HD9jnYDnLSFyQqu_jMrwVzka6k/s1600/sp6+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIycXZe-fygSUPK2Av3eApf-PYeKSg_ngu9vb4B3xTFgBS6zDUsg_G2iNwHzuy8fIBrPsbqoo6UbaxD_qB-MxpJe41C1-FsAAq22Yz-v89OdyREWcW7HD9jnYDnLSFyQqu_jMrwVzka6k/s400/sp6+22.jpg" width="156" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Impresario’s Muse</b><br />
<br />
I think of mortality now<br />
<br />
The world knows me well<br />
and is tired of my familiar –<br />
the actors want to do something new<br />
<br />
My productions fall part<br />
of people place idea and word<br />
they unravel<br />
<br />
Illusions no longer deceive<br />
and all those numerous<br />
who sang at my command<br />
excuse themselves<br />
<br />
A thread has been pulled<br />
line after line is on the run<br />
you can hear it<br />
– skip skip<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">from stitch to stitch</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">and money</span><br />
down the drain<br />
<br />
Soon there’ll be left<br />
only memory of review<br />
mention in an essay<br />
and a line or two in ‘History of –‘<br />
<br />
But best<br />
(though least)<br />
is the pleasure for me<br />
of greatness for a night<br />
and the lustre in my life<br />
and the taste.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/5/02]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3U-XqsKV0OwsNZtK62AtEtLg8iPBSsqLtx7oSA_vgDfeFEe_A1eaXoryP7an3RElddAZZDqrOGMjEZgtAjnBzP-Z1reEYRtNPmJ6A060DXj7eoTg6Smbh3Vl16-fizgfXuH86rR6q_0/s1600/sp6+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD3U-XqsKV0OwsNZtK62AtEtLg8iPBSsqLtx7oSA_vgDfeFEe_A1eaXoryP7an3RElddAZZDqrOGMjEZgtAjnBzP-Z1reEYRtNPmJ6A060DXj7eoTg6Smbh3Vl16-fizgfXuH86rR6q_0/s400/sp6+23.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Poa cita</b><br />
(<i>for Carol</i>)<br />
<br />
Just being here<br />
being you or me is distinction<br />
<br />
enough<br />
no need for any other mark<br />
from other species<br />
<br />
in dress or behaviour<br />
no eccentricity<br />
<br />
no need to excel<br />
nor exquisite sense<br />
no wealth<br />
nor grey profundity<br />
<br />
Alive is the specific<br />
being where we ought to be<br />
<br />
and growing here<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/5/02]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2U-5ajgW4FbHIwjBEKF7VkqpTMp_Lk-nAEO4YHgGXprgMuBffhcLpxE_VWzRMZm5xOx31tnJ-HK6q6MDVSqWwjKakjNJ0H1nRumXJNlLUAz4qKJHBDXA5ZvfFuIZeP0csuLp2Yg6MIc/s1600/sp6+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhp2U-5ajgW4FbHIwjBEKF7VkqpTMp_Lk-nAEO4YHgGXprgMuBffhcLpxE_VWzRMZm5xOx31tnJ-HK6q6MDVSqWwjKakjNJ0H1nRumXJNlLUAz4qKJHBDXA5ZvfFuIZeP0csuLp2Yg6MIc/s400/sp6+24.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Endstop</b><br />
<br />
They stopped at the top<br />
<br />
There was bush<br />
and in the distance dents<br />
where the sea came in<br />
<br />
She said:<br />
you should have listened to me<br />
you are a fool<br />
<br />
Now we don’t know where we are<br />
<br />
What sort of a holiday is this<br />
we should have gone north<br />
like I said<br />
<br />
He got out of the car<br />
and walked into the hills<br />
<br />
She waited<br />
<br />
Then fear came<br />
an infection into every part<br />
depopulating sense<br />
<br />
Time stopped<br />
the wind dropped<br />
a dark bird hung in the air<br />
<br />
There was no resolution to anything<br />
<br />
At the end of the day<br />
she went to the police<br />
<br />
The bird was with her for years<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[20/12/02]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1g9Pe4eM7c1o4x60uL_4U-fbed_IHE_YV3VFq2C1QJ2jajs0uAKBJj6ma8aue71mlzFkK5gXSfvv6V5AsDDbxtUADoWKB0lpePqalVJhM9giHpTOJcpMw-bF2Q-zvpBbydOwj6FV50ao/s1600/sp6+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1g9Pe4eM7c1o4x60uL_4U-fbed_IHE_YV3VFq2C1QJ2jajs0uAKBJj6ma8aue71mlzFkK5gXSfvv6V5AsDDbxtUADoWKB0lpePqalVJhM9giHpTOJcpMw-bF2Q-zvpBbydOwj6FV50ao/s400/sp6+25.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Posterity</b><br />
<br />
There’s not much to want –<br />
<br />
four building sections<br />
a house at the end of a winding road<br />
a garage in the bush<br />
a woodshed<br />
a loo on a rock<br />
and a red truck<br />
<br />
My children won’t want to live here<br />
it’s an undesirable inheritance<br />
<br />
Let it go<br />
to the misbegotten<br />
conceived by all that pleasured me most –<br />
my self-will, lust, self-love<br />
remorseless intent to tower<br />
and my dishonesty<br />
<br />
All these are voracious still<br />
and themselves have spawned<br />
<br />
They will take all<br />
<br />
They consume me<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[20/12/02]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RMHy4d-QmuXQnoR9yescu9bSdNftR_nq23YKhn0DWAg0pczNYojmHbw6B_pXJV8otUDdTHlHuY8wadUysqWAmhwoji4ISUEcvtKEmsSBNf45AsIL7pzfrBWmZq1itjivXwsCUqswnow/s1600/sp6+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6RMHy4d-QmuXQnoR9yescu9bSdNftR_nq23YKhn0DWAg0pczNYojmHbw6B_pXJV8otUDdTHlHuY8wadUysqWAmhwoji4ISUEcvtKEmsSBNf45AsIL7pzfrBWmZq1itjivXwsCUqswnow/s400/sp6+26.jpg" width="207" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Pit-Ponies’ Picnic</b><br />
<br />
Once a year<br />
at Christmas<br />
we took them to the sea,<br />
Little Jimmy, Nugget, Borzoi,<br />
and the others.<br />
<br />
We like riding them into the waves,<br />
which are horses themselves,<br />
white horses,<br />
and are their company <br />
for a time.<br />
<br />
We do this to remind them<br />
that there’s a world,<br />
that they’re made clean and free in it,<br />
like us.<br />
<br />
Then we let them roll in the grass;<br />
we groom them,<br />
for their comfort,<br />
give them an apple,<br />
and take them back to the mine.<br />
<br />
We<br />
change into our work clothes,<br />
back at the mine.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[1/7/03]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcquJGcW6_72Zr5mcAXzT6Tq0plAriIHyjYNBnIbvv9iqx_ZCFHJCjlzeW1DAH3y9g3rOIC4mUijhhX5Itg7Gw8-Mgd-oM_DgYWyjrTL4oIGzQEyfA04vXvXBS3555uvkDM7plCc-3TSk/s1600/sp6+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcquJGcW6_72Zr5mcAXzT6Tq0plAriIHyjYNBnIbvv9iqx_ZCFHJCjlzeW1DAH3y9g3rOIC4mUijhhX5Itg7Gw8-Mgd-oM_DgYWyjrTL4oIGzQEyfA04vXvXBS3555uvkDM7plCc-3TSk/s400/sp6+27.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Swing-Bridge</b><br />
<br />
On one side there’s my house<br />
and on the other her’s<br />
<br />
The bridge is strongly tied –<br />
on her side into rock<br />
on mine to the macrocarpas<br />
which are anchor enough<br />
though perishable<br />
<br />
There’s no use shouting<br />
as the river takes the sound away<br />
so I throw stones<br />
on her roof<br />
<br />
and she comes stumbling across<br />
or I to her<br />
whoever is most mobile<br />
least anchored in the house<br />
at the time<br />
<br />
across the river<br />
which divides us<br />
<br />
We’ve never felt secure on the bridge<br />
and dread the chasm under<br />
<br />
It’s our houses <br />
that are sound<br />
<br />
Though she’s safe<br />
perfectly safe<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[1/7/03]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GyDQEQePeFAOV-b6ogPso2NwzG3u_LcJgGiOvJlwGZ04yKxhXhruMNTx7jmRk_F0lxw8O48aWoDO5ApNQnOjASndoMYz21cLTjpZj20L6Ni8otFXWMCsiLtwPyeyqn5mmjHUg-Wx5IM/s1600/sp6+28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8GyDQEQePeFAOV-b6ogPso2NwzG3u_LcJgGiOvJlwGZ04yKxhXhruMNTx7jmRk_F0lxw8O48aWoDO5ApNQnOjASndoMYz21cLTjpZj20L6Ni8otFXWMCsiLtwPyeyqn5mmjHUg-Wx5IM/s400/sp6+28.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Night Shelter</b><br />
<br />
On Monday<br />
they came<br />
<br />
chivvied by the cold<br />
<br />
finding the house in bed<br />
they took possession<br />
<br />
The fires glowed<br />
they warmed themselves<br />
the cold was on the outer now<br />
<br />
Then they made a ruckus<br />
<br />
They took the lid off the biscuit tin<br />
by prising<br />
with their sniffing noses<br />
<br />
They tipped it<br />
and ate the vanilla wines<br />
<br />
and half an apple<br />
<br />
and the flower off the bromeliad<br />
<br />
and the cloth the whiskey stood on<br />
<br />
then nested in the serviettes<br />
with scraps of biscuit<br />
bits of fruit<br />
and shreds of liquored linen<br />
<br />
They toppled a vase<br />
and shat on the floor<br />
<br />
then slept<br />
as any squatter might<br />
to dream of a warm well-fed squalor<br />
for ever<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[28/8/03]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-XVtv7LH1SgY0G2KaeYBv24RvZ_dhaQuu6na0i7FU4szsiu9zm_WVSplCBVzoHf3QsVTzwNTdBp7icLvQ0CPfS0_eS10cSDIXiil6l7Sa-XECOvZmPZ55EopAJHEdqq827FliGKqX1c/s1600/sp6+29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhC-XVtv7LH1SgY0G2KaeYBv24RvZ_dhaQuu6na0i7FU4szsiu9zm_WVSplCBVzoHf3QsVTzwNTdBp7icLvQ0CPfS0_eS10cSDIXiil6l7Sa-XECOvZmPZ55EopAJHEdqq827FliGKqX1c/s400/sp6+29.jpg" width="152" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>(Proust Says)</b><br />
<br />
that men who are good home-makers<br />
are gay at heart<br />
<br />
which disturbs me in my proudest <br />
parts<br />
and for a moment <br />
I feel odd<br />
<br />
that I have some pictures<br />
hanging<br />
that I paint the skirting<br />
mauve<br />
and go in for mats<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">old books</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">bohemian bowls</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and musicals –</span><br />
these erode the sediments of my sex<br />
<br />
I stand from my props<br />
and lose confidence<br />
my chain-saw turns ambiguous<br />
my landrover coy<br />
jeans and jacket cover-up<br />
my beard goes camouflage<br />
<br />
I’ll play safe<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and rough it for a bit</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">wear boots</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and fell a few trees</span><br />
I’ll go to a meeting and assert myself<br />
chat up a woman or two<br />
shoot a beast<br />
and hang it in the back porch<br />
to bleed<br />
<br />
not that it matters<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">not really, I know</span><br />
but a bloke can’t be too careful<br />
on this block<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[12/9/03]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5q_ZSEpJy4C3kryNXRRaDEB4OtZeHkyVfF5lP6x7w9h1rZujHOFRC36l4eHZWhBJUcDauSgzk2xDH-iGjfxW2tyP7_Bjk96GKHwxVn5uXnxU-ox7D1dcE7mTU9Pgp0JVTamkBt5YeTjE/s1600/sp6+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5q_ZSEpJy4C3kryNXRRaDEB4OtZeHkyVfF5lP6x7w9h1rZujHOFRC36l4eHZWhBJUcDauSgzk2xDH-iGjfxW2tyP7_Bjk96GKHwxVn5uXnxU-ox7D1dcE7mTU9Pgp0JVTamkBt5YeTjE/s400/sp6+30.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>I Like It When The Sun Doesn’t Shine</b><br />
<br />
To love a place unworthy of love<br />
in July<br />
<br />
When it rains and the lightning strikes<br />
in fog<br />
<br />
in cold and wet the mud is cold wood wet<br />
<br />
<br />
This is the road that curls between the houses<br />
to the moors that brown the water<br />
These are the people that smoke themselves to sleep<br />
They only talk when the sun comes out they walk<br />
<br />
This is the bush that grows around the houses<br />
Where once was rock there’s rubbish of a century<br />
composting plastics bits of glass car and clothing scraps almost organic<br />
<br />
Here is the fire in this dead calm it smokes<br />
<br />
Here’s the car it must be towed it’s saturated<br />
<br />
The tap that dribbles now it’s full of grit the filter’s fucked<br />
<br />
The house my house with grey mould in the cupboard<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the blanket’s blotched</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the window gone last storm</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">you can’t cross the creek</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">there’s rock on the road</span><br />
Then the sun comes out<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">- it glows it grows it steams it dries –</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">[turn it off!</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">there’s a switch somewhere –</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">some little icon</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">to be touched by a mouse]</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[12/9/03]<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://jacket2.org/poems/poems-leicester-kyle">Jacket2</a>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGlBZNe_nw59pUHF6t39mmloqCbJ8jmLWgInFX7T4dY5HvRxxy7IJz85GxWO4JLkNM0Dzyh7X585eh8KH-AEhUzeYqvS5hajHuLOdrKCrAssYZ8GzdoT7zpNIbw5IRluqr7zarH81weI/s1600/sp6+31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvGlBZNe_nw59pUHF6t39mmloqCbJ8jmLWgInFX7T4dY5HvRxxy7IJz85GxWO4JLkNM0Dzyh7X585eh8KH-AEhUzeYqvS5hajHuLOdrKCrAssYZ8GzdoT7zpNIbw5IRluqr7zarH81weI/s400/sp6+31.jpg" width="246" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_velkxzQk9nfDaS_oMCMovi5InZoI-lvQnkHXB9QYoaCpa3Rvpw8UVqD1EHQeYzIuG-ptPfC_42wqJlCxiaOcor22iDVJEccuQFZHojpLGr3_gPdonpfYGiOO7Gb4Ke7q1BkvfqP3er4/s1600/sp6+32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_velkxzQk9nfDaS_oMCMovi5InZoI-lvQnkHXB9QYoaCpa3Rvpw8UVqD1EHQeYzIuG-ptPfC_42wqJlCxiaOcor22iDVJEccuQFZHojpLGr3_gPdonpfYGiOO7Gb4Ke7q1BkvfqP3er4/s400/sp6+32.jpg" width="229" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGg4Mk7IVIRkGFbkZcLPBY3e-vYEroGh1Gi7Rsg0KdJhIIngGUaDWwri66T28DtBm6AeTsiUlxFDe9Dkv6boQcyEz9BFOzlbvy5f_EEvl6l81Thu3R20XQpRXZ2qwVFCGC41e-LQ7zq9Q/s1600/sp6+33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGg4Mk7IVIRkGFbkZcLPBY3e-vYEroGh1Gi7Rsg0KdJhIIngGUaDWwri66T28DtBm6AeTsiUlxFDe9Dkv6boQcyEz9BFOzlbvy5f_EEvl6l81Thu3R20XQpRXZ2qwVFCGC41e-LQ7zq9Q/s400/sp6+33.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;"><b>Happy Valley</b></span><br />
<i>A Lament for a landscape about<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to be mined</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>“The connectivity of the area will be disrupted by the presence of the mine, but will be restored across the two pits as the area revegetates. Overall the present vegetation has a high degree of naturalness. Those areas that are to be mined and rehabilitated will lose their naturalness for a long period of time.”</i><br />
<br />
We stand on the divide.<br />
Two catchments –<br />
one to the north,<br />
the other to the south.<br />
<br />
The red marker is the edge of the road.<br />
Here is where the pit will be.<br />
A third of the valley will remain,<br />
and the tussock.<br />
<br />
The pond won’t be filled<br />
but the larger, over the rise,<br />
will make way for the road.<br />
<br />
<i>“The Happy Valley landscape character area is in a natural and unmodified state. It is well-defined visually, and appears as a distinctive sub-unit within the wider plateau landscape. It has a high natural character, amenity and intrinsic values.”</i><br />
<br />
They have an eye for a suitable place.<br />
Once they would have built an abbey here,<br />
now they dig a pit for coal.<br />
They did it to valleys in Wales<br />
and in Yorkshire where<br />
they fouled the waters of the River Aire<br />
at Castleford.<br />
<br />
But that was in the old world.<br />
This has just begun;<br />
it’s too innocent for spoiling.<br />
There’s nothing here that knows it can happen.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Rock and river</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">leaves and sun</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">have work to do</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and only know to do it.</span><br />
There are the birds –<br />
they have no song for apocalypse.<br />
Ask any questions of them<br />
and silence is their silencing reply.<br />
<br />
<i>“The ability to replace soils and restore a topographic profile similar to what is present now, will aid in re-establishing the naturalness of this area.”</i><br />
<br />
An older world would read the signs,<br />
and reply with adventitious weeds<br />
drought disrupted drainage dust<br />
slips smells faults and<br />
protected archeological sites,<br />
but here?<br />
It’s remote,<br />
no sounds of pain will carry<br />
to call help.<br />
<br />
Perhaps it has a tutelary soul.<br />
The glades of Greece had nymphs,<br />
yet they’re now desert;<br />
English woods had fairies,<br />
and they’re gone;<br />
Ireland too –<br />
there’s only remnant left.<br />
Is there something here that’s real<br />
for defence?<br />
<br />
Ask it,<br />
ask this place<br />
this suitable place,<br />
ask the species –<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the 23 birds</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">3 lizards</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">snails and invertebrates</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">1 bat</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">all the insects</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">rats opossums hares</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">koura</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the 80 dicot trees and shrubs</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">72 dicot herbs</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">29 sedges and rushes</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">10 grasses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">8 orchids</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">10 other monocots</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">the 23 ferns</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">14 mosses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">13 lichens</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and 28 liverworts</span><br />
<br />
<i>“Even 50% remaining is well above the threshold considered desirable for the conservation of biodiversity within an ecological district”.</i><br />
<br />
Ask today,<br />
while the sun shines;<br />
be quiet,<br />
and you will hear in silence:<br />
<br />
the weta and the gecko,<br />
all the birds, the leaves,<br />
the sky-blue orchid by the creek<br />
say:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>‘We go with you to destruction,</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">but the seed of life remains.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">You demand coherence,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Time is our defence.’</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/10/03]<br />
<br />
(<a href="http://jacket2.org/poems/poems-leicester-kyle">Jacket2</a>)</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-6-1999-2004.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeF3AYX4u5OXLqrX0dFXeDtXQyxvFBMHzFIZxgqAwhMUB5zxe32B72wUonOe38VasJjR_SNYmIxtxWn0JQTUw65XFxQbeQIVxqFR2XEF9c9Kv75yho9_Wyqv4u7fTUqUcNPR-4K_ALzQ/s1600/sp6+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKeF3AYX4u5OXLqrX0dFXeDtXQyxvFBMHzFIZxgqAwhMUB5zxe32B72wUonOe38VasJjR_SNYmIxtxWn0JQTUw65XFxQbeQIVxqFR2XEF9c9Kv75yho9_Wyqv4u7fTUqUcNPR-4K_ALzQ/s400/sp6+34.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>In High Fog</b><br />
<br />
This world swirls<br />
in high fog<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">white</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">outside</span><br />
pressing close<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">not lifting</span><br />
<br />
another world is there<br />
silent, swirling<br />
in the fog<br />
<br />
it makes the wind<br />
feels<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">searches</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">clouds</span><br />
outside the house<br />
around<br />
<br />
the day<br />
to end<br />
in high fog<br />
which<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">as it lifts</span><br />
dark below<br />
and foaming<br />
<br />
the other world is <i>there</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[20/1/04]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-19353091712330785802012-01-06T07:42:00.007+13:002017-11-26T10:56:01.801+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 5 (1998-1999)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s1600/Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5591520396857632402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ZJkyzwEK2BIx-vVNwhdWRi-fYSFfhWhtUU7GHSmoQ9O97VXwkGQEjV96pBtqLlx5qP36k_f2obg-RpdrjxHh9Dq86k2p15bZNNUU5fWwKUQWgrFAg9u4DJSf5prBGiPZCnOU1tC22YA/s400/Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/01/book-twenty-six.html">Shorter Poems: 5</a></span></b><br />
(1998-1999)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">Surf</a> [3/6/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">I saw the soul</a> ... [3/6/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">An Incomplete List</a> [3/6/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Over The Hill</a> [3/6/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">An Answer to the Last Thing</a> [17/7/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Burnett’s Face</a> [17/7/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Metrosideros</a> [17/7/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Home Thoughts by a Rough Sea</a> [18/7/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Sunday Morning at Millerton</a> [19/7/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">My Home</a> [20/8/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">Water Lines</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">Driftwood</a> [20/9/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">Dear Judy</a> [21/10/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">Cursor in a Tangled Field</a> [23/10/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">As In Burden Bound</a> [27/11/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Marlowe Overwritten</a> [3/12/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">An Argument With Houses</a> [22/1/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">Below the Fall</a> [23/3/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">Life on the Flatlands</a> [23/3/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">New Year at Millerton</a> [28/4/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">Whistler’s Mother</a> [21/5/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">Local Resources</a> [3/6/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">The Call</a> [3/6/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">The Bones of an Arse</a> [13/7/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">A Rule</a> [16/7/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">Puzzle Poem</a> [16/7/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">My Coughing Cat</a> [Sept ’99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">From ----, With Love</a> [Sept ’99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">My New Flower</a> [21/10/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">The Buried Village</a> [21/10/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">It’s a stubborn day</a> ... [2/12/99]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">“The River Sluices with Many Voices”</a> [2/12/99]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwX0EpNpf7ABJv4CXCSGCx9z3qXibZLWrAsHD1ry2f6at9-Vvjs4ZcPGMqCYe8sKzI_x149QNeaL4hvaYoSCjUM1EG67mu25sfw9o3KhIMazz9-lGxV9PcfxHZpPBFxT8OC_wl_IUQpcQ/s1600/sp5+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwX0EpNpf7ABJv4CXCSGCx9z3qXibZLWrAsHD1ry2f6at9-Vvjs4ZcPGMqCYe8sKzI_x149QNeaL4hvaYoSCjUM1EG67mu25sfw9o3KhIMazz9-lGxV9PcfxHZpPBFxT8OC_wl_IUQpcQ/s400/sp5+01.jpg" width="174" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Surf</b><br />
<br />
The world’s a wave<br />
of something<br />
that smells of fern<br />
<br />
The bush<br />
like rain<br />
on the hill drenching<br />
you out of my life<br />
soaking up my love for you<br />
washing clean<br />
for you<br />
<br />
Dark the sea the sand the bush<br />
breaking on an alpine line<br />
not crossed by tree nor grass<br />
<br />
you can hear –<br />
the two tides<br />
two seas<br />
in the peaks roaring<br />
on the shores <br />
rippling<br />
<br />
down the hill<br />
closing<br />
<br />
to drown us<br />
in lodes of molten ore<br />
<br />
like at the beginning<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdbsuJU9l-mXKoy2K0RT_c6w28TGy3ySin4V7fwturyvHsMOxm0t5AKfxXsqJK_HGlWs6LrujB_bmzdfhmKFO0MqYZfP8LRlhhs2Wd_QKRuzIDz1l9VesKWCCwA1GFrMsZJfpfj6Ir0E/s1600/sp5+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzdbsuJU9l-mXKoy2K0RT_c6w28TGy3ySin4V7fwturyvHsMOxm0t5AKfxXsqJK_HGlWs6LrujB_bmzdfhmKFO0MqYZfP8LRlhhs2Wd_QKRuzIDz1l9VesKWCCwA1GFrMsZJfpfj6Ir0E/s400/sp5+02.jpg" width="312" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I saw the soul<br />
come out of her mouth<br />
<br />
and hover<br />
like a moth<br />
<br />
then fly along the contour<br />
of her body<br />
<br />
pausing at each notable part<br />
<br />
as I have done<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iF2P9Z29fMAIDFWyxvaaSeQrhQWItM8wpMN-biO9LHysqD2X3x9tBfLylaAkUltEgr9Rii87tvbE1t_j7e8OwxoMorwtOQ0S50QjbEY8eln6EdJKtWrmtvMxjPeXY1sd-S4gyB7r1kw/s1600/sp5+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4iF2P9Z29fMAIDFWyxvaaSeQrhQWItM8wpMN-biO9LHysqD2X3x9tBfLylaAkUltEgr9Rii87tvbE1t_j7e8OwxoMorwtOQ0S50QjbEY8eln6EdJKtWrmtvMxjPeXY1sd-S4gyB7r1kw/s400/sp5+03.jpg" width="274" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>An Incomplete List</b></blockquote>
<br />
In this cloister of rock and ruin iron, remember<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Thomas Mitchell</i> 24. Struck by a runaway truck when running</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Joseph Kennedy</i> 17. Jammed by loaded trucks at mine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Edward Quinlan</i> 34. Fall of coal from face in mine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>George Rennie</i> 62. Fell from coal bin 26 feet</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>James McRae</i> 43. Run over by tubs of coal</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>John Brown</i> 54. Trimming top coal after shot</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Michael Forde</i> 33. Killed by gas on inspection after fire</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>James Berry</i> 37. Killed by coal from pillar edge</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>James Bell</i> 28. Drowned in flood from drainage box</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Robert McKinley</i> 46. Fall of coal on trucking road</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>William Pearson</i> 51. Killed by gas on inspection after fire</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>John Middleton</i> 46. Side of bin gave way in stope</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Joseph Hopkinson</i> 69. Debris fall in Old Dip mine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>James Cowan</i> 43. Killed by gas on inspection after fire</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>William Lowden</i> 41. Killed by gas in Old Dip mine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Richard Smith</i> 53. Crushed by fall of rock from road</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>William Maher</i> 46. Killed by gas on inspection after fire</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Francis Nelson</i> 46. Broken back from fall of coal</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>James Campbell</i> 25. Struck by runaway truck on jig</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Each in sight of the sea.</span><br />
<br />
Death leaps from sandstone ledges,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">grief to the home.</span><br />
<br />
The press of time makes stone of them.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;"><i>at the bathhouse, Millerton Mine</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/98]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4KY3ZGhZ6iB46GiuwV-tYnTg2d_q33c5SfJFO6pXfC0KUTaiRRDT4w7Fa9ocImOyiNMl7mzNgIGy_4qgrwDTSK692Qu06HJWdsvCq2izGmeGurzlRupHZj5D7AaG55Uzwu8RSnJOT7M/s1600/sp5+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgo4KY3ZGhZ6iB46GiuwV-tYnTg2d_q33c5SfJFO6pXfC0KUTaiRRDT4w7Fa9ocImOyiNMl7mzNgIGy_4qgrwDTSK692Qu06HJWdsvCq2izGmeGurzlRupHZj5D7AaG55Uzwu8RSnJOT7M/s400/sp5+04.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Over The Hill</b><br />
<br />
In the west<br />
are longer days<br />
full beyond appointment<br />
<br />
The sun goes<br />
its routine<br />
until the last<br />
<br />
Then makes a pose<br />
<br />
A rose-red glow<br />
behind an outrider of rain<br />
<br />
A pillar of itself<br />
announced on a frontal sky<br />
<br />
One long last light<br />
for a path<br />
<br />
One cloud<br />
alight in the dusk<br />
<br />
Then a quick green blink<br />
<br />
Into a mica sea<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiArqTLdEQpK17UVQAxL39WypPnLHAURHyIjfU6Mi-ywwDdjdrBfygDEoo7koGEKMxZ_R5SsFygJek5I8svAxMvOIGIBY6BCK2aILYnt8p9czta3N9pSLZdBYt9wtOyDttzXIxZZ0KfqkQ/s1600/sp5+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiArqTLdEQpK17UVQAxL39WypPnLHAURHyIjfU6Mi-ywwDdjdrBfygDEoo7koGEKMxZ_R5SsFygJek5I8svAxMvOIGIBY6BCK2aILYnt8p9czta3N9pSLZdBYt9wtOyDttzXIxZZ0KfqkQ/s400/sp5+05.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>An Answer to the Last Thing</b><br />
<br />
You are to be<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">abandoned</span><br />
left<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in your own garden so</span><br />
plan<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">now</span><br />
arrange<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the commensurates</span><br />
and sit<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in the herbal patch</span><br />
embalm your mind in fragrance<br />
essences<br />
and oil of dill<br />
so when at last you are received<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">you</span><br />
<br />
Pray for a still hot day<br />
with hedges round<br />
for the spice<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and privacy</span><br />
then tuck the leaves in every cleft<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and orifice</span><br />
thyme and sage<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and parsley for the elves</span><br />
fennel for fear (in case)<br />
and fern-seed for the vision<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">you will need</span><br />
and dill<br />
<br />
Breath deep<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">controlledly</span><br />
then let the soothing tinctures go their rounds<br />
<br />
waft in<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">waft out</span><br />
that when at last you are received<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">you will</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/7/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63bt7BcG5RpvrsUC2OfG_cMbhttQ31RISynsajgC0Ij34ddhQ_nh7hJn2hPVUL1DONNtqpXfHqFWkkKz8uxRjztt5qIipDWVx3ybJv7ANbmKWViytZtbbMM55-xGCuTD3rBAKieOX9JU/s1600/sp5+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi63bt7BcG5RpvrsUC2OfG_cMbhttQ31RISynsajgC0Ij34ddhQ_nh7hJn2hPVUL1DONNtqpXfHqFWkkKz8uxRjztt5qIipDWVx3ybJv7ANbmKWViytZtbbMM55-xGCuTD3rBAKieOX9JU/s400/sp5+06.jpg" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Burnett’s Face</b><br />
<br />
For all the truth of the place<br />
I come here<br />
again and again<br />
<br />
It’s the rocks<br />
I think<br />
<br />
They defy<br />
all I stand for<br />
and like<br />
<br />
Eternal things<br />
that erode<br />
<br />
The immutable<br />
that crumbles into quartz sand<br />
<br />
layer upon layer<br />
<br />
Old vegetation<br />
twisted in the mist<br />
<br />
Moss gardens<br />
in the snow that grow<br />
<br />
Blue orchids<br />
for a new year<br />
<br />
unlike the others <br />
that have passed me<br />
<br />
unworthy<br />
as the time they took<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/7/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfJoU6OC0XhBKUnXJL76Qrv_uFZ2347tyEqiMPdwo0Uo_qfWhE964Yu30uMSKBn2mjDVSAHpU80h7GE5EvE2asbxCHXpOYWCzyP6T2AghCTFeGOkUuoE5vO4TXqSficTVGov8VtUEv4A/s1600/sp5+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYfJoU6OC0XhBKUnXJL76Qrv_uFZ2347tyEqiMPdwo0Uo_qfWhE964Yu30uMSKBn2mjDVSAHpU80h7GE5EvE2asbxCHXpOYWCzyP6T2AghCTFeGOkUuoE5vO4TXqSficTVGov8VtUEv4A/s400/sp5+07.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Metrosideros</b><br />
<br />
the rata down by the creek<br />
flowers in winter<br />
<br />
orange-red not<br />
the dark blood of summer<br />
<br />
it lets down roots<br />
that hang<br />
<br />
and reach<br />
but never touch<br />
<br />
it roots for air<br />
as one does for love<br />
<br />
and finds it cold<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/7/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCca5NBmOu4p4ic5oRH1RUGTHBA62ziOq_z_2CIgtOU429HbSBJlXkgPAHsLb79ViPLLGmW9RQGY43cKY_-9ng7eSWjsyFEHlfe63lCP1izbgZ_lWIWaYwjor0Nft5beg3Tlogx717Oo/s1600/sp5+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOCca5NBmOu4p4ic5oRH1RUGTHBA62ziOq_z_2CIgtOU429HbSBJlXkgPAHsLb79ViPLLGmW9RQGY43cKY_-9ng7eSWjsyFEHlfe63lCP1izbgZ_lWIWaYwjor0Nft5beg3Tlogx717Oo/s400/sp5+08.jpg" width="318" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Home Thoughts by a Rough Sea</b><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">for Nick, at Nikau</span><br />
<br />
There were a lot of good sounds around this morning<br />
so I sat here<br />
and let you drift in my head<br />
<br />
Speech isn’t necessary<br />
each roller says a different thing<br />
<br />
It’s in the affect<br />
the way you approach<br />
the angle you take the incline<br />
of one song against another<br />
and what survives<br />
<br />
And what you take when you go again<br />
<br />
I thought of you all<br />
loving. So forgot<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[18/7/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbyM9hF7g4gcgIMGgZQngi30WeJUSy4Pk7d3vS5aPlu7Jffm9zuaQWLxF-idt6OweWP9l5cHLvnWho52INGn-kyle5QD8cgg1CCXP73w6mTpJ7bPXJEAjjGIvYPAiNKv2jxBWx7vKo-g/s1600/sp5+09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNbyM9hF7g4gcgIMGgZQngi30WeJUSy4Pk7d3vS5aPlu7Jffm9zuaQWLxF-idt6OweWP9l5cHLvnWho52INGn-kyle5QD8cgg1CCXP73w6mTpJ7bPXJEAjjGIvYPAiNKv2jxBWx7vKo-g/s400/sp5+09.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Sunday Morning At Millerton</b><br />
<br />
When we get a quiet day<br />
we usually want to kill it<br />
with a mechanised domestic chore<br />
<br />
Today we’re on the verandah drinking coffee<br />
and not talking<br />
for some reason of the time<br />
<br />
like birdsong<br />
or the general sense<br />
that spring is about to jump<br />
and take our breath away<br />
<br />
Martha’s practising down at the creek<br />
but you can hardly hear her<br />
(bagpipes suit a noisy river)<br />
<br />
And the boys aren’t hooning at the depot<br />
(or is it their sons?<br />
I can’t tell the difference<br />
when they’re on their bikes)<br />
<br />
There’s nothing on the road<br />
<br />
There isn’t any wind<br />
<br />
The cat’s asleep<br />
<br />
and thoughts are going<br />
through my mind<br />
I haven’t let in till now<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[19/7/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzARa7XeFMfGAeESEiwRzs2pCh3d1Q1Fp-rmTZ7C1ZIaKZxhVXrx5uRlrmxLZY-pDarm5iA3V94RjJLyWjDaVm_oUPKol4jQ5ujjXp8OJf7iziyftfhljYLUU0j5dysjXZn2Z45A2QUpQ/s1600/sp5+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzARa7XeFMfGAeESEiwRzs2pCh3d1Q1Fp-rmTZ7C1ZIaKZxhVXrx5uRlrmxLZY-pDarm5iA3V94RjJLyWjDaVm_oUPKol4jQ5ujjXp8OJf7iziyftfhljYLUU0j5dysjXZn2Z45A2QUpQ/s400/sp5+10.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My Home</b><br />
<br />
Like life in the Caucasus it is<br />
like life<br />
with lots of wild people all around<br />
working theirselves up in a frenzy<br />
smoking hash<br />
and living in the bush in huts<br />
on orchid roots and greens<br />
<br />
and other gotten gains<br />
<br />
It’s marked<br />
on the map<br />
with a little bunch of weed<br />
to show there are<br />
thousands and thousands of dollars<br />
tied up here<br />
<br />
Though no-one knows<br />
down which mine shaft<br />
the loot is put<br />
<br />
Watch is kept <br />
from the six main peaks<br />
and there are dogs on the moors<br />
with phosphorous round their eyes<br />
at night<br />
<br />
In case blue devils<br />
with their swords of wrath<br />
sweep down<br />
and take what’s lost.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[20/8/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGPM9oJzd6Hy0Va2R5RxNB2BSm7oJITLVW0EMsTcUz3YY3ILRKv-jF9LaLiO4ns6CsYQO5-pLduNvbHsFpn5E2BoBmWTruErlfgv4tSczF6Hkjs8h5n4L5olWqm67X81A785F6ze-D2s/s1600/sp5+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRGPM9oJzd6Hy0Va2R5RxNB2BSm7oJITLVW0EMsTcUz3YY3ILRKv-jF9LaLiO4ns6CsYQO5-pLduNvbHsFpn5E2BoBmWTruErlfgv4tSczF6Hkjs8h5n4L5olWqm67X81A785F6ze-D2s/s400/sp5+11.jpg" width="124" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHNzM8fr6rd2mZKX5SHu19sNt-DFPIeYuvzpYrbg_K6av6TMzxZu-nr7xgW9ryTWnBQhvbliqnSai34Faogqlk6VFFVHw7YQZy2ov-xYGDDuzTr7gn7XqYGGNGQMgFaGDj5Z2uEHDYog/s1600/sp5+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZHNzM8fr6rd2mZKX5SHu19sNt-DFPIeYuvzpYrbg_K6av6TMzxZu-nr7xgW9ryTWnBQhvbliqnSai34Faogqlk6VFFVHw7YQZy2ov-xYGDDuzTr7gn7XqYGGNGQMgFaGDj5Z2uEHDYog/s400/sp5+12.jpg" width="154" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zwmIgS7RbOpmS8JRou-KQ3HIKuujv4xXPo1kV1oQITgErmmCFiUPSG_v34Z5e56YDb1fpnjR7Yjmeaf0ETeBSH9ca5P7n9SPoXS5t-I9XHlh_c6EFUJmV2mGNYuz-ZPhHCSG2rtRM_M/s1600/sp5+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zwmIgS7RbOpmS8JRou-KQ3HIKuujv4xXPo1kV1oQITgErmmCFiUPSG_v34Z5e56YDb1fpnjR7Yjmeaf0ETeBSH9ca5P7n9SPoXS5t-I9XHlh_c6EFUJmV2mGNYuz-ZPhHCSG2rtRM_M/s400/sp5+13.jpg" width="222" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Water Lines</b><br />
<br />
The pond’s not enough<br />
for the houses it supplies<br />
and seems about to dry up<br />
<br />
the intake sucks air<br />
and yellow grains<br />
washed from the sandstone<br />
bones of the hill<br />
<br />
That poke up through<br />
the white Epacris heath<br />
and manuka<br />
<br />
And the ribs of burnt bush<br />
young lancewoods, tussock,<br />
sedges, other scraps now<br />
<br />
Settling in to hold the<br />
place together once again<br />
the water in the soil<br />
<br />
It’s nearly spring<br />
<br />
Bright orchid leaves<br />
are pushing through<br />
<br />
It’s set to go<br />
<br />
<br />
Winter floods have<br />
knocked the tank askew<br />
it spills out cracks<br />
<br />
And tilting leaks<br />
around the outlet<br />
is about to fall apart<br />
<br />
But still gives pressure<br />
to the fall in the black<br />
alkathene pipe<br />
<br />
Which we pursue<br />
for leaks and cracks<br />
and other degradations<br />
<br />
For sediment in dips<br />
where the pipe is slung<br />
like a rope between<br />
<br />
Crevasses rocks dead<br />
trees<br />
<br />
Waterfalls at cliffs<br />
<br />
Those obstacles that mountains put<br />
in the way of a straight line<br />
<br />
That make a creek meander<br />
<br />
<br />
We open a join<br />
to let the dirt wash out<br />
and small prawns<br />
<br />
(that live here<br />
and might come out a tap)<br />
<br />
We knock those parts<br />
that can’t be freed<br />
or loosed<br />
<br />
And glance <br />
in the bog pools<br />
of beer brown tea<br />
<br />
In a northern land<br />
a body might have lain<br />
here for an epoch<br />
<br />
Preserved with paraphernalia<br />
for second millennial eyes<br />
<br />
And ownership<br />
<br />
But we look into something fresh<br />
<br />
Doubtful at the thought<br />
<br />
And not surprised<br />
at the reluctance of the supply<br />
to conform<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGh9lUYVbHkBIw02mQIpugR3y5NqhjPqfRy89IIPgTcK5t7iPKE8Vf2o1uqJx7M4KZANINoIBJULoyNP6jAvLysI8hkDhTqYAq4SwiFtU8Bg65LZYbx9TgXqa2IdN0LUSlQVp7Uc_7xEQ/s1600/sp5+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGh9lUYVbHkBIw02mQIpugR3y5NqhjPqfRy89IIPgTcK5t7iPKE8Vf2o1uqJx7M4KZANINoIBJULoyNP6jAvLysI8hkDhTqYAq4SwiFtU8Bg65LZYbx9TgXqa2IdN0LUSlQVp7Uc_7xEQ/s400/sp5+14.jpg" width="147" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Driftwood</b><br />
<br />
it comes in orchid-scented logs<br />
pastel shades<br />
<br />
a confection<br />
to carry<br />
to the car<br />
<br />
though still a load<br />
by sack<br />
or lying branches<br />
in my arms<br />
<br />
and by right size<br />
if I do well<br />
for the fire<br />
<br />
no need to trim<br />
to split for drying out<br />
<br />
but right<br />
for burning<br />
<br />
complacent<br />
to the fate<br />
and by vocation warm<br />
<br />
for its dignified<br />
and glowing conclusion<br />
<br />
in my multi-fuel<br />
glass-fronted<br />
burner<br />
<br />
with salts and resins<br />
<br />
and fires<br />
more beautiful<br />
than hell<br />
<br />
than hell<br />
<br />
than Dresden’s architectured dust<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[20/9/98]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgQCrK5irXNh-118OXwi7hfy_Uvr9eDxwyYwSFPdvPbFPw7DNwVdeEAYhe2DeZGyF6v1FmrCRmchNRKtiYgHOM5TLzXFXJNPh2wB1NoK62z5SnbJTbUnFoLSavhWhOq7JuZ8oV761KNs/s1600/sp5+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWgQCrK5irXNh-118OXwi7hfy_Uvr9eDxwyYwSFPdvPbFPw7DNwVdeEAYhe2DeZGyF6v1FmrCRmchNRKtiYgHOM5TLzXFXJNPh2wB1NoK62z5SnbJTbUnFoLSavhWhOq7JuZ8oV761KNs/s400/sp5+15.jpg" width="141" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Dear Judy</b><br />
<br />
Your letter came<br />
like a mare’s-tail sky<br />
with change to summer<br />
<br />
and I will send a poem<br />
<br />
if you’re still there<br />
and not a dream<br />
or someone’s relict<br />
<br />
Here it’s not like there<br />
<br />
Here’s only me<br />
and all this weather<br />
<br />
When it rains there’s mud<br />
and there aren’t many roads<br />
<br />
Lightning burns the fax machine<br />
and windows blow out<br />
<br />
Here’s clematis –<br />
unwound knitting<br />
blown upon the bough<br />
<br />
and lots of leaves –<br />
<br />
I think I’m in love<br />
with all these leaves<br />
<br />
the Others grow cannabis<br />
in the bush<br />
<br />
and the police take it<br />
without asking<br />
<br />
It’s free <br />
like water and air<br />
<br />
but all of us pay<br />
in the end<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/10/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMR1sRbDreO4zmQqwwo3EFohs0pFvVuAJXF9jDh7lvXgUBxvxqzrG9Lqtp2mV2cCdm5aIZ9zsa9FSNG1tbkJ0tz6kWtW3809tKG79UcdhQyYN9XMEN9UKUW2Ii5vt6ZFfBMhP8TL3SL0/s1600/sp5+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMR1sRbDreO4zmQqwwo3EFohs0pFvVuAJXF9jDh7lvXgUBxvxqzrG9Lqtp2mV2cCdm5aIZ9zsa9FSNG1tbkJ0tz6kWtW3809tKG79UcdhQyYN9XMEN9UKUW2Ii5vt6ZFfBMhP8TL3SL0/s400/sp5+16.jpg" width="158" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7Hu1ZgTEiTrs24Cmt648lusfonHh7U_q7pfyPMQcB2ZWRy75QEtzXpIERVefOjpN33wN0rWfLHVbjkhhaxpaGaNvy8TKVze74aynsYBNWtdYmm9X9HJrqz1lM1TA1KuAFFNwjDsatlQ/s1600/sp5+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc7Hu1ZgTEiTrs24Cmt648lusfonHh7U_q7pfyPMQcB2ZWRy75QEtzXpIERVefOjpN33wN0rWfLHVbjkhhaxpaGaNvy8TKVze74aynsYBNWtdYmm9X9HJrqz1lM1TA1KuAFFNwjDsatlQ/s400/sp5+17.jpg" width="338" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Cursor in a Tangled Field</b><br />
<br />
Ooh!<br />
Help!<br />
A lynx<br />
a veritable lynx<br />
the missing lynx<br />
and it’s got rabies<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;"><i>run!</i></span><br />
Into the greenery<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;"><i>run!</i></span><br />
As we’ve been told<br />
by posters and by soldiers<br />
all about<br />
with nets and tranquillising guns<br />
to watch<br />
for the wild thing<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;"><i>run!</i></span><br />
in case<br />
it drop upon my shoulders<br />
from putaweta and the like<br />
and dig in<br />
as lynxes do<br />
in neinei trees<br />
back home<br />
<br />
and I wallow with the weight of it<br />
as people do<br />
back home<br />
<br />
Into the greenery run<br />
an impenetrable width<br />
put stream and fall behind me<br />
put the neighbour with the loud music<br />
slough and outfall<br />
put old kitchen middens<br />
water tanks discarded tyres<br />
put them all into the far past<br />
in case this tabby with the almond eyes<br />
one step ahead one jump behind<br />
catch up<br />
<br />
discard impedimenta throw<br />
my shoes and jacket<br />
into the glow-worm grotto as I pass<br />
<br />
make a trail of lesser things<br />
of socks my tie of gloves<br />
a shirt<br />
of any handbag I might have<br />
to lead the chasers<br />
single file<br />
the papers police and circus men<br />
the vet kaumatua sheltered house<br />
the counsellors and those who go<br />
to tragic places<br />
<br />
Be sure they find me naked<br />
in the dignity of native things<br />
without my fears<br />
<br />
– and faceless<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[23/10/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYDcbaxxvG28eHUuCH5AdB-0yz5iio70sSx69OE7mumepG0Rr0UA_efZH5RdBdIUPtbXF00Qvzmp8VMmqJ_ie-wAfBNxVk4K8_Y_vjI5p0U_f9919Av7zBYBUpJzX3KmWh_9KPI9A6wM/s1600/sp5+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjYDcbaxxvG28eHUuCH5AdB-0yz5iio70sSx69OE7mumepG0Rr0UA_efZH5RdBdIUPtbXF00Qvzmp8VMmqJ_ie-wAfBNxVk4K8_Y_vjI5p0U_f9919Av7zBYBUpJzX3KmWh_9KPI9A6wM/s400/sp5+18.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>As In Burden Bound</b><br />
<br />
The days rise like ‘Fidelio’<br />
with horns from over the hill<br />
and syncope at sea<br />
<br />
Winds in banners blow<br />
of mist and spray<br />
and leaves along the sand<br />
where the birds ride<br />
<br />
And this is just the start of the day –<br />
<br />
What brilliants there must be<br />
strewn along the way<br />
<br />
From six to five<br />
and into dusk<br />
<br />
The comfort of the lamps<br />
you in the house<br />
<br />
The actual act of sleep<br />
<br />
Life is good in fine weather<br />
<br />
Fair enough without<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[27/11/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUa48lLz47eArzqZGcVG_hU6fsRWSUACxPLLEgjv3lihEc6Ne-awFhnbZ7m_yRn1TwLUZa5y8YAX9Se90KTh5S3aOQdhmKpYLK_RgYVFAOBfo5wE3KcM9PbXSMsLphlc0-rGaNAi3RhIc/s1600/sp5+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUa48lLz47eArzqZGcVG_hU6fsRWSUACxPLLEgjv3lihEc6Ne-awFhnbZ7m_yRn1TwLUZa5y8YAX9Se90KTh5S3aOQdhmKpYLK_RgYVFAOBfo5wE3KcM9PbXSMsLphlc0-rGaNAi3RhIc/s400/sp5+19.jpg" width="252" /></a><br />
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<br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyNyZVBzbMT9ncsNgujlPiCsd7pf9HYWf1Q6aApAIPrmqqMJ6GhaDOt_D-jkKiEd6O9qbKqhbBMcdPyyk2TnxZIJJXMEgtJCCmi681yOWHcAye88GeZDzj8v3VAhA2kCPMY4eshcH2kU/s1600/sp5+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNyNyZVBzbMT9ncsNgujlPiCsd7pf9HYWf1Q6aApAIPrmqqMJ6GhaDOt_D-jkKiEd6O9qbKqhbBMcdPyyk2TnxZIJJXMEgtJCCmi681yOWHcAye88GeZDzj8v3VAhA2kCPMY4eshcH2kU/s400/sp5+22.jpg" width="238" /></a><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>MARLOWE OVERWRITTEN</b><br />
<br />
<i>Marlowe has the making of a<br />
great poet; titanic conceptions;<br />
imaginative vision; gift<br />
of style and of making<br />
words sing; and a time<br />
to live in such as no<br />
other generation of<br />
English poets has ever known.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Nature withheld from him</span><br />
the priceless gifts of humour<br />
and the faculty of interpreting<br />
commonplace human<br />
experience. He never knew<br />
the secrets of a woman's<br />
heart, and know of no love<br />
lifted about the level of<br />
sense. he is the rapturous<br />
lyrist of limitless desire.<br />
No tenderness to relieve<br />
his pathos; no female<br />
character in his plays we<br />
remember with interest.<br />
He died in the bright morning<br />
of his fame, having created the<br />
Elizabethan drama. His six<br />
splendid plays greatly in-<br />
fluenced all succeeding English<br />
dramatists, especially Shakes-</i>
<br />
<br />
<b>•</b><br />
<br />
<b>PREFATORY NOTICE</b><br />
<br />
<u>Marlowe stands in the shadow of<br />
Shakespeare</u>; this is surely sufficient<br />
reason for his enrolment with our<br />
glorious few. <u>For his gifts we value<br />
him - for what he possessed rather<br />
than for what he achieved</u>. Too<br />
often he is held up to us as merely<br />
an impulse-giver, a pathfinder, a sort<br />
of poetic engineer, who wildly,<br />
vehemently broke ground which<br />
finer spirits should hereafter make<br />
rich and fair. We are taught to<br />
remember him as the real inventor<br />
of our noblest poetic instrument,<br />
<u>blank verse</u>, as the <u>creator of<br />
English tragedy, as a master whose<br />
manner Shakespeare strove to copy<br />
and surpass</u>. These are in truth<br />
splendid titles, splendid claims to the<br />
<br />
Marlowe's work reflects his life as a<br />
mirror reflects a face: <u>all his life was<br />
swayed by passion; all his dramas<br />
take passion for their theme</u>. Play-<br />
writers before him made types of<br />
the Virtues; he made types of the<br />
Lusts. <u>Each drama exhibits some<br />
overmastering passion, as it grows<br />
and develops</u> and <u>destroys</u>. The <u>lust</u><br />
for <u>empire</u> and <u>limitless rule</u>; the<br />
lust <u>for lucre</u>, for all <u>knowledge</u> and<br />
all <u>beauty</u> - these form the ground-<br />
work, the mainspring of each play.<br />
Yet nobody wants such a picture.<br />
We prefer our own modern dramas,<br />
with <b>Parisian petticoats and<br />
dialogue - plays from which the<br />
three all-important unities of<br />
adultery; arsenic; and tea cups are</b><br />
<br />
<i>Stupid</i>
<br />
<br />
<b>•</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>splendid as a poem fails</i><br />
<br />
<b>TAMBURLAINE THE GREAT</b><br />
______<i>as a play</i><br />
Tamburlaine Proclaims His scheme of<br />
Conquest<br />
<i>Lust for empire</i><br />
<br />
Act 1., Scene 2.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>THE TRAGICAL HISTORY OF<br />
DOCTOR FAUSTUS</b><br />
_____<br />
(From the Quarto of 1604)<br />
<br />
<i>F. struggles to seize all<br />
knowledge and<br />
all pleasure</i><br />
<br />
<i>the poetry makes it great</i><br />
<br />
Faustus Makes His<br />
Choice<br />
<br />
<i>fine emotion</i><br />
<br />
Act 1., Scene 1.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>most popular in his day</i><br />
<br />
<b>THE JEW OF MALTA</b><br />
_____<br />
<i>Makes B. a monster through<br />
his lust for money - hideous</i><br />
<br />
Barabas Broods Upon His Wealth<br />
<br />
<i>a one character play</i><br />
<br />
Act 1., Scene 1.<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>•</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>EDWARD THE SECOND</b><br />
<i>First and finest of all<br />
historical dramas of the early<br />
era.</i><br />
<br />
Act the First.<br />
Scene 1.<br />
<br />
<i>The only real woman character<br />
attributed to M. is Queen Isabel</i><br />
<br />
<br />
Scene V.</blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>Light</i>. He sleeps.<br />
<i>Edw. (waking)</i> O, let me not die yet! O, stay a while!<br />
<i>Light</i>. How now, my Lord!<br />
<i>Edw</i>. Something still buzzeth in mine ears,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">And tells me, if I sleep, I never wake:</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">This fear is that which makes me tremble thus;</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">And therefore tell me, wherefore art thou</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">come?</span><br />
<i>Light</i>. To rid thee of thy life - Matrevis, come!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;"><i>Enter Matrevis and Gurney</i></span><br />
<i>Edw</i>. I am too weak and feeble to resist -<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">Assist me, sweet God, and receive my soul!</span><br />
<i>Light</i>. Run for the table.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<i>A scene unsurpassed in Eng.<br />
drama - the most emotional</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>THE MASSACRE OF PARIS</b><br />
<br />
<i>His crudest drama<br />
exploits hatred of Catholics</i><br />
<br />
Guise Declares His Policy.<br />
<br />
<i>touch of grandeur in death<br />
scene</i>
Act 1., Scene 2.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>His only play about love</i><br />
<br />
<b>DIDO, QUEEN OF CARTHAGE</b><br />
_____<br />
<i>Dido interests us because Virgil<br />
drew her<br />
Nash's hand visible here</i><br />
A Vision of Olympus<br />
<br />
<i>verses strung together, play<br />
meanders</i>
Act 1., Scene 1.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
[3/12/98]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3uCZt7Iz_AaYtnAWb2jdILNqsQ8rzAVNlBHnA7nt_3AXbnoWHuA25HgbksTOg-uG1NhHcjJcJRUBvyY94J-Mn_XDXQLSa-70G3neLje377WfvUYCkb4k-195QFV2nQf7vmnHJMm3DKEA/s1600/sp5+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3uCZt7Iz_AaYtnAWb2jdILNqsQ8rzAVNlBHnA7nt_3AXbnoWHuA25HgbksTOg-uG1NhHcjJcJRUBvyY94J-Mn_XDXQLSa-70G3neLje377WfvUYCkb4k-195QFV2nQf7vmnHJMm3DKEA/s400/sp5+23.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>An Argument With Houses</b><br />
<br />
They’ve taken to the trees<br />
they’re dancing in the tops<br />
they’re living in parenthesis<br />
and they won’t come down<br />
<br />
they’ve all got nice houses<br />
and endless TV<br />
but they stay our under the moon<br />
<br />
even when it rains<br />
they won’t come down<br />
<br />
they’ve left the very best at home<br />
with duvets from designer stores<br />
and persian rugs to romp on<br />
<br />
there are cabinets in every room<br />
with liqueurs<br />
<br />
but they sleep where the branches fork<br />
and drink the dew<br />
<br />
their houses overlook the Gulf<br />
with yachts, container ships in view<br />
hints of other lands<br />
and fax machines<br />
<br />
but they won’t come down<br />
<br />
they cling to the twigs<br />
and toss with the breeze<br />
and sing<br />
<br />
of things they’ve never seen<br />
that say they’re there<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[22/1/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoQ05oBFyUst3rPq7EjyQlGuSMUae6U3W-gLw2Z1lWaz6_MbuiiJ2YOO44nHU0YJdmuo48ogHi55ZvFHQgrchqmSWmnnfGrqCgt4ti0K7M5YzNjRukWATqZubQZddq8XpnxpptrtbtLA/s1600/sp5+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDoQ05oBFyUst3rPq7EjyQlGuSMUae6U3W-gLw2Z1lWaz6_MbuiiJ2YOO44nHU0YJdmuo48ogHi55ZvFHQgrchqmSWmnnfGrqCgt4ti0K7M5YzNjRukWATqZubQZddq8XpnxpptrtbtLA/s400/sp5+24.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Below the Fall</b><br />
<br />
On my pool<br />
below the fall<br />
a drift of leaves<br />
when summer moves<br />
<br />
(yellow and brown)<br />
<br />
It marks<br />
on the top<br />
the flow below<br />
and swirls<br />
or floats in line<br />
uneasily<br />
ceaselessly<br />
<br />
Each day<br />
there are no more<br />
nor any less<br />
they are<br />
a constant to the stream<br />
<br />
A scum<br />
that mars placidity<br />
for it tells <br />
on the top<br />
of dis-ease below<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[23/3/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNV7FPJ9-qKDat8F2QidlyvjaZF9rXYOmnVJ57yqsGOWy_6owF6wVZpgiVT_KorUjtb2koA04b3Cw9NfNyGu4V8pNtxbaF3lqZVaajrLn0I_K3R9U0sMD6szDn8RIu08GaafqJGh1kASc/s1600/sp5+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNV7FPJ9-qKDat8F2QidlyvjaZF9rXYOmnVJ57yqsGOWy_6owF6wVZpgiVT_KorUjtb2koA04b3Cw9NfNyGu4V8pNtxbaF3lqZVaajrLn0I_K3R9U0sMD6szDn8RIu08GaafqJGh1kASc/s400/sp5+25.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Life on the Flatlands</b><br />
<br />
It’s the sea<br />
bursts through the flax<br />
dunes with penguins<br />
into the cabbages<br />
all around the clothes<br />
line with logs<br />
and up to the steps<br />
where the coal’s kept<br />
<br />
in storms<br />
<br />
It’s the bush<br />
dark on the scarp<br />
insinuates with roots un-<br />
wind undermine the<br />
letter-box and<br />
front fence with ad-<br />
ventitious bushes<br />
on the lawn<br />
<br />
in holidays<br />
<br />
Full for portent<br />
all round<br />
on the flat<br />
<br />
but the sea can’t get<br />
to the hills<br />
<br />
where the bush has bounds<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[23/3/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgLwcEWi3syqhtxGeLEBeOK_lEE6ktSGXYKBYedX7nCScPYC9cBt9Ob1YowXPgRx0ln3HVWdq5rCCZQMMxL_gqfj1ECpYBVoUHD300g60fdowSeal2zumkx66d_0GmWdi6MMkEwgm1To/s1600/sp5+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOgLwcEWi3syqhtxGeLEBeOK_lEE6ktSGXYKBYedX7nCScPYC9cBt9Ob1YowXPgRx0ln3HVWdq5rCCZQMMxL_gqfj1ECpYBVoUHD300g60fdowSeal2zumkx66d_0GmWdi6MMkEwgm1To/s400/sp5+26.jpg" width="175" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>New Year at Millerton</b><br />
<br />
At the time<br />
when we should have been rowdy<br />
we were still<br />
<br />
on the steps<br />
on the bench of the deck<br />
some of us lay on the grass<br />
and we watched<br />
<br />
When we should have been singing<br />
Auld Lang Syne<br />
kissing each other<br />
and blowing whistles<br />
we sat<br />
and watched<br />
<br />
the moon at the edge of the world<br />
the year’s first stars<br />
the sparks that leapt to join them<br />
from the fire <br />
that we watched<br />
<br />
that writhed<br />
twined tepee-like<br />
about the tangled pile<br />
and lit<br />
<br />
a thousand twisted driftwood arms<br />
reaching<br />
like hopes and fears<br />
to speak for us all<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[28/4/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijg3QkSXDccSVc18rEijs0B5Rjm_A1WpCfo4RoLVHlXrt1U2wYMIFOeOJSDFIfsKTLCGN8EfmQ5w31moXlRYQuKdJALM8tkg22NctROY9U3ASLwhAFlAd5Wt5yNnc8s1QSBnbJb7W-s90/s1600/sp5+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijg3QkSXDccSVc18rEijs0B5Rjm_A1WpCfo4RoLVHlXrt1U2wYMIFOeOJSDFIfsKTLCGN8EfmQ5w31moXlRYQuKdJALM8tkg22NctROY9U3ASLwhAFlAd5Wt5yNnc8s1QSBnbJb7W-s90/s400/sp5+27.jpg" width="217" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Whistler’s Mother</b><br />
<br />
On the way back from the trip to town<br />
we were waved down by Chris and Kim<br />
<br />
A wheel had fallen off their ute<br />
they had a load of pig shit<br />
<br />
Well it wasn’t their ute<br />
they had borrowed it from Pete<br />
<br />
Who had bought himself a new car<br />
and crashed it<br />
<br />
And had borrowed this ute<br />
from some-one no-one knows<br />
<br />
But Pete had gone in Marilyn’s car<br />
to get some cray-fish for the dance<br />
<br />
Marilyn said they might as well use the ute<br />
until Pete comes back from over the hill<br />
<br />
no-one knows when<br />
<br />
<br />
Let’s go and get a beer, I said<br />
<br />
and sort it out tomorrow<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/5/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWymD_FL5-8SF2H0Hxp2wLv0bWYZ06F3_6Vh4puJ-_WA4kTHFk_zc0JfonLgAhLgkC-vJbjKhGsdvqtW0Ytdl10meR8LGEjz1jzbqcDKMAgIIgJvwG4L1LspDfIUcdxATKBJ6N9Jrsu8c/s1600/sp5+28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWymD_FL5-8SF2H0Hxp2wLv0bWYZ06F3_6Vh4puJ-_WA4kTHFk_zc0JfonLgAhLgkC-vJbjKhGsdvqtW0Ytdl10meR8LGEjz1jzbqcDKMAgIIgJvwG4L1LspDfIUcdxATKBJ6N9Jrsu8c/s400/sp5+28.jpg" width="183" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Local Resources</b><br />
<br />
They are using red rock<br />
from Red Rock at the Burning Mine<br />
to line the hangi<br />
<br />
It has been burnt before,<br />
and won’t split or explode<br />
like granite.<br />
<br />
The salamanders (fire newts)<br />
help it hold the heat.<br />
<br />
They hibernate when the rock is cold<br />
and won’t be seen,<br />
but liberate when the heat is on<br />
to do the work<br />
<br />
of flicking fire to greater heat,<br />
and giving it heart.<br />
<br />
They make spires of sparks<br />
and ascend in the glow,<br />
swimming in the flames<br />
in a reptile way.<br />
<br />
They live in the Burning Mine,<br />
and will help us out<br />
when we ask.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/99]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEfEDNHFNqJRhGH__XLBqfcJWeZhGuyD85gtozHTpjsY0i4xYMp33S3GYyoy1SWuxO3mV4T4snBrQRJ520O-3Yeh03WDU-AxhK17GwOFb4MGbMB9ew5T-xB6tnnEHI8wIUPerrKTBRS8/s1600/sp5+29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGEfEDNHFNqJRhGH__XLBqfcJWeZhGuyD85gtozHTpjsY0i4xYMp33S3GYyoy1SWuxO3mV4T4snBrQRJ520O-3Yeh03WDU-AxhK17GwOFb4MGbMB9ew5T-xB6tnnEHI8wIUPerrKTBRS8/s400/sp5+29.jpg" width="192" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Call</b><br />
<br />
Someone’s there.<br />
<br />
The glass in the door<br />
is too high for me to see<br />
from my chair,<br />
but I can hear<br />
<br />
the sniff of someone<br />
going round the back,<br />
the scrape of a shoe<br />
on the stone,<br />
a quiet of waiting,<br />
a shift in the air.<br />
<br />
And before the door is tried<br />
or someone knocks,<br />
I say (to no-one in <br />
particular but clearly)<br />
<br />
Come back tomorrow.<br />
Give me this day,<br />
you should have rung or said.<br />
Give me time to put away,<br />
time to go to bed.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/6/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZijLpLK1oKllKLjZHm3vX0EwHdGHe73ZvKbSEiNW7D0GukoAMo_RBNWyg9SR-B5bfZrV3bYydEc6RgwgwqXYAZwhEC2l3q9qbEDkyRL0Fu9hQe4LO1I3uvd9arHt8PHjD11LrA1yDgQ/s1600/sp5+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjnZijLpLK1oKllKLjZHm3vX0EwHdGHe73ZvKbSEiNW7D0GukoAMo_RBNWyg9SR-B5bfZrV3bYydEc6RgwgwqXYAZwhEC2l3q9qbEDkyRL0Fu9hQe4LO1I3uvd9arHt8PHjD11LrA1yDgQ/s400/sp5+30.jpg" width="158" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbXm45jTPXDiqYeZje5uiOEDaXhmr-joufUCdhTt0kbluXDxzw8ZfBXJWTvcnmrULBgv85rplUAAATPRkB4blLf0qZ1zOl33TKhH_YzTL9ZUMkLTqLfsiHU5BKosOHOxWgn6khSLFqGs/s1600/sp5+31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgAbXm45jTPXDiqYeZje5uiOEDaXhmr-joufUCdhTt0kbluXDxzw8ZfBXJWTvcnmrULBgv85rplUAAATPRkB4blLf0qZ1zOl33TKhH_YzTL9ZUMkLTqLfsiHU5BKosOHOxWgn6khSLFqGs/s400/sp5+31.jpg" width="239" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Bones of an Arse</b><br />
<br />
We were poor but honest,<br />
and so should be respected.<br />
<br />
We were clean too.<br />
<br />
Picture in your mind the sun<br />
in the kitchen window,<br />
clean white sheets,<br />
and us around the fire<br />
on winter nights.<br />
<br />
Tomatoes from the garden<br />
and well-scrubbed floors,<br />
and all the household implements fixed<br />
by a clever Dad;<br />
<br />
All the bills always paid<br />
(though only just)<br />
from the merits of scrupulous effort.<br />
<br />
The nice smells of virtue,<br />
the ironed surfaces of self-restraint,<br />
which is the dutiful practice<br />
of the poor;<br />
<br />
The ever-open door<br />
to visitors of every sort,<br />
who looked to us for cake and tea,<br />
(the eucharistic sustenance of those<br />
who plot escape to a moneyed life).<br />
<br />
Imagine our love<br />
for omnicompetent Mum,<br />
who made our determined ambition,<br />
<br />
To pull ourselves up<br />
by our own bootstraps,<br />
with modesty diligence cleanliness,<br />
in the most conventional clothes,<br />
into law the banks and education,<br />
<br />
where we hold on by our own back teeth.<br />
<br />
Just imagine –<br />
so much for us to look down on,<br />
so clean so just a reward.<br />
<br />
But it is done.<br />
I have worked off the debt,<br />
paid every duty,<br />
born every pain.<br />
I have locked up the past<br />
I have the key.<br />
<br />
My only occupation now is love.<br />
<br />
I will be at your door.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[13/7/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllGe8mxKa4araXg7PaM7ID7Uzn0fXgzt2kySP-z2UgJkIC5lTe6M4kZU0n8JnlQP_zJyyQ1H6oFpXIupu3CYgxyVg6fm4dj__k9FYH-6HUJQv5CctID3-v_E3ZrXK_DsBlJkeeCl1vMM/s1600/sp5+32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgllGe8mxKa4araXg7PaM7ID7Uzn0fXgzt2kySP-z2UgJkIC5lTe6M4kZU0n8JnlQP_zJyyQ1H6oFpXIupu3CYgxyVg6fm4dj__k9FYH-6HUJQv5CctID3-v_E3ZrXK_DsBlJkeeCl1vMM/s400/sp5+32.jpg" width="254" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Rule</b><br />
<br />
I vow to God to stay<br />
here in my chair<br />
<br />
with the cat on my knee<br />
and the light on the sea<br />
<br />
the rain behind<br />
as a darkness to the yellow sea<br />
for the slow slow cloud will come<br />
<br />
I will not go again<br />
<br />
I will watch the hours<br />
and keep a small world<br />
of excellent things –<br />
the light on the sea<br />
the cat on my knee<br />
<br />
until the clouds come<br />
as a darkness<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/7/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fIPWBtiEEwkG4REKa1tWUfVhET4WYmHDu_8np4Pro0nU5KFN9uGKsJ3vOZg1PL-26gm0382OEz7fi3-_gdBLPPeDqo5d1OpsSh6BLuh9GmpnXCpmHdkT2V6JyJqED_6_XfjMhpmKB-k/s1600/sp5+33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fIPWBtiEEwkG4REKa1tWUfVhET4WYmHDu_8np4Pro0nU5KFN9uGKsJ3vOZg1PL-26gm0382OEz7fi3-_gdBLPPeDqo5d1OpsSh6BLuh9GmpnXCpmHdkT2V6JyJqED_6_XfjMhpmKB-k/s400/sp5+33.jpg" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Puzzle Poem</b><br />
<br />
It’s a lovely world<br />
and I like the colours in it<br />
<br />
My nose runs all the time<br />
and I drink lots of tea<br />
<br />
I walk as if my boots<br />
are full of water<br />
<br />
My bowels aren’t the best <br />
anymore<br />
<br />
I cough a lot and am<br />
always in a good temper<br />
<br />
I grow my greens<br />
where the sky has cracks <br />
<br />
For the sun to shine in<br />
secrecy under the fuschia tree<br />
<br />
Where the police won’t see<br />
no matter how they hover<br />
<br />
I start my plants in June<br />
on the window sill<br />
<br />
And plant them out<br />
when the frosts are done<br />
<br />
Watered and tended every one<br />
then pull them in the autumn sun<br />
<br />
And smoke them when they’re dry<br />
<br />
Time is slowing down for me<br />
<br />
Is there something wrong with me<br />
<br />
What am I?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/7/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP1n2AxxD8msnl1ec24rIZGmRM4_4TCrg9hDMIsXCzC4aI1PRnGphBYr5FeX3HUj64IbKZsSET7x7VlLJamPQFhcTlU6SNRuW3F-iLxPBLYaGSSEvBck5qOktLJEqqXgaJWoIYV9UGiY/s1600/sp5+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlP1n2AxxD8msnl1ec24rIZGmRM4_4TCrg9hDMIsXCzC4aI1PRnGphBYr5FeX3HUj64IbKZsSET7x7VlLJamPQFhcTlU6SNRuW3F-iLxPBLYaGSSEvBck5qOktLJEqqXgaJWoIYV9UGiY/s400/sp5+34.jpg" width="232" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My Coughing Cat</b><br />
<br />
This is where my cat lives –<br />
the half-lit edge to a shaded world<br />
on the rim of visibility,<br />
where sticks and bits and insects<br />
are beasts of prey,<br />
and the moon is more light<br />
than the sun.<br />
<br />
But my cat is sick.<br />
I nurse him now.<br />
He sleeps on my chair,<br />
he coughs and chokes,<br />
he won’t go out.<br />
<br />
He won’t die either.<br />
There’s a spark that tells me –<br />
a spark in his eye<br />
from a midnight life<br />
where he plays.<br />
<br />
He knows my need.<br />
He keeps down the ghosts,<br />
and is a friend in darkness.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[Sept ’99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMZNdy5shWTtqQnDXi3tMD-e78O34yIU2IfUFYfiIl6h94oemjqhwrbvQEVi7gR0YAxQTh3jbXbvDew9bMsULvq0JR672R7d_895EEsSK3juUeDc1Sr-xwT5Esy2s9r7sgy0xaXkUSPk/s1600/sp5+35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdMZNdy5shWTtqQnDXi3tMD-e78O34yIU2IfUFYfiIl6h94oemjqhwrbvQEVi7gR0YAxQTh3jbXbvDew9bMsULvq0JR672R7d_895EEsSK3juUeDc1Sr-xwT5Esy2s9r7sgy0xaXkUSPk/s400/sp5+35.jpg" width="171" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>From ----, With Love</b><br />
<br />
Today<br />
in a carton<br />
there came:<br />
<br />
2 Lotto tickets<br />
1 box of liquorice<br />
1 vice grip<br />
1 box of chocolates<br />
3 nail punches<br />
1 5m retractable steel measure<br />
1 box of chocolate peanuts<br />
1 box of chocolate mints,<br />
<br />
in shredded paper<br />
and no note,<br />
<br />
for no particular date or time.<br />
<br />
I would like to leave it out<br />
as an ornament,<br />
or case it in resin<br />
on the wall,<br />
<br />
But I will take each gift<br />
and put it to its proper use,<br />
<br />
as you intended,<br />
seriously,<br />
with love.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[Sept ’99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H86Q2X-NKCsA6sRapBOBv0nODNSV0TwYKS0vdyR_-Ir2SC0zAYPV3UStYw6ZAtuqZc0fXLj7wB6xbdJAn3qga3Jeh2WOYLWrTPL_XzkoklQZX9zfIHBjCkN9hQhphRq_fmra1lU85eE/s1600/sp5+36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4H86Q2X-NKCsA6sRapBOBv0nODNSV0TwYKS0vdyR_-Ir2SC0zAYPV3UStYw6ZAtuqZc0fXLj7wB6xbdJAn3qga3Jeh2WOYLWrTPL_XzkoklQZX9zfIHBjCkN9hQhphRq_fmra1lU85eE/s400/sp5+36.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My New Flower</b><br />
<br />
is three centimetres tall,<br />
just under.<br />
<br />
It has three leaves companionable,<br />
like a japonica bud,<br />
bright deep green<br />
and oval,<br />
<br />
and one bract leaf,<br />
shoe-horned against the seed.<br />
There are no stems.<br />
<br />
The flower’s the biggest part<br />
by far, shaped<br />
like a bellied jug,<br />
striped white and green<br />
erect, with short red<br />
side tails.<br />
<br />
It grows low <br />
against the moss<br />
and snow.<br />
<br />
<i>Pterostylis leicesterii</i><br />
is its name,<br />
should it find<br />
its ancient anonymity<br />
insupportable.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/10/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthhlJY1BqfBR6qefq7Y91WZyCwCdqsOZUwvEeJRR6gIfBsdr1Qo_UyTaJGudsq4QMwL0MNGli4OX4LNnxr14SolvLgTUjOtdlVFBsV3zTP-AOGotK5EwqWGEswUt5Q6ppd4lqnXhJXOM/s1600/sp5+37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgthhlJY1BqfBR6qefq7Y91WZyCwCdqsOZUwvEeJRR6gIfBsdr1Qo_UyTaJGudsq4QMwL0MNGli4OX4LNnxr14SolvLgTUjOtdlVFBsV3zTP-AOGotK5EwqWGEswUt5Q6ppd4lqnXhJXOM/s400/sp5+37.jpg" width="173" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Buried Village</b><br />
<br />
It is the practice<br />
in our town<br />
to scatter the front<br />
with old car hulks<br />
<br />
for parts,<br />
for a project,<br />
in the hope<br />
that from these relics<br />
something will come<br />
that will run;<br />
<br />
but the rust and the bush grow fast,<br />
leaves rain down,<br />
and decomposition comes before hope,<br />
<br />
the iron curves are eaten<br />
by rotting stuff,<br />
roots and vines disguise,<br />
space is grasped<br />
by trees that grow in height and weight<br />
and turn to food<br />
what once took fuel,<br />
<br />
and the status the wreck implied –<br />
the intention to mobility –<br />
is reduced<br />
to a green ganglion in the shade,<br />
a tumulus of vines,<br />
<br />
a darkness in the second growth<br />
that might have been a stove<br />
or chimney base,<br />
or something else inflexible,<br />
like age.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/10/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivq-Y2B8c0pjfUS2dT_cKSTKMam8IT8sZV85MBHyVTILGfbsXPBIgUtzKb-QhoKOrgPGp60xOd8atQq717HVVhsED4-JanoKo_pnHlGHM15Ox-rdVonrOhb5U5iyckmb-Bd7aVLEBQg7o/s1600/sp5+38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivq-Y2B8c0pjfUS2dT_cKSTKMam8IT8sZV85MBHyVTILGfbsXPBIgUtzKb-QhoKOrgPGp60xOd8atQq717HVVhsED4-JanoKo_pnHlGHM15Ox-rdVonrOhb5U5iyckmb-Bd7aVLEBQg7o/s400/sp5+38.jpg" width="364" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s a stubborn day.<br />
<br />
The cloud won’t lift,<br />
though it has no right to be<br />
in such a high barometer,<br />
with the wind from over the hill<br />
<br />
as it is.<br />
<br />
And it rains.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/12/99]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-5-1998-1999.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GwY3qu0wLy_y0wxYAZdV9aSvdO7hoNhUWaSJwe6jwJWRodX4ZkgrFBwWpqCO0WUHbFBByah6FHUG8oSoQlIyPx_Cfi5c-rbWoQK2SPdeph1R4PBYiycW2rq9lyQ_AOL2YxXpSV1-ri8/s1600/sp5+39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6GwY3qu0wLy_y0wxYAZdV9aSvdO7hoNhUWaSJwe6jwJWRodX4ZkgrFBwWpqCO0WUHbFBByah6FHUG8oSoQlIyPx_Cfi5c-rbWoQK2SPdeph1R4PBYiycW2rq9lyQ_AOL2YxXpSV1-ri8/s400/sp5+39.jpg" width="316" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>“The River Sluices<br />
With Many Voices”</b><br />
<br />
You can hear them.<br />
<br />
Not a full word,<br />
nor a phrase,<br />
but all the intonation<br />
of water into glass,<br />
as if words are best made that way,<br />
<br />
explaining themselves,<br />
I suppose,<br />
though there’s never a thing understood.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[2/12/99]<br />
<br />
(<i>brief</i>)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-19314819563583393102012-01-05T08:50:00.010+13:002017-11-26T10:56:13.537+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 4 (1997-1998)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s1600/Leceister+Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574471027162316738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s400/Leceister+Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2012/02/book-twenty-five.html">Shorter Poems: 4</a></span></b><br />
(1997-1998)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">Mavis</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Day From Under A Lillypilly</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Last Night At Poetry Live</a> [1/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Comfort Stop</a> [5/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Passing On</a> [5/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">‘The nothing, not pure nothing, left over …’</a> [5/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Ornebius aperta</a> (new-settled from Australia) [21/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Letter to Lorine (<i>Niedecker</i>)</a> [21/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Twice Shy</a> [21/5/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">Villas in Milton Street</a> [6/6/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">A Letter from Elise</a> [24/6/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">Mary's Yard</a> [24/6/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">A Question At The End Of The Line</a> [11/9/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">The Lady Meets The New Land</a> [11/9/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">Death</a> [30/9/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Precinct</a> [30/9/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Epithalamion</a> (for Anna and Richard, 14.6.97) [12/6/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">By Touch</a> [10/10/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">To Live In A Cave</a> [31/10/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn20" name="_ftnref20" title="">rustling / says Jack</a> ... (<i>Spin</i> 31 (1998): 31) [31/10/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn21" name="_ftnref21" title="">An Artichoke In The White Garden At Gledswood</a> [25/11/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn22" name="_ftnref22" title="">On hot spring nights</a> ... [27/11/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn23" name="_ftnref23" title="">On The Way</a> [27/11/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn24" name="_ftnref24" title="">Small Change</a> [27/11/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn25" name="_ftnref25" title="">If I Were a Tree</a> [27/11/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn26" name="_ftnref26" title="">The Tent</a> [31/12/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn27" name="_ftnref27" title="">This</a> ... [31/12/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn28" name="_ftnref28" title="">Last Lost</a> [31/12/97]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn29" name="_ftnref29" title="">Her Grand-son’s Son</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn30" name="_ftnref30" title="">If I don’t get my words out</a> ... [12/2/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn31" name="_ftnref31" title="">At A Time Of Sickness</a> [12/2/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn32" name="_ftnref32" title="">Birthday</a> [17/3/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn33" name="_ftnref33" title="">The Other Half</a> [17/3/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn34" name="_ftnref34" title="">Bivouac</a> [17/3/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn35" name="_ftnref35" title="">Independence Day</a> [31/3/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn36" name="_ftnref36" title="">Thelymitra pulchella</a> [16/4/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn37" name="_ftnref37" title="">Death In A Tower Block</a> [16/4/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn38" name="_ftnref38" title="">At Night</a> [16/4/98]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn39" name="_ftnref39" title="">Liturgy</a> (for Miriel) [16/4/98]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrrrlvnXzzu6tXnMzdZhB2nZZWTz1izFQCJiP3w0FAnxqmbqo3_I2WLCjMOl4AlGgaiAet5mVyCIUSJojLzPwQuJR4Ql9ZiETBXncNPyaqki7AXaI0sWg5MkWalLj2bxSyV4is44Kjxg/s1600/sp4+01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTrrrlvnXzzu6tXnMzdZhB2nZZWTz1izFQCJiP3w0FAnxqmbqo3_I2WLCjMOl4AlGgaiAet5mVyCIUSJojLzPwQuJR4Ql9ZiETBXncNPyaqki7AXaI0sWg5MkWalLj2bxSyV4is44Kjxg/s400/sp4+01.jpg" width="267" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mavis</b><br />
<br />
I had an aunt<br />
who had an affair <br />
with a visiting Chinese violinist<br />
<br />
She died<br />
giving birth<br />
<br />
to my cousin <br />
who found herself uneasily placed<br />
in a world <br />
that doesn't want puzzles<br />
<br />
so she married<br />
<br />
an engineer<br />
from Peru <br />
and lives in Lima<br />
<br />
learning to be rich<br />
and speak Spanish<br />
<br />
and how to make her children monocultural <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCvVMOAzASCpiRm4tA4aV8KFSJcV8xXTORVkevhsXnrvLspL2i0DDzm_VnEGbNOJ131k_bG7CkoGQN65PHT_IHyaOa0sZRrH-KawyyGVM5mQT1WmF_9CCbDvR3sEX_HFTtJpeec0p2UM/s1600/sp4+02.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRCvVMOAzASCpiRm4tA4aV8KFSJcV8xXTORVkevhsXnrvLspL2i0DDzm_VnEGbNOJ131k_bG7CkoGQN65PHT_IHyaOa0sZRrH-KawyyGVM5mQT1WmF_9CCbDvR3sEX_HFTtJpeec0p2UM/s400/sp4+02.jpg" width="282" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Day From Under A Lillypilly</b><br />
<br />
Excuse <br />
if you can summon the kindness<br />
the sky<br />
<br />
Night and day<br />
it blazes <br />
light and a circular horizon<br />
that holds no softness <br />
but heat and stars <br />
in a cruel face featureless<br />
as a fascist intent <br />
on doing the job <br />
with fire <br />
or suffocation <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ny4S6ARzqgmp_FR6KiNSEOoS4W8hKqDtJmacrhzb7yk0P7irSxjz7nG1nmql3-Hrb9kIsSPS6sFpZlxdOwtFif5hXnfTcArzni8kZQ7u4XMpeKcysvmXvFBRpGp_ZtOa0Ofh_QFhv7Y/s1600/sp4+03.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1Ny4S6ARzqgmp_FR6KiNSEOoS4W8hKqDtJmacrhzb7yk0P7irSxjz7nG1nmql3-Hrb9kIsSPS6sFpZlxdOwtFif5hXnfTcArzni8kZQ7u4XMpeKcysvmXvFBRpGp_ZtOa0Ofh_QFhv7Y/s400/sp4+03.jpg" width="122" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Last Night At Poetry Live</b><br />
<br />
Rene sang like a<br />
<br />
Rene sang like a<br />
<br />
Rene sang like a trou<br />
<br />
a troubador <br />
to break the evening up<br />
<br />
a one-legged rastafarian <br />
with crutches and white wings<br />
came<br />
and danced in front of his<br />
patched-up eyes<br />
<br />
Fuck off<br />
Sout yelled<br />
Go home<br />
you invalid<br />
<br />
This is his home<br />
they said <br />
you're invalid<br />
yourself<br />
<br />
The world's my home<br />
Sout said <br />
Asians are the chosen ones<br />
Java's where it's at<br />
<br />
I've won <br />
whooped Raewyn out at the road<br />
I've won over all <br />
I'm top<br />
<br />
I'm a good man<br />
said Paul <br />
Have some more wine<br />
<br />
I'm leaving<br />
said Judy <br />
there's too much testosterone<br />
around here <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[1/5/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3-paLhuor1PX_w4W4fBhYJckDmBo2N3Obh4a3EWuoSyaow-L3L3K-UXTz8-I4q-Rf8EcDKjnQ2DL1tzQV3WMLt1ncidt0S4vSSHcBgzCn-Ogn3np7Fhf7Jxn9RKpa34dZdKs1FVjLLk/s1600/sp4+04.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB3-paLhuor1PX_w4W4fBhYJckDmBo2N3Obh4a3EWuoSyaow-L3L3K-UXTz8-I4q-Rf8EcDKjnQ2DL1tzQV3WMLt1ncidt0S4vSSHcBgzCn-Ogn3np7Fhf7Jxn9RKpa34dZdKs1FVjLLk/s400/sp4+04.jpg" width="238" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Comfort Stop</b><br />
<br />
When I ring Telecom <br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for Faults,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Directory,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">or other Useful Things</span><br />
I make myself <br />
a mug of tea <br />
with sugar.<br />
<br />
Then I find my slowest book –<br />
the one I keep for meditative times.<br />
<br />
I butter up some crackers, <br />
plug in the telephone beside the bed, <br />
<br />
Take off my boots, <br />
cottonwool my ears, <br />
<br />
And take my place in Priority Queue, <br />
stretched and chilled and blessed<br />
<br />
Way over any devices<br />
communicators may devise. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[5/5/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6TJ5-Ugk4pNHB3MFRZpJcJtonuFMgB9ooQDmOxtiIIu-vhjsQW2eP-J33ERmr1iVkOcrMW7E_i7FNADbz2SG-Hc3IS38y-PbPp_03-fGvoL-3rjyt-EXk10CF0lKZtyuCOeoE3-eL5c/s1600/sp4+05.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-6TJ5-Ugk4pNHB3MFRZpJcJtonuFMgB9ooQDmOxtiIIu-vhjsQW2eP-J33ERmr1iVkOcrMW7E_i7FNADbz2SG-Hc3IS38y-PbPp_03-fGvoL-3rjyt-EXk10CF0lKZtyuCOeoE3-eL5c/s400/sp4+05.jpg" width="339" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Passing On</b><br />
<br />
where he walks <br />
puffs of vapour follow on<br />
like smoke-rings<br />
<br />
or little ghosts<br />
molecules of soul<br />
clouds of him<br />
<br />
diminishing<br />
by particle <br />
his procreative energy<br />
<br />
and making him accountable<br />
to God <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[5/5/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKgwdvQ5QL2lO65HBBgpSC61PqwkDPIzfqPrRhIkpqgvGZGKMbByLDvFzeecd0wRPkkjuylxZcVaNT3Xuk3Y7JdNc1EbswSwJROiumPRWjXGWT_zeQwp17RpBY_HFcdApltmIza2nemg/s1600/sp4+06.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOKgwdvQ5QL2lO65HBBgpSC61PqwkDPIzfqPrRhIkpqgvGZGKMbByLDvFzeecd0wRPkkjuylxZcVaNT3Xuk3Y7JdNc1EbswSwJROiumPRWjXGWT_zeQwp17RpBY_HFcdApltmIza2nemg/s400/sp4+06.jpg" width="310" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
‘<i>The nothing, not pure nothing, left over is not a matter of<br />
"recencies", but a matter of <u>pasts</u>, maybe <u>pasties</u></i>.’<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Louis Zukofsy, preface</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">'An Objectivist Anthology'</span><br />
<br />
I want to use this sentence, to put it into<br />
everybody's head, on walls where the<br />
'Desiderata' used to be, but it mixes up<br />
my mind and makes my eyes ache; all I<br />
can do is to write down whatever comes<br />
to my pen for I am angry and confused<br />
altogether and can't make the sense of<br />
it, though I know it's a joke and clever.<br />
It's very clever to have a not pure no<br />
thing left over. And it's clever to make a<br />
past a pastie, as, perhaps, a post becomes<br />
a postie, to be on familiar and diminutive<br />
terms with sense; but it might be that Zu<br />
is telling us that beyond the limits of our<br />
understanding there is nothing, and a not<br />
pure nothing at that. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[5/5/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QdzBgOfTc_Cqf_k4qKxAq2JKoSF47oOlh3vvWtGI6VulXwf_TFynxEelVwyi5tqSXTlnoKnw-Z4EkQyJ3cpVYzHBKhMV5yXBJr7xbavByqnMFMsic0wrPVj9Y2vC17swGdomAHBbvRc/s1600/sp4+07.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-QdzBgOfTc_Cqf_k4qKxAq2JKoSF47oOlh3vvWtGI6VulXwf_TFynxEelVwyi5tqSXTlnoKnw-Z4EkQyJ3cpVYzHBKhMV5yXBJr7xbavByqnMFMsic0wrPVj9Y2vC17swGdomAHBbvRc/s400/sp4+07.jpg" width="148" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ornebius aperta</b><br />
(new-settled from<br />
Australia)<br />
<br />
I step outside <br />
and before I know it<br />
somebody is standing<br />
in front of me talking<br />
<br />
of the house they took<br />
away last night and<br />
the cars they had to<br />
move to move<br />
<br />
the sleep they <br />
lost and the people who<br />
should have been<br />
<br />
or were there <br />
when they shouldn't<br />
<br />
the noise of the machinery<br />
<br />
and things like that<br />
<br />
<br />
But I hear crickets<br />
in my sleep <br />
close at hand and real<br />
<br />
integuments of nature<br />
from over the ditch<br />
<br />
in the hedges<br />
things keep moving<br />
<br />
there's no crisis<br />
<br />
we can all get along like this<br />
and do nothing<br />
<br />
or move in the open<br />
set fire to the world <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/5/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIXwLejBJ9vPwXMmeoifFK7yo9NhsEkgC0EWFUWOmrq9ZU-vxbVB8TuQdm7kHDG56dv00DIrktl7R-jznIZDLikY7oxmj7e_zAC0-IGaXTZCjRRpxNqVEacqTNshtOYgc8e1Qc65I4HI/s1600/sp4+09.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQIXwLejBJ9vPwXMmeoifFK7yo9NhsEkgC0EWFUWOmrq9ZU-vxbVB8TuQdm7kHDG56dv00DIrktl7R-jznIZDLikY7oxmj7e_zAC0-IGaXTZCjRRpxNqVEacqTNshtOYgc8e1Qc65I4HI/s400/sp4+09.jpg" width="331" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Letter to Lorine (<i>Niedecker</i>)</b><br />
<br />
There are some words that I don’t know.<br />
<i>Creosote</i> is clear –<br />
I’ve used it, <br />
but <i>gestalte</i>’s not defined in my mind.<br />
<i>Sex</i> is too small a word for the work it does, <br />
(<i>semantic</i> could be used).<br />
<i>Conceptual</i>’s not here nor there.<br />
<i>Fascist</i>’s so good it doesn’t matter what it means, <br />
and <i>chauvinist</i> is weird.<br />
<i>Mango</i> sometimes describes a breast<br />
(though when it does it strains my mind ).<br />
<i>Urbane</i> is a secret hypocrisy, <br />
the reverse of <i>ingenuous</i>, someone said<br />
who’s not as good as a dictionary.<br />
<i>Circumspect</i>’s something you see in the round, <br />
like a splat.<br />
<br />
You use small words like <i>hiss</i> and <i>pianoforte</i>, <br />
<i>bird-dung boom</i> and <i>Darwin</i>.<br />
I love you, Lorine.<br />
You wash in the river you live by.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/5/97]<br />
<br />
(<i>Sport</i> 19: <i>Lightworks</i> (Spring 1997): 46-48.)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfjx-ofQ7ld4B4UsjqkYJJSn9qyqan_LSpN_TdtePMs65minup3eAMY8kdqH8PNPElOWo-cuc61FKBoUUmrkvZPqujfC8e81fa-bMmuD_VQpltaWn0YzUsa1Ieo03W5xoFK7H_ZTYtmo/s1600/sp4+08.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjfjx-ofQ7ld4B4UsjqkYJJSn9qyqan_LSpN_TdtePMs65minup3eAMY8kdqH8PNPElOWo-cuc61FKBoUUmrkvZPqujfC8e81fa-bMmuD_VQpltaWn0YzUsa1Ieo03W5xoFK7H_ZTYtmo/s400/sp4+08.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Twice Shy</b><br />
<br />
asleep<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">asleep</span><br />
in the swamp standing<br />
guard of a life<br />
stick still<br />
<br />
in case<br />
an angel with a trumpet<br />
flies across<br />
or with a vial<br />
of wrath<br />
<br />
and makes<br />
a ripple in the pond<br />
or rustles so<br />
a raupo leaf<br />
is lost<br />
<br />
both legs one<br />
in attendance<br />
one in response to<br />
a rustling world<br />
of wrath<br />
<br />
in case<br />
a day changes<br />
or seasons switch<br />
at faster step<br />
<br />
or time permits<br />
a stop<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/5/97]<br />
<br />
(<i>Sport</i> 19: <i>Lightworks</i> (Spring 1997): 46-48.)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqBrUNQ3NWzH2I3VjqvnzilN8UBCHr1ZFrXBCBwKOrxT9X3o1IAZuVj8e1BfjkOMeLPadckuzL2I9UatESnbvuyU4KtkSyTizz1yKqQ6VbqDqvbqrlHX8MERsZ-MnxqjcxIP1h8Hg2tg/s1600/sp4+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqBrUNQ3NWzH2I3VjqvnzilN8UBCHr1ZFrXBCBwKOrxT9X3o1IAZuVj8e1BfjkOMeLPadckuzL2I9UatESnbvuyU4KtkSyTizz1yKqQ6VbqDqvbqrlHX8MERsZ-MnxqjcxIP1h8Hg2tg/s400/sp4+10.jpg" width="259" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Villas in Milton Street</b><br />
<br />
There should be music as well<br />
as this high colour <br />
of persimmon, poinsettia, <br />
and yellow hibiscus at gingerbread doors.<br />
<br />
Something in the sky, <br />
a sunset, or a dust-storm<br />
or smoke from Australia, <br />
to signal an epiphany like this,<br />
<br />
To tell a casual startled eye<br />
that here is some exotica,<br />
an untried exuberance<br />
flung along the falling road.<br />
<br />
a bright begonia border,<br />
fresh , as Barry’s Point in spring,<br />
<br />
set in our sight,<br />
lined orderly, <br />
baubels on a Christmas bough,<br />
with dark interiors<br />
<br />
like soft chocolates. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[6/6/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTtRxLbTnMTm1e9uMGfB9LM0PQXuzQjCL_BD2f8NJp3yCd_Un_ceP4bqz8tvQIdXqoIGqH_fkbk7qXdNtEj18jPd5ucq_LzsXsg7v5J90UDB8nrFrcQ8LNlQCV6QmQVCCfvidMtq05is/s1600/sp4+11.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYTtRxLbTnMTm1e9uMGfB9LM0PQXuzQjCL_BD2f8NJp3yCd_Un_ceP4bqz8tvQIdXqoIGqH_fkbk7qXdNtEj18jPd5ucq_LzsXsg7v5J90UDB8nrFrcQ8LNlQCV6QmQVCCfvidMtq05is/s400/sp4+11.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PgAr_bMjcrPxPGyNDDVzT8l6RdedyuyA8JHinVKW1IZ07xVRcZKJjhWrxishjL95BcSIZmqVV_mHWVjk1yv1u5UE5WGBQmFsqCB9dmMXmypJHQZtVzeVrk88UNpO4isKPyzLiC4MwuE/s1600/sp4+12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7PgAr_bMjcrPxPGyNDDVzT8l6RdedyuyA8JHinVKW1IZ07xVRcZKJjhWrxishjL95BcSIZmqVV_mHWVjk1yv1u5UE5WGBQmFsqCB9dmMXmypJHQZtVzeVrk88UNpO4isKPyzLiC4MwuE/s400/sp4+12.jpg" width="149" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAIS0Ns4d1uPTEGJPEuWthtKctNNn6Uv_SPa3jLOgO9M4Donz4WQYlIqKLA6WD8o_vyytLv-lmHQTrL3Fd5BMv2SdykcL_p8hdwExga4_GNnYRxKUZOdYyozB4Z4CLqjsoVipEbfgy2M/s1600/sp4+13.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlAIS0Ns4d1uPTEGJPEuWthtKctNNn6Uv_SPa3jLOgO9M4Donz4WQYlIqKLA6WD8o_vyytLv-lmHQTrL3Fd5BMv2SdykcL_p8hdwExga4_GNnYRxKUZOdYyozB4Z4CLqjsoVipEbfgy2M/s400/sp4+13.jpg" width="128" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNbqrvYG1Q57jx2EfLWJQi442whFkJlViujVSAMGUJQ4KJNkx_ytzrUxncy3OTuwq0K5vwopBvFohew-Ji_f-1QBcDGqIsX_2r6ACnfzX0UGLqUSKLSMcNQ_2077V0fOsGZjjqEYoNTg/s1600/sp4+14.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFNbqrvYG1Q57jx2EfLWJQi442whFkJlViujVSAMGUJQ4KJNkx_ytzrUxncy3OTuwq0K5vwopBvFohew-Ji_f-1QBcDGqIsX_2r6ACnfzX0UGLqUSKLSMcNQ_2077V0fOsGZjjqEYoNTg/s400/sp4+14.jpg" width="296" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Letter from Elise</b><br />
<br />
Ah well,<br />
Such is Life.<br />
<br />
At night I did the ironing<br />
and wrote a thank-you letter<br />
<br />
Wednesday was shopping <br />
but Mum couldn't come with me<br />
<br />
Oh, on Monday our friend Madge<br />
collected Mum in the morning and <br />
took her into A & E to have her plaster off<br />
<br />
Thursday was more shopping in Te Atatu<br />
and our pine slabs arrived<br />
<br />
On Friday Mum and Madge and I <br />
all went out to tea. W e were late to bed<br />
<br />
On Saturday we were up early<br />
and I put the washing in<br />
<br />
The Bon Brush man came and<br />
fitted the brush on the unit<br />
<br />
I bought some more soap pellets<br />
<br />
Brian rang up with the quote<br />
for the curtains at the flat<br />
<br />
Then Jocelyn rang up to say<br />
the picture was ready<br />
<br />
I was so glad I'd done <br />
the vacuuming on Friday<br />
<br />
After lunch and the dishes<br />
I started on the woodshed<br />
<br />
then I did the vegies for dinner<br />
<br />
Jocelyn rang again<br />
<br />
In the morning I have to get up<br />
early for the morning teas at church <br />
<br />
Then I'll take some broccoli<br />
over to Jocelyn's Mum<br />
<br />
We have lots <br />
I'm thrilled with it<br />
<br />
<br />
Well <br />
it really was a super weekend<br />
<br />
On Tuesday it was work<br />
in the evening<br />
<br />
I did the ironing<br />
and finished a letter<br />
<br />
Oh! We washed Mum's hair on Monday<br />
she’s blasé about it now<br />
<br />
Today I rang the plumber <br />
about some new taps for the bath<br />
<br />
And Brian rang again<br />
about the curtains<br />
<br />
The quote was pricey<br />
and really knocked us up<br />
<br />
Now I'm writing<br />
Mum's made muffins <br />
We're out of chocolate chips<br />
<br />
I do hope the weather <br />
lets me stack wood tomorrow<br />
<br />
Yes, I did stack wood all day<br />
<br />
In the evening I made up<br />
Mum's marmalade mix<br />
and it set – of course!<br />
<br />
On Friday we shopped early<br />
bought the meat <br />
a new water filter cartridge filter filler<br />
a new battery for Mum's little torch<br />
and the magazines <br />
<br />
Oh and 20 rubbish bags<br />
<br />
We ran out of time<br />
<br />
On Saturday we got up early<br />
and Mum did her own bed<br />
<br />
The chores were done by lunchtime<br />
<br />
Tonight I'll do the ironing<br />
but I'm stopping now<br />
<br />
More anon<br />
<br />
<br />
I don't know how I find the time<br />
to get this up to date<br />
<br />
On Tuesday I stacked more wood<br />
and banged my leg on a knotty bit<br />
<br />
I killed some snails<br />
in the watering can<br />
<br />
I also did the ironing <br />
and polished the car with Colortone<br />
<br />
Then I washed Mum's hair<br />
and watered the garden<br />
<br />
This morning Mum fell and <br />
got stuck in the wardrobe again<br />
<br />
Then Madge came round<br />
we had a good yaka<br />
<br />
and we killed some more snails<br />
<br />
Then we got the beetroot up <br />
and did it in the pressure cooker<br />
<br />
I gave some to Pam<br />
<br />
We've had huge caterpillars<br />
on our swan plants<br />
<br />
It was supposed to rain<br />
but never did <br />
<br />
Mum's making muffins<br />
<br />
When she's finished <br />
I'll put her in the shower <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[24/6/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGtXmvi7_bSuOfS-0P2BSm4mhz8SxGfAxO0VJ32i9AI2x1Y2l_iypGyVaJlAVajZtIIiFElDt92zjxTxyhsag-WRHKJEVCRzjacXO3Kb7IDEfJrBxwy1U0mxDshuo6XxYZeMDllsry2E/s1600/sp4+15.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvGtXmvi7_bSuOfS-0P2BSm4mhz8SxGfAxO0VJ32i9AI2x1Y2l_iypGyVaJlAVajZtIIiFElDt92zjxTxyhsag-WRHKJEVCRzjacXO3Kb7IDEfJrBxwy1U0mxDshuo6XxYZeMDllsry2E/s400/sp4+15.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Mary's Yard</b><br />
<br />
Your yard<br />
a small domain<br />
<br />
with paw-paw<br />
banana<br />
and fig<br />
<br />
shade of jade<br />
in rain<br />
<br />
and the punga<br />
a wind-turned <br />
umbrella<br />
<br />
think big<br />
to savannah<br />
with trees<br />
a track to tramp<br />
<br />
or small<br />
to the dawn of an idea<br />
not entered yet<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[24/6/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNiG8QGWtwNqymL3KKFA7MTwbjJLTg4Zd5AzTagQbFJE0cs_NgGKplczgE1xzedEEReCflDHYzptUNAT7zwus7lfV2I7yafxv5P-QJ28WlU9ikaQ7WbYFdEXaFgmjrjE42XsBtPYbny8/s1600/sp4+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvNiG8QGWtwNqymL3KKFA7MTwbjJLTg4Zd5AzTagQbFJE0cs_NgGKplczgE1xzedEEReCflDHYzptUNAT7zwus7lfV2I7yafxv5P-QJ28WlU9ikaQ7WbYFdEXaFgmjrjE42XsBtPYbny8/s400/sp4+16.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Question At The End Of The Line</b><br />
<br />
These days<br />
<br />
They drag like spilled words<br />
hurtful as idle accusations<br />
<br />
Are they numbered<br />
fixed in any way<br />
<br />
Or are they being born<br />
at some set source<br />
<br />
Is there risk of running out<br />
<br />
Furthermore<br />
do they wear<br />
<br />
And if so <br />
can they be repaired<br />
<br />
Is there machinery for this in nature<br />
<br />
Like the renewal of the sea<br />
the building of clouds<br />
<br />
Do they breed<br />
<br />
<br />
It's a trouble<br />
<br />
When I get tired<br />
or ill <br />
or age too much<br />
<br />
That the world is running down<br />
And not just the world<br />
<br />
I don't think I can talk about it <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/9/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXNG_FNDyidmXXRE_wDonfgfUamDryf5xGtoAn-GqNz1k8CuIrzcHMqJN2gggpFaMa1QU5EDovh4bYM7_TNISliTiaHkKvmph2xs6A5435mU2lQUPG_KyX_zSYP6GtLs7I0Kra4DjKTs/s1600/sp4+17.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUXNG_FNDyidmXXRE_wDonfgfUamDryf5xGtoAn-GqNz1k8CuIrzcHMqJN2gggpFaMa1QU5EDovh4bYM7_TNISliTiaHkKvmph2xs6A5435mU2lQUPG_KyX_zSYP6GtLs7I0Kra4DjKTs/s400/sp4+17.jpg" width="165" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Lady Meets The New Land</b><br />
<br />
She knits<br />
<br />
as alligators bubble<br />
bitterns boom<br />
and egrets balance on elephants’ backs<br />
<br />
she knits<br />
she knows<br />
<br />
mind serpentine<br />
as ridging on<br />
the intricate cloth<br />
she knits<br />
<br />
her wits<br />
<br />
she knows<br />
the snarl the yelp the roar<br />
<br />
what flies above<br />
what crawls below<br />
the aboriginal shore<br />
<br />
she knits and knots as<br />
<br />
she sits<br />
on a chair<br />
on the deck<br />
of the boat<br />
up the mud-and-mangrove river<br />
<br />
and weaves<br />
jungle leaves and cones and thorns<br />
to patterned forms<br />
of home<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[11/9/97]<br />
<br />
(<i>Poetry NZ</i> 17 (1998): 59.)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEZtO3WzrmlDM_oeyonCMIoh3Z3djL_vSzDjwuE1Z-N8c6HMsvGCMCrfA1H_P9LfSmhzIptDgaPKC3bqkroJdXgi73UpQSrybpILgCR_SPOW5MQA6jM9lMJRZvE-kCEhRNbuB2ugb9gI/s1600/sp4+18.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJEZtO3WzrmlDM_oeyonCMIoh3Z3djL_vSzDjwuE1Z-N8c6HMsvGCMCrfA1H_P9LfSmhzIptDgaPKC3bqkroJdXgi73UpQSrybpILgCR_SPOW5MQA6jM9lMJRZvE-kCEhRNbuB2ugb9gI/s400/sp4+18.jpg" width="202" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Death</b><br />
<br />
Look for something in reverse <br />
<br />
A red road <br />
that trails into grass<br />
<br />
A river <br />
diminishing downstream<br />
<br />
A day <br />
that climaxes to quiet<br />
<br />
<br />
Prepare a lessening trend<br />
<br />
And put aside <br />
the calendar of gain<br />
<br />
Choose time<br />
<br />
new space<br />
<br />
And prospect <br />
for a backward land <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[30/9/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1D62ign4PdrvK2ovtRqRsRMh8q2rxUY832XVBakxN7yy2A4rrMJIL96y2awjdfGvdajUFNCVXlikLW3z9mMaljFESiiopsoc3ig88sF0bBkij8iLf2DrUm3lYy-xWjxw_lbM2AvUK4K4/s1600/sp4+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1D62ign4PdrvK2ovtRqRsRMh8q2rxUY832XVBakxN7yy2A4rrMJIL96y2awjdfGvdajUFNCVXlikLW3z9mMaljFESiiopsoc3ig88sF0bBkij8iLf2DrUm3lYy-xWjxw_lbM2AvUK4K4/s400/sp4+19.jpg" width="152" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Precinct</b><br />
<br />
If there is a place<br />
that God might visit<br />
it is the R.S.A.<br />
<br />
where Virtues meet<br />
<br />
the Old Ones<br />
<br />
in buildings like churches<br />
and other eucharistic places<br />
to eat and drink <br />
on carpets of camomile<br />
red poppies <br />
and flags<br />
<br />
here they talk<br />
(hear them) <br />
in words of fifty years disuse<br />
about the salvation of the world<br />
by sacrifice <br />
and military rank<br />
<br />
heroes' talk<br />
old stuff <br />
God stuff<br />
<br />
She comes <br />
and gets a drink at the bar<br />
to listen<br />
<br />
pleased, she says <br />
Look at this new thing I've made<br />
It's Good<br />
<br />
(she has a bias<br />
to history) <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[30/9/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM80swvzPguQ8wbpLyCUN1W66yzjjmEzNa2qt6-UwYjUs14-jSWY2PiZhZ0OtkbeR7j3Q_1nfVtZfwPgmvgA7ddSzgbEUD9K2snNky_PktZqsCG9DZpzQE0BmQg3LxPP9LG4z33ZmTdU8/s1600/sp4+20.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM80swvzPguQ8wbpLyCUN1W66yzjjmEzNa2qt6-UwYjUs14-jSWY2PiZhZ0OtkbeR7j3Q_1nfVtZfwPgmvgA7ddSzgbEUD9K2snNky_PktZqsCG9DZpzQE0BmQg3LxPP9LG4z33ZmTdU8/s400/sp4+20.jpg" width="172" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Epithalamion</b><br />
<br />
(for Anna and Richard, 14.6.97)<br />
<br />
Today, the world's their wedding<br />
and we assistants at it, <br />
to celebrate their step to household time,<br />
<br />
To lay foundations, frames,<br />
and roof support, <br />
paths and passages and porch,<br />
rooms and rudiments and floors.<br />
<br />
Sheltered in the frame of love,<br />
walled by tenderness and care,<br />
fed from Anna's garden rows, <br />
by Richard balanced and refined,<br />
we pray this house will gain <br />
in strength of heart and mind.<br />
<br />
So established, houses grow<br />
as ours have done, <br />
from one to two to more. <br />
Both Kyle and Jarvis started small<br />
and multiplied by natural lore<br />
from one to two to three or more.<br />
<br />
Remember, both, to stop and think:<br />
houses grow and houses shrink.<br />
The company once held is gone,<br />
the passages seem cold and long<br />
and only you are left, <br />
the two of you again. <br />
The house is clear of toys<br />
and clean the shelves –<br />
then look into each other's eyes<br />
and see – yourselves.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[12/6/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDAUXSJCD5hScVK6siwrIRxc9tdE2r6j3wjYQmpmQAMelgt7oJbCmDo8plIOKIclWGMO6xhJxxbHwoXWnZoJKKsoVut31ekSZRQ3pulDbFLXyhiajUjdLbzDsf3CNuaCn9DDsScx9Gvw/s1600/sp4+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcDAUXSJCD5hScVK6siwrIRxc9tdE2r6j3wjYQmpmQAMelgt7oJbCmDo8plIOKIclWGMO6xhJxxbHwoXWnZoJKKsoVut31ekSZRQ3pulDbFLXyhiajUjdLbzDsf3CNuaCn9DDsScx9Gvw/s400/sp4+21.jpg" width="186" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>By Touch</b><br />
<br />
Rain<br />
at a house<br />
in the country<br />
<br />
is the sound of running<br />
on the roof<br />
<br />
a sky of smoke<br />
so low it smells<br />
of burning<br />
<br />
a parliament<br />
of birds<br />
in the tree<br />
at lunch<br />
<br />
mud<br />
outside the front door<br />
<br />
leaves down<br />
<br />
and worry<br />
at the leak in the pantry roof<br />
at puddles on the drive<br />
when the children come from school<br />
<br />
and for wood enough<br />
<br />
in at the fire <br />
tonight<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[10/10/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitNBUFABnScZ68UqgRM0aHYNl_tHKxoBdU1OCH6_J5bgqEnZavJCHos9TqCusdxATPlEW-SaD5w0s_jn8eAQtxtXWPl17uSPuTaxcvysQliDa7O3qzAW0iaBqmYp7f6qlIHOjZMqFTKSY/s1600/sp4+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitNBUFABnScZ68UqgRM0aHYNl_tHKxoBdU1OCH6_J5bgqEnZavJCHos9TqCusdxATPlEW-SaD5w0s_jn8eAQtxtXWPl17uSPuTaxcvysQliDa7O3qzAW0iaBqmYp7f6qlIHOjZMqFTKSY/s400/sp4+22.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>To Live In A Cave</b><br />
<br />
I don't intend to change<br />
my mind <br />
nor any other part<br />
and will go there<br />
though you object<br />
and show <br />
a tear <br />
and say ‘The Silence!<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">in the dark</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">– like that’</span><br />
<br />
at least I’ll see the stars<br />
<br />
which you've not seen<br />
<br />
since we began<br />
to talk of them <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/10/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcPIgPLya1Cq6Fdep-bo8S-GjyHbEFvk-6UeERIHQvTn8zSqtXdib_LCcmoeUViNC3IWEVoKGdwg5EsoglLGRZbzImTNnhSysIln8RDmXoHL1lotoAeLwBIUPX5FkJ9CwCFVaJhAjhcI/s1600/sp4+23.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="379" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggcPIgPLya1Cq6Fdep-bo8S-GjyHbEFvk-6UeERIHQvTn8zSqtXdib_LCcmoeUViNC3IWEVoKGdwg5EsoglLGRZbzImTNnhSysIln8RDmXoHL1lotoAeLwBIUPX5FkJ9CwCFVaJhAjhcI/s400/sp4+23.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
rustling <br />
says Jack<br />
and tentative<br />
<br />
is the wind<br />
<br />
that blows<br />
<br />
over dead hills<br />
on the Manukau <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/10/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxaw8WgJ66-gZeaye_TasgUyUDMIo5xWkKE5UYWzjyqFd00BR7wrc5EtBoCm5fAhBqrz9TmXzA0uWKAwSSslyudAcDV0iHR4GG69E93ZNuzwUg3REYJnlC1Leg9wnV12ciMW0oJPuyQI/s1600/sp4+24.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuxaw8WgJ66-gZeaye_TasgUyUDMIo5xWkKE5UYWzjyqFd00BR7wrc5EtBoCm5fAhBqrz9TmXzA0uWKAwSSslyudAcDV0iHR4GG69E93ZNuzwUg3REYJnlC1Leg9wnV12ciMW0oJPuyQI/s400/sp4+24.jpg" width="201" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>An Artichoke In The White Garden At Gledswood</b><br />
<br />
Jocelyn did<br />
<br />
in front of the promise<br />
she cut<br />
<br />
the long green stem three times<br />
she cut <br />
the sharp bits of the bracts on the head<br />
she cut <br />
the head <br />
and removed the choke<br />
she blanched <br />
and seasoned with salt &c<br />
and cooked <br />
<i>bouquet garni</i> with wine over a brisk heat<br />
with nutmeg <br />
with demi-glace sauce<br />
shallots <br />
she chopped<br />
she did<br />
<br />
under the vine<br />
in the sun <br />
she cut<br />
<br />
she blanched <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[25/11/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP_3H8ZvX5aINf1s6Y8TgeB-vL8FiAZYAY3K8IdzzMpW0SLPL_uE4mncpM_oQQprZi3OJMmlDseDiryN7KzEUvu-EDu90lb0VUuDbt8LktLkAbKnPdVr274XDIf4nk0Z0t_WZZ9LiYOQ/s1600/sp4+25.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvP_3H8ZvX5aINf1s6Y8TgeB-vL8FiAZYAY3K8IdzzMpW0SLPL_uE4mncpM_oQQprZi3OJMmlDseDiryN7KzEUvu-EDu90lb0VUuDbt8LktLkAbKnPdVr274XDIf4nk0Z0t_WZZ9LiYOQ/s400/sp4+25.jpg" width="206" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
On hot spring nights<br />
we go bathing<br />
<br />
and come out again<br />
smelling sulphurous<br />
<br />
the others don't like<br />
the smell and shower<br />
<br />
but I do and pull<br />
on my clothes with<br />
<br />
out drying to catch<br />
the dampness which<br />
<br />
I like <br />
it's natural<br />
<br />
and springs from the<br />
heart of thermal regions<br />
<br />
I never send them<br />
to the cleaners <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[27/11/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9vWQ5rT7e-sVCxUF8HemUMLArApzav7_mNEmH-YKlZFQhgV95Q2IChAV49DabmmYJbf3y_-ibgbPNBL1md3DMOppVuoiyzobCM1g3nzsegrXDSAC_VVS7z28Oo0Rij_0qawyWuPBqIo/s1600/sp4+26.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ9vWQ5rT7e-sVCxUF8HemUMLArApzav7_mNEmH-YKlZFQhgV95Q2IChAV49DabmmYJbf3y_-ibgbPNBL1md3DMOppVuoiyzobCM1g3nzsegrXDSAC_VVS7z28Oo0Rij_0qawyWuPBqIo/s400/sp4+26.jpg" width="152" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On The Way</b><br />
<br />
a smell of drizzle<br />
misted by the sun<br />
to steam<br />
<br />
and first bread<br />
for Sunday shoppers<br />
<br />
jasmine<br />
on the crumbled wall<br />
<br />
flowers in sparse bunches<br />
on the stall<br />
outside the shop<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">chrysanthemums in pots</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">boronia</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">irises</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and (always) long-stemmed rose</span><br />
<br />
cooking in the cafes<br />
bacon (brown)<br />
and bacon (crisp)<br />
drifts to distances <br />
to other cafes other corners<br />
tea-shops cakes and coffees<br />
<br />
but mine<br />
the light of the sun shines through<br />
puff cloud from the sea<br />
the city patched<br />
in moving light below<br />
<br />
the red the blue and other parts<br />
seem white<br />
<br />
in the light<br />
<br />
to me<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[27/11/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBESXSTflxlgGisaRF2NoVtRgIDbubWOSN8zBtA4RB2-FIbYiwnjBIYw8Z5cRVhBev8GysEv1kh6PcCj7OdJYuHXzRJABWPTnDj4ZNfx0dw6iLaDrKaMwu7csy2BhFZ2mZDdq_zG3Qn4/s1600/sp4+27.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEBESXSTflxlgGisaRF2NoVtRgIDbubWOSN8zBtA4RB2-FIbYiwnjBIYw8Z5cRVhBev8GysEv1kh6PcCj7OdJYuHXzRJABWPTnDj4ZNfx0dw6iLaDrKaMwu7csy2BhFZ2mZDdq_zG3Qn4/s400/sp4+27.jpg" width="153" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Small Change</b><br />
<br />
Jane and Sandy<br />
left the town<br />
and took a place out west<br />
to rest<br />
<br />
a paddock<br />
with a house<br />
a horse<br />
a granny-flat<br />
for workshop space<br />
<br />
a dog<br />
for peace<br />
<br />
Sandy went on trucking<br />
Jane did help<br />
<br />
at Parent Aid<br />
Auxiliary Wings of various sorts<br />
and Threads<br />
<br />
the kids are grown<br />
at work in town<br />
<br />
Sandy goes on trucking<br />
<br />
usual stops<br />
usual routes<br />
<br />
Jane does help<br />
<br />
the dog digs ditches on the lawn<br />
the horse gets loose<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[27/11/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSudBU66dmepvWi-lMCnN3T7EBPQC5XhN2BjXtonw40ACW1Fmb5ueCVJz9vAQ271ISFWdhY0Yh13WAI-js2_vLRfvxbjyzfDZFLFJEjTGqTNwci5u7ljTLuWnZsXx7qT4zxthKNRKp5vU/s1600/sp4+28.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSudBU66dmepvWi-lMCnN3T7EBPQC5XhN2BjXtonw40ACW1Fmb5ueCVJz9vAQ271ISFWdhY0Yh13WAI-js2_vLRfvxbjyzfDZFLFJEjTGqTNwci5u7ljTLuWnZsXx7qT4zxthKNRKp5vU/s400/sp4+28.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>If I Were a Tree</b><br />
<br />
Again it’s summer<br />
<br />
Some blow trumpets<br />
some ring bells<br />
but I would chatter triumph<br />
in the air<br />
<br />
and fill my leaves with cicadas<br />
to sing<br />
<br />
of sun<br />
<br />
to comfort you<br />
and silence you<br />
to drift your thoughts<br />
to me<br />
<br />
I would reproduce<br />
vegetatively<br />
all along this bank<br />
<br />
and you would sit<br />
in the shade<br />
of my parts<br />
<br />
and watch the traffic on the stream –<br />
the fish, as they dance for flies<br />
the boats, with merchandise<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[27/11/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtaBShZFtphyphenhyphenoH27I350V6R3EoWTDdsarRZsFYeATavPvlEEx_72I3rvJs7F6CG3_KMAznhyXNEdnXXaMC5Boi0Merq3atlIOWIm-fs8r3lDoNzmXZKxFXCuH0SfxP3x-jnG7ZijLA3w/s1600/sp4+29.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxtaBShZFtphyphenhyphenoH27I350V6R3EoWTDdsarRZsFYeATavPvlEEx_72I3rvJs7F6CG3_KMAznhyXNEdnXXaMC5Boi0Merq3atlIOWIm-fs8r3lDoNzmXZKxFXCuH0SfxP3x-jnG7ZijLA3w/s400/sp4+29.jpg" width="159" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Tent</b><br />
<br />
A single drop of artifice<br />
to mitigate the force<br />
of nature’s wild weather<br />
<br />
an angle of desire<br />
in the snow<br />
by the lake<br />
<br />
cliffs and mountains<br />
ice high black<br />
<br />
that the chaos it defines<br />
is made stolidity<br />
<br />
and comforts us<br />
who want solitude<br />
at an altitude<br />
of a permanent posture of defence<br />
<br />
against the tramping thoughts<br />
that use these tracks<br />
<br />
and keep the shores<br />
of lakes<br />
and boulder-driven creeks<br />
<br />
elite<br />
in a rush to reception<br />
<br />
some sort of sea<br />
or reservoir<br />
<br />
for city use<br />
where rain alone is insufficient<br />
to live by<br />
if it comes with wind<br />
<br />
where another source for life<br />
than that above<br />
is stored below<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/12/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufJcqnICU4OqjWV6wmax7K61oM8g7rKDZDeluZBkDEno6lreXGnlSr1RjfMEVytuTwuBYovUiwHVIZFPgK97egAbg4tw7KJhYIUR8pw2XWchmxhuQaw3oHZdiqIRXL70IQtEspO2870o/s1600/sp4+30.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgufJcqnICU4OqjWV6wmax7K61oM8g7rKDZDeluZBkDEno6lreXGnlSr1RjfMEVytuTwuBYovUiwHVIZFPgK97egAbg4tw7KJhYIUR8pw2XWchmxhuQaw3oHZdiqIRXL70IQtEspO2870o/s400/sp4+30.jpg" width="198" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>This</b><br />
is not good enough<br />
<br />
snow lies long <br />
in summer it's too hot at night<br />
teeth hurt <br />
eyes ache <br />
and neighbours keep odd hours<br />
<br />
a lot of things could change for the better<br />
<br />
like this wind <br />
that blows from a cold sea<br />
too often <br />
and too cold<br />
<br />
and you my dear<br />
who must not age<br />
nor be sick anymore<br />
<br />
we must shift<br />
to a safer place <br />
out of the common way<br />
<br />
between the weather<br />
and the spoken word<br />
<br />
where change builds up forever<br />
but goes elsewhere <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/12/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7r5ZLQ7fp4tFjZ0GnJJkshaAbg6AvijA9MlN5XfMyS2CQd9ogV0GQ_qeh_gS-1InfOnrO6lBYVBhNAF4MmwF0VmZh9Sq148TcqTOIDp7W2cCY7v-zTGFh4H1HZPdb9RhHrfpg_3uDrc/s1600/sp4+31.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgM7r5ZLQ7fp4tFjZ0GnJJkshaAbg6AvijA9MlN5XfMyS2CQd9ogV0GQ_qeh_gS-1InfOnrO6lBYVBhNAF4MmwF0VmZh9Sq148TcqTOIDp7W2cCY7v-zTGFh4H1HZPdb9RhHrfpg_3uDrc/s400/sp4+31.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Last Lost</b><br />
<br />
when all is done<br />
my greatest grief –<br />
<br />
the sound of you<br />
is gone<br />
<br />
no word<br />
or admonition<br />
<br />
or endearment fond<br />
<br />
no impress<br />
on the air<br />
<br />
nor echo<br />
found<br />
<br />
no shadow<br />
of displacement<br />
<br />
mystique spun<br />
<br />
today is just today –<br />
you’re not around<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/12/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZgipxLTS8fdGFeFbrs0V8DE1W9RXXko_EYlqO4VFygK23ecLfNz4I-aF9qNlKW3VVQ6ZYJBqxxjf7xx-xCyzeq7862GHnEQ1bu_HjpVslrUqXn5chatgmHnEyXA37Luo_WMOMCgAxEQ/s1600/sp4+32.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7ZgipxLTS8fdGFeFbrs0V8DE1W9RXXko_EYlqO4VFygK23ecLfNz4I-aF9qNlKW3VVQ6ZYJBqxxjf7xx-xCyzeq7862GHnEQ1bu_HjpVslrUqXn5chatgmHnEyXA37Luo_WMOMCgAxEQ/s400/sp4+32.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsk2fd4z5ijmXQqEWAcoArC2JSsKoFIh2sXDqcj35_2iokXCWtOyuJyZSIRbFSEL4p_dy0AQVBjkzIGWJ2rYya0L_MhHrK0WTYpvwxGHro9THf9lncq_xgxxQWz22j05kJwSIucPpmXjI/s1600/sp4+33.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsk2fd4z5ijmXQqEWAcoArC2JSsKoFIh2sXDqcj35_2iokXCWtOyuJyZSIRbFSEL4p_dy0AQVBjkzIGWJ2rYya0L_MhHrK0WTYpvwxGHro9THf9lncq_xgxxQWz22j05kJwSIucPpmXjI/s400/sp4+33.jpg" width="167" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6Sq6c4r9vQ9a292_4kwr4-3C_bMfD3dBX4g88kV3IpC0Flv0EqsB1WMd3kXOZo9FBEgVgZffrgcDcBb1dMWTNmtsG0L4-uxJgr0UF2CkE5zr1xazo5C0q3ab_2uvDWOcVxdBG5hh_pA/s1600/sp4+34.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhS6Sq6c4r9vQ9a292_4kwr4-3C_bMfD3dBX4g88kV3IpC0Flv0EqsB1WMd3kXOZo9FBEgVgZffrgcDcBb1dMWTNmtsG0L4-uxJgr0UF2CkE5zr1xazo5C0q3ab_2uvDWOcVxdBG5hh_pA/s400/sp4+34.jpg" width="390" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Her Grand-Son’s Son</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<b>1.</b><br />
<br />
When you found out<br />
who she was<br />
it affected you<br />
<br />
I could see<br />
<br />
Life’s like that –<br />
these family ramifications<br />
like and unlike<br />
conjoint<br />
<br />
and your love of cooking<br />
<br />
but you can’t be held responsible<br />
for the sort of genetic recipe<br />
that’s left you<br />
incommunicative<br />
<br />
and a chef<br />
<br />
You’ve sprung from another mix<br />
<br />
It’s judging in a vacuum now<br />
ex nihilo<br />
lost in a mass of reference<br />
no invoice for advice<br />
<br />
Should you bare your soul<br />
to me<br />
<br />
or a substitute’s<br />
<br />
some artiste’s –<br />
near as good?<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2.</b><br />
<br />
Remember though<br />
that life’s a joint agreement<br />
<br />
you can’t spend<br />
all your time in the kitchen<br />
<br />
you’ve got to come out<br />
like everyone else<br />
<br />
and say Hey this is<br />
me I’m the one<br />
<br />
who’s always cooked on cue<br />
you can’t take that away<br />
<br />
from me, say<br />
as it’s baked so it shall endure<br />
<br />
say the secret’s in the butter<br />
melt it say, with thyme<br />
<br />
say, with sage<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3.</b><br />
<br />
Meet me Mama when I do<br />
and rescue me from<br />
introspective interviews<br />
culinary dodgers who<br />
will want to write me up<br />
research me for a T.V. show<br />
<br />
scald me<br />
so I lose a skin<br />
<br />
pass pastry-scented messages<br />
of prurient import<br />
<br />
Ask your friends<br />
see what they think<br />
they go cooking<br />
<br />
you’ll get some good advice like<br />
one swallow doesn’t make a sufficiency<br />
<br />
Say –<br />
I want to be a man of words<br />
the Word a man to me<br />
<br />
Stuff the receipts<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2oAxztvEU7IObAV474dOJswTMFTtwsDs1AsfLilryc_-n8QsxaP7Cu4sdQdLUzzcvz_skSU8J6HClVd67cvK9WC7AksjgPpJPxwua8gVJO_unwAJs4eJhelJN69-n37i33WTs5D75Tk/s1600/sp4+35.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-2oAxztvEU7IObAV474dOJswTMFTtwsDs1AsfLilryc_-n8QsxaP7Cu4sdQdLUzzcvz_skSU8J6HClVd67cvK9WC7AksjgPpJPxwua8gVJO_unwAJs4eJhelJN69-n37i33WTs5D75Tk/s400/sp4+35.jpg" width="357" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
If I don’t get my words out<br />
they hang around<br />
like the local rag<br />
and get in the way<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">(last year’s leaves</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">old snow</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">dust of the past</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and letters)</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[12/2/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu42Knuj5em6qeyiN3LNukD1E8azU3CEJ2p_BaBnNtPImghTIqfiwlKM-WyHY12aSGNtVHgDZxxWMlWw7Mc2XViHSdvX4QE2h-h8kVDKYlN_FdU1p4SPnpqeEsZPqPyfFn9Y63VYKZ4Q/s1600/sp4+36.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglu42Knuj5em6qeyiN3LNukD1E8azU3CEJ2p_BaBnNtPImghTIqfiwlKM-WyHY12aSGNtVHgDZxxWMlWw7Mc2XViHSdvX4QE2h-h8kVDKYlN_FdU1p4SPnpqeEsZPqPyfFn9Y63VYKZ4Q/s400/sp4+36.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>At A Time Of Sickness</b><br />
<br />
they come<br />
most days<br />
at different times<br />
<br />
and sit<br />
like aquifers<br />
for refreshment<br />
<br />
to wash<br />
parched hours<br />
<br />
conscious<br />
of the gift they bear<br />
<br />
the<br />
inexhaustible<br />
<br />
the<br />
bountiful<br />
<br />
over-running well of words monologue<br />
<br />
that would be better sold<br />
<br />
in bags<br />
at a spring fair<br />
<br />
self-sealed<br />
to ensure against<br />
<br />
miscegenation<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[12/2/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowrMI0V9ZSN98JpJjWHBckLsYSO1djfbxaM_RFVzHY4LhHytnAEbvER3UxFJufTE6UtcxiA6CbkabIXxQJNY57bTV1EFgqLzlbLz5MUfy9BEb5TaTRz6es_brj7NnWvAPDqsYnHZfkc8/s1600/sp4+37.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjowrMI0V9ZSN98JpJjWHBckLsYSO1djfbxaM_RFVzHY4LhHytnAEbvER3UxFJufTE6UtcxiA6CbkabIXxQJNY57bTV1EFgqLzlbLz5MUfy9BEb5TaTRz6es_brj7NnWvAPDqsYnHZfkc8/s400/sp4+37.jpg" width="287" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Birthday</b><br />
<br />
Every Year<br />
on this day:-<br />
<br />
the Apple tree goes green<br />
the Cherry pink<br />
the Persimmon bursts the bud<br />
the Paw-Paw puts an embryo leaf<br />
the Mamaku unfurls<br />
the Daphne:-<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">no,</span><br />
it’s You.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/3/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsySyu4WcfE57OePA9iXXgNb1cI_lAO5IQwK8lO21JKjUYETjuPRMhhNtqKnn6J89k273YB86HUGPKR7yv5e2BZrc-WQaY9IVwgHJIU1_M_lFNiHvdJGPhztJDjRVyCpjAAfHW9zAT1s/s1600/sp4+38.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVsySyu4WcfE57OePA9iXXgNb1cI_lAO5IQwK8lO21JKjUYETjuPRMhhNtqKnn6J89k273YB86HUGPKR7yv5e2BZrc-WQaY9IVwgHJIU1_M_lFNiHvdJGPhztJDjRVyCpjAAfHW9zAT1s/s400/sp4+38.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Other Half</b><br />
<br />
In my dream<br />
beside<br />
<br />
you are<br />
always<br />
<br />
beside<br />
<br />
no other shape<br />
your space<br />
<br />
inveterate<br />
<br />
you are<br />
<br />
a place<br />
reserved<br />
<br />
(now you are gone)<br />
<br />
for later incarnation<br />
<br />
not<br />
for new<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/3/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySBqZ_VvVCm8rKb88rSgPTClzwYEC2xMOFb4YUSe6jKJhyFMROfAkbfbaqdX9OM5OcPRCJ1MAmiCZKvRK1goDwYxK1lBiv6hUXE8SFc1fa8jsU425T2Uok2EsvvSeUG1CE_PxIs9mTLs/s1600/sp4+39.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhySBqZ_VvVCm8rKb88rSgPTClzwYEC2xMOFb4YUSe6jKJhyFMROfAkbfbaqdX9OM5OcPRCJ1MAmiCZKvRK1goDwYxK1lBiv6hUXE8SFc1fa8jsU425T2Uok2EsvvSeUG1CE_PxIs9mTLs/s400/sp4+39.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Bivouac</b><br />
<br />
By a small stream<br />
near the spring<br />
<br />
the water’s new<br />
the sound is fresh<br />
<br />
there’s air<br />
in it<br />
<br />
the sound<br />
is sharp<br />
<br />
the light so clear<br />
you could die<br />
in it<br />
<br />
the floating<br />
the flowers<br />
the moss<br />
<br />
are part of<br />
the breath <br />
of it<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[17/3/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxOQtQ87-I__0ADWLpBD1lAF60SpfdDBAFNitj1G9lh9cOwY_VGd-77IU_MLBuv2f2KLFUJsb5mUx0Et3wQ42FqeK43YxGFOuFGx_WF85S9mXkXPwIoMWraoZFMQH9UNcUrwAj35MRbg/s1600/sp4+40.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRxOQtQ87-I__0ADWLpBD1lAF60SpfdDBAFNitj1G9lh9cOwY_VGd-77IU_MLBuv2f2KLFUJsb5mUx0Et3wQ42FqeK43YxGFOuFGx_WF85S9mXkXPwIoMWraoZFMQH9UNcUrwAj35MRbg/s400/sp4+40.jpg" width="179" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Independence Day</b><br />
<br />
I can’t get away<br />
from you<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">anymore</span><br />
<br />
That you’ve died<br />
is true<br />
<br />
Alive<br />
space contained<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">you</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">dead</span><br />
you’re alive<br />
all over the<span style="padding-left: 4em;">place</span><br />
<br />
in the book<br />
in the bed<br />
in the T.V.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">lounge</span><br />
<br />
in the superette<br />
for milk<br />
<br />
in my head<br />
<br />
some times -<br />
<br />
that you’re<span style="padding-left: 4em;">dead</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[31/3/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNddQr-WsxN6kvHQjItalljbvZXP2iQdj0imd9OCtT-8XWN_G6FcGKlUHIq9kI-iwSFUOHi9pOdV004Xogepx5nLzgoBKQPlPGuy6SS0l2cKlfEGYDGtWAG0PekQo4CwqHiRwZ3UVJb-g/s1600/sp4+41.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNddQr-WsxN6kvHQjItalljbvZXP2iQdj0imd9OCtT-8XWN_G6FcGKlUHIq9kI-iwSFUOHi9pOdV004Xogepx5nLzgoBKQPlPGuy6SS0l2cKlfEGYDGtWAG0PekQo4CwqHiRwZ3UVJb-g/s400/sp4+41.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Thelymitra pulchella</b><br />
<br />
(Millerton)<br />
<br />
some flowers<br />
that grow round here<br />
don’t show to the sun<br />
<br />
they fold in tight<br />
and ( by some inner mechanism)<br />
reproduce themselves<br />
<br />
like I might<br />
(who live round here)<br />
in quiet creativity<br />
mature unseen<br />
<br />
and leave my seed<br />
like orchid dust to you<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/4/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXEvN99rJJhLib2Z7vpLZ7dygYp01lOVDEeEEmn5fwSs5dESL0JhjtXTGTwgVANvsdZHhnRMFMg1k-fjCiA1Pozt15vByffq5x5KeWbGLnuSQYUvvGjQSvdYAhMzMhmTf_DIxs0y6edw/s1600/sp4+42.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhXEvN99rJJhLib2Z7vpLZ7dygYp01lOVDEeEEmn5fwSs5dESL0JhjtXTGTwgVANvsdZHhnRMFMg1k-fjCiA1Pozt15vByffq5x5KeWbGLnuSQYUvvGjQSvdYAhMzMhmTf_DIxs0y6edw/s400/sp4+42.jpg" width="255" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Death In A Tower Block</b><br />
<br />
(Miriel)<br />
<br />
on a wet night<br />
it rains forever<br />
<br />
each car wash<br />
a sea on a shore<br />
<br />
to explore<br />
when the sun comes up<br />
<br />
for you<br />
once more<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/4/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37eOaQDxZFsKw1iNkarB9fimOfITHbwX_r7Yew4Kw2V5_39aFrxguIxqb3K7dIqOAhidxfT-RQg5qvNK1knq2CDBilIoqwRHW1KnzZWOwihrpGvplhI5VY_VUj7FHsB_uXCM3fHC4rWY/s1600/sp4+43.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi37eOaQDxZFsKw1iNkarB9fimOfITHbwX_r7Yew4Kw2V5_39aFrxguIxqb3K7dIqOAhidxfT-RQg5qvNK1knq2CDBilIoqwRHW1KnzZWOwihrpGvplhI5VY_VUj7FHsB_uXCM3fHC4rWY/s400/sp4+43.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>At Night</b><br />
<br />
I’ve seen<br />
<br />
You step from the clock<br />
when the hands point<br />
to the darkest hour.<br />
<br />
From the corner of the room<br />
with the drapes<br />
and the draught.<br />
<br />
I’ve seen you rise<br />
from the back of the chair<br />
like an antimacassar.<br />
<br />
And as nightmare, <br />
from the bed.<br />
<br />
Do none of this<br />
when you come for me.<br />
<br />
Call at a comfortable hour, <br />
<br />
with company.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/4/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-4-1997-1998.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKMVgINOjma7eRqJrkhndPOE63s0hc37P5Wd0l_FuVZeCOg4qFX2_6tcyDmZcOwyt0kJDDwJPYwcRJHLrkQHQ_FoxfEYYM-vpBt9LE7Mbz-DCALeMC6e0cxNn40bWb17UpBtnxs7cHA0/s1600/sp4+44.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggKMVgINOjma7eRqJrkhndPOE63s0hc37P5Wd0l_FuVZeCOg4qFX2_6tcyDmZcOwyt0kJDDwJPYwcRJHLrkQHQ_FoxfEYYM-vpBt9LE7Mbz-DCALeMC6e0cxNn40bWb17UpBtnxs7cHA0/s400/sp4+44.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Liturgy</b><br />
<br />
(for Miriel)<br />
<br />
your wrists<br />
to watch<br />
at knife<br />
and fork<br />
<br />
the turn<br />
of the bone<br />
so delicate<br />
<br />
and your throat<br />
as you take<br />
the morsel<br />
down<br />
<br />
so silent<br />
a sublimation<br />
price-<br />
<br />
-less<br />
precious<br />
sacrifice<br />
<br />
of labour<br />
<br />
to the simple task<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[16/4/98]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-25205536314596719682012-01-04T10:05:00.012+13:002017-11-26T10:57:42.468+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 3 (1996-1997)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s1600/Leceister+Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574471027162316738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s400/Leceister+Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2011/06/book-twenty-four.html">Shorter Poems: 3</a></span></b><br />
(1996-1997)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">His Place</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Re-Possession</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Deep Throat</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Morning Magic</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Your Spirit Comes to the Aid of My Weakness</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">A Visit from the North</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">On the Slab</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Sometime in the eighties</a> ... [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Greymouth</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">The Christchurch Botanical Gardens Horticultural Apprentices’ Mutual Improvement Society</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">Breakfast in Our Block</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">This Book of Ours</a> [3/10/96]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">Goethe in Sicily</a> [3/10/96]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">Hound</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">Ancient Worship</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">Ibn al Farid</a> (Cairo, 1280) [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">It’s so quiet</a> ... [21/2/97]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-RXcFnLuND3iBpBH17bJSGKqNZ1ZELIH3i8vqaLYMP_gyFNOVaUa2To1-UeJHvP9B0xyFZm8IJGumWzEgeazqo3NG30nQyAGk7QDuZXSabkTJymYh2NAUAxsu2oAsyxZ0XDC1CbG2zo/s1600/sp3+1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir-RXcFnLuND3iBpBH17bJSGKqNZ1ZELIH3i8vqaLYMP_gyFNOVaUa2To1-UeJHvP9B0xyFZm8IJGumWzEgeazqo3NG30nQyAGk7QDuZXSabkTJymYh2NAUAxsu2oAsyxZ0XDC1CbG2zo/s400/sp3+1.jpg" width="193" /></a><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>His Place</b><br />
<br />
on the box<br />
there’s<br />
N.Z POST ONLY<br />
<br />
at the gate<br />
there’s<br />
NO REPS PLEASE<br />
<br />
on the mat<br />
there’s read in red<br />
NOT YOU AGAIN</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5BcLsbcYA5lRlxghV9wKHmWxwtpDyUEVLBhohtVNT8dlL27zsG7TcaRPY8vaqa8ei8qZE5bgj3ZjOlo935AVmEEcLzCpkKYicUa0Lic5BC0n1vH4h2jykcAWqHZpvyTYFEeuUh2Xyw/s1600/sp3+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqc5BcLsbcYA5lRlxghV9wKHmWxwtpDyUEVLBhohtVNT8dlL27zsG7TcaRPY8vaqa8ei8qZE5bgj3ZjOlo935AVmEEcLzCpkKYicUa0Lic5BC0n1vH4h2jykcAWqHZpvyTYFEeuUh2Xyw/s400/sp3+2.jpg" width="133" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Re-Possession</b><br />
<br />
Don’t look<br />
under the bed.<br />
<br />
Don’t sit on it.<br />
<br />
I’m squashed in, <br />
fringed with dust.<br />
You mustn’t know.<br />
<br />
And I don’t want<br />
to see you.<br />
<br />
Sometimes <br />
I can see your feet, <br />
your shoes, <br />
<br />
as you move around<br />
shaking things, <br />
lifting, <br />
looking<br />
<br />
for things pinned up, <br />
pushed under, <br />
of mine.<br />
<br />
I don’t know<br />
what you want, <br />
but there’s nothing here<br />
of use. <br />
You’ve given me<br />
too much time.<br />
<br />
I’ve spent the lot.<br />
<br />
It’s gone.<br />
Worn out, <br />
used up. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1E4j7f04s_WirMJR-Ba2Ip23IzCzzk4WpKOguWPMJ2Y6wEtxFTc1i9cNu9IZGf_M7_PH_ZhS_dsa5UAHohuXBTT3JvWcDEmz4KKXui6OhsAqRPG0M1UCWOGY6LPkbkytE17pou5IKlNA/s1600/sp3+3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1E4j7f04s_WirMJR-Ba2Ip23IzCzzk4WpKOguWPMJ2Y6wEtxFTc1i9cNu9IZGf_M7_PH_ZhS_dsa5UAHohuXBTT3JvWcDEmz4KKXui6OhsAqRPG0M1UCWOGY6LPkbkytE17pou5IKlNA/s400/sp3+3.jpg" width="106" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfIVWkPEz21ps9CHu5SovPssEvi7h0dISSiHVW7FHBJLKXE24I-SRzXuYJEdBnPFJ2pijIUYfwTHdyn87GcrOv-Hnb0B2fUAwTEm1PNQyVlvd13PNCITfk5lsiXyNdCLCFodlLFCAIQI/s1600/sp3+4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQfIVWkPEz21ps9CHu5SovPssEvi7h0dISSiHVW7FHBJLKXE24I-SRzXuYJEdBnPFJ2pijIUYfwTHdyn87GcrOv-Hnb0B2fUAwTEm1PNQyVlvd13PNCITfk5lsiXyNdCLCFodlLFCAIQI/s400/sp3+4.jpg" width="197" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Deep Throat</b><br />
<br />
They come from a cave<br />
with paintings on the wall.<br />
<br />
It’s on our family tree.<br />
<br />
I’ve been there<br />
to see for myself.<br />
<br />
An arch <br />
on a cliff<br />
high up a hill <br />
<br />
near Takaka, <br />
some way up<br />
a dry river.<br />
<br />
There are no directions.<br />
Just a track <br />
in the bush.<br />
<br />
I don’t know <br />
if they made the way.<br />
<br />
I don’t know <br />
how they lived there<br />
or why they left.<br />
<br />
They say they liked<br />
the security.<br />
<br />
The cave has a throat<br />
with tonsils, <br />
and bowels below<br />
the living parts.<br />
<br />
It swallows those<br />
who go on in;<br />
sicks others out.<br />
<br />
Perhaps that happened.<br />
<br />
Evicted, <br />
they had no choice, <br />
after all those years <br />
<br />
living in marble, <br />
<br />
where the water’s so clean<br />
it can’t be seen, <br />
and the air’s cool <br />
as a fernery. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzOtstVpBgvVrgAd1CFoBg-NOoFKEKuqCBCduCCslFbiOrywlk4b8p0ySm10JcpiQflw4ZgG1apD3wZ_MfnuhFhEv1p3MCPURFD5oBraGZBf3hsVWhjE8d-AXZ7krdm37OM-q4yrV1O6w/s1600/sp3+5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjzOtstVpBgvVrgAd1CFoBg-NOoFKEKuqCBCduCCslFbiOrywlk4b8p0ySm10JcpiQflw4ZgG1apD3wZ_MfnuhFhEv1p3MCPURFD5oBraGZBf3hsVWhjE8d-AXZ7krdm37OM-q4yrV1O6w/s400/sp3+5.jpg" width="289" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Morning Magic</b><br />
<br />
So cold; <br />
your washing’s frozen on the line, <br />
board stiff.<br />
<br />
I’ll lean it at the wall <br />
to stand in the early sun<br />
so I, <br />
still chilled and bruised, <br />
can watch you thaw. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqTwyp1wxgTSEydXashXdqrkj2SuOFyPKe-Xmb-dit6Tl-_hyphenhyphenarswkIvQ2kTmCRPPWPx4k-vc_Kmk-dVKAhpC6cdMs-UWgLntnWnqPNnBzqe0hq9GFZgXuaqbJy4rQ75uzvAFQHTC8Y4/s1600/sp3+6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheqTwyp1wxgTSEydXashXdqrkj2SuOFyPKe-Xmb-dit6Tl-_hyphenhyphenarswkIvQ2kTmCRPPWPx4k-vc_Kmk-dVKAhpC6cdMs-UWgLntnWnqPNnBzqe0hq9GFZgXuaqbJy4rQ75uzvAFQHTC8Y4/s400/sp3+6.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Your Spirit Comes to the Aid of My Weakness</b><br />
<br />
You come subtly, <br />
every morning, <br />
<br />
and pull the curtains, <br />
fade the shadows in the shower, <br />
dim those waiting on the stairs, <br />
<br />
read the news, <br />
and play the overture<br />
on Concert FM.<br />
<br />
You open the dairy<br />
at the corner, <br />
bring custom, <br />
and the newspaper on time.<br />
<br />
You brown the toast evenly<br />
on both sides, <br />
and show me where <br />
I put the marmalade, <br />
<br />
remind me of the letter<br />
I must take to post.<br />
<br />
On the way to work<br />
you wake the man<br />
on the cell phone <br />
in the car in front.<br />
<br />
Subtly, every morning, <br />
you lift the veil from this town, <br />
and make me less surly <br />
with traffic. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixO_Nn96VNjuh6fVYg8ThvaF1Wa2iMjYbvVplyDiR8V3vtybRD0VL-w3HrUQywB0Cu8VSKvO8EcCD5x6GgK31XwMU5XvuhAjzTAC-FQVbUBQxEWFBjqScJJ3H5SDhJzYqGSRkh39FIkxM/s1600/sp3+7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixO_Nn96VNjuh6fVYg8ThvaF1Wa2iMjYbvVplyDiR8V3vtybRD0VL-w3HrUQywB0Cu8VSKvO8EcCD5x6GgK31XwMU5XvuhAjzTAC-FQVbUBQxEWFBjqScJJ3H5SDhJzYqGSRkh39FIkxM/s400/sp3+7.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Visit from the North</b><br />
<br />
Meet me at McDonalds, <br />
he says. <br />
I go down.<br />
<br />
She’s leaving me, <br />
he says. <br />
I’ve got another woman.<br />
I’m in trouble.<br />
<br />
It seems to suit. <br />
He shines with the life of it <br />
as he tells me the complexities.<br />
The twisted dealings smell <br />
like a fatty meal, <br />
drip juices of indulgence, <br />
but they nourish him. <br />
His hair glows, <br />
his eyes gloss, <br />
self-love written <br />
and read in them <br />
in repetition, infinite, rejoicing.<br />
<br />
How’s your missis<br />
he says; then –<br />
Let’s do the town. <br />
I know a good place.<br />
My brother told me.<br />
<br />
I leave soon.<br />
He’s too close. <br />
When I look into his eyes<br />
I see myself. <br />
When we stand <br />
he’s my shadow <br />
in a reflected light, <br />
so full of hot and greedy life<br />
he’s walking me. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid-nORe86sOhBaqsE2EcNQaE2aNf6loOdSx6VKU29Uzm71IG60PyHeQv04k1W1fzYfp1Tyw-l3a63BQsp7CXkF5NimPZyHLT4SzRbiilXdBljQz6KRFxxhoRrN43hBzIPLr9PZd-Mx2Y/s1600/sp3+8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiid-nORe86sOhBaqsE2EcNQaE2aNf6loOdSx6VKU29Uzm71IG60PyHeQv04k1W1fzYfp1Tyw-l3a63BQsp7CXkF5NimPZyHLT4SzRbiilXdBljQz6KRFxxhoRrN43hBzIPLr9PZd-Mx2Y/s400/sp3+8.jpg" width="168" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On the Slab</b><br />
<br />
I’m all out in the open now, <br />
flat upon the slab <br />
front up, <br />
liver, other lights, and pipes<br />
on exhibition <br />
for novices.<br />
<br />
In white coats and nervousness<br />
they trot in <br />
after the tutor <br />
who tells them <br />
(though dead I hear and see)<br />
that this man (me) <br />
has died.<br />
<br />
This, he says, is his inside.<br />
Nothing new. <br />
I’ve lived on view.<br />
<br />
What they’ve never seen<br />
they’ve guessed,<br />
dissected, <br />
pieced together <br />
trunk and head.<br />
<br />
No need to hide.<br />
No need to die.<br />
I’ve guts alive <br />
as much as dead. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOiu0cO3iiWBPFlSFhF1p6pqzTcyOizwtvStlUXJ_xFdrp8U-ICU7Droxt6kFJ7ieOiEZJ43A4GemwmwirtWCx3psZpJJdasf7qugsqtd4fxdCWzba2Gk3-s6uDe5kv2k46BtLmTBvp8/s1600/sp3+9.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOiu0cO3iiWBPFlSFhF1p6pqzTcyOizwtvStlUXJ_xFdrp8U-ICU7Droxt6kFJ7ieOiEZJ43A4GemwmwirtWCx3psZpJJdasf7qugsqtd4fxdCWzba2Gk3-s6uDe5kv2k46BtLmTBvp8/s400/sp3+9.jpg" width="356" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Sometime in the eighties,<br />
near the beginning,<br />
winter came <br />
before it was autumn, <br />
and Alf had to dig his own father’s grave.<br />
Alf was the sexton. <br />
I saw him there, <br />
in the graveyard, digging, <br />
as the sleet snaked down from the hills<br />
dark, though it was early afternoon.<br />
<br />
His father was a bullied man, <br />
though now he had some filial respect<br />
from Alf, quite old himself <br />
and cold. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo_sE8c8GhBuHzTimFuk7__JxJFHCWJ0MwgnvLTs2QaiHAP82qNH8Zx1HQFDhuR966V-VGlxMYKP6K2zJzLJHHkLzHLeTcVe9h4u3vbEDAzr9PR8vwmFsiCVfB70L3qnk7SGyzvd_suE/s1600/sp3+10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUo_sE8c8GhBuHzTimFuk7__JxJFHCWJ0MwgnvLTs2QaiHAP82qNH8Zx1HQFDhuR966V-VGlxMYKP6K2zJzLJHHkLzHLeTcVe9h4u3vbEDAzr9PR8vwmFsiCVfB70L3qnk7SGyzvd_suE/s400/sp3+10.jpg" width="99" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Greymouth</b><br />
<br />
the waves<br />
waves<br />
breaking<br />
on<br />
<br />
stone reef<br />
shingle ridge<br />
<br />
iron rollers mine<br />
grind <br />
beat at the beach<br />
<br />
to knock and shatter<br />
far inland <br />
the sense of a man<br />
and seal<br />
<br />
a town <br />
on such a shore<br />
must move<br />
<br />
a mind <br />
by such a sea<br />
must solve<br />
<br />
riddles kept <br />
from the sheltered<br />
<br />
learning soon <br />
to hear what’s asked<br />
<br />
knowing soon<br />
that answers <br />
make a road, a town,<br />
commerce <br />
and communicate <br />
and build a building but<br />
<br />
the ceaseless sea<br />
corrodes <br />
to shingle ridges<br />
<br />
dunes of sand<br />
<br />
the questions <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
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<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Christchurch Botanical Gardens Horticultural Apprentices’ Mutual Improvement Society</b><br />
<br />
The sacred grove, <br />
the farm, and the Paradise Garden <br />
are the main elements in garden history.<br />
<br />
The word Paradise <br />
is from the Old Persian <i>Pairidaeza</i>, <br />
an enclosed hunting ground for the Persian king.<br />
<br />
It entered Hebrew <br />
as <i>Pardes</i>, then to Greek <br />
as <i>Paradeisos</i>, a grand and formal park.<br />
<br />
In Hebrew <br />
it changed, to mean <br />
the Heavenly Kingdom, Celestial Home,<br />
<br />
Abode of the Blessed,<br />
Dwelling of the Saints, <br />
the Lost Home of our First Ancestors.<br />
<br />
<br />
The earthly paradise,<br />
source of these beliefs, <br />
dates from Cyrus, King of Persia, whose gardens at Sardis<br />
<br />
were written of <br />
by Xenophon.He admired <br />
their grand avenues, fine trees, and scented bowers.<br />
<br />
Quintus Curtius <br />
described the parks and groves <br />
near Samarkand, when Alexander took the empire.<br />
<br />
In 323bc <br />
Megasthenes saw parks near Patna <br />
with imported trees, peacocks, and trained gardeners.<br />
<br />
In the Odyssey, Book VII, <br />
is King Alcinous’ park, of four acres,<br />
for fruit, for rest, for flowers, for house. <br />
<br />
<br />
In 550bc<br />
one of Nebuchadnezzar’s wives <br />
missed the mountain meadows of her home.<br />
<br />
the King <br />
built her a ziggurat, <br />
so she might hang her gardens on a hill,<br />
<br />
tier upon tier, <br />
each roofed with stone & tar & lead & earth,<br />
planted with trees, lodges, and watering machines.<br />
<br />
A wonder of the world.<br />
<br />
The parks and pavilions of Xanadu<br />
had flowers for every sense.<br />
<br />
Near Peking was laid <br />
‘The Garden of Perfect Brightness’.<br />
<br />
<br />
Captain Cook admired <br />
the gardens at Anaura Bay,<br />
one hundred acres fenced, <br />
with kumara in quincunx on the hill,<br />
<br />
yams and taro <br />
in the lower parts,<br />
<br />
and gourds in flower,<br />
climbing on the whares.<br />
<br />
<br />
How does a garden die?<br />
By climate change, <br />
with sand. <br />
By war, neglect, <br />
trampled in the panic of the time,<br />
strangled by its own proliferation.<br />
<br />
It speaks of the past<br />
from the trunk of a tree –<br />
all that’s fallen. <br />
<br />
You must listen.<br />
History speaks<br />
in fragments <br />
of leaves and roots,<br />
<br />
in the pomegranate at the door,<br />
the cedar on the lawn,<br />
spreading like a grand marquee<br />
at dusk.<br />
<br />
The gates are shut. <br />
Even on the avenue there’s no stirring. <br />
<br />
Clouds hang low. <br />
A drizzle mists the darkening park.<br />
<br />
Only the begonia beds are bright,<br />
the yellow Malus at the corner<br />
of the house, <br />
and the quince.<br />
<br />
In the house <br />
we’re seated round, <br />
awed at hierarchy,<br />
muddled at Mick’s talk. <br />
Mrs. Gilpin brings the tea,<br />
and supper to release us.<br />
The Curator encourages –<br />
You’ll pass, he says.<br />
Alison tells a joke.<br />
<br />
This is what the evening intended. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Breakfast in Our Block</b><br />
<br />
No. 1 has rice<br />
from small dishes<br />
on the floor, <br />
and stays inside.<br />
<br />
No. 6 has veges,<br />
every time.<br />
<br />
5 has porridge,<br />
and prospers. <br />
She sees soul in the day, <br />
reads sophisticated weeklies<br />
from English-speaking nations<br />
round the world.<br />
<br />
No. 2 has fruit (raw)<br />
(and fresh) <br />
and bread from Devonport.<br />
He works to keep his muscles<br />
in the places they were put <br />
at adolescence.<br />
<br />
As for me, <br />
I start the day with Beethoven.<br />
I like the solid mass in things,<br />
that all the traffic passing by<br />
is going to significance, <br />
to destiny.<br />
<br />
But I,<br />
at 7,<br />
stay <br />
in bed.<br />
<br />
I shudder<br />
with anxieties<br />
I can’t predict. <br />
<br />
I ring up no. 9 <br />
who tells me not to fear.<br />
Accident and chaos <br />
are in this greater cause,<br />
he says.<br />
<br />
I lie staring.<br />
He’s so wise. <br />
By the end of the day<br />
I’m beginning to think<br />
I’m starting to see <br />
an ardent side to life.<br />
<br />
Just as it’s coming clear<br />
in the clouds <br />
the sun sets, <br />
and I lose sight, <br />
again. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3zpvYVFAm42AVO6FOXFas4jmh4iFLDrlV9Aw0yMT4Y1wQKt_qc9GXG5WtC2POzdhCyG7wQlPULZHq8_OFufW4V_HiXSixPC0KDZpdbW1VsQqJosfNmkcImENHeTLv0_7hhrUscMYxJM/s1600/sp3+16.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhy3zpvYVFAm42AVO6FOXFas4jmh4iFLDrlV9Aw0yMT4Y1wQKt_qc9GXG5WtC2POzdhCyG7wQlPULZHq8_OFufW4V_HiXSixPC0KDZpdbW1VsQqJosfNmkcImENHeTLv0_7hhrUscMYxJM/s400/sp3+16.jpg" width="135" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>This Book of Ours</b><br />
<br />
For years and years <br />
I’ve kept the minute Book.<br />
You’ve always left it <br />
for me to do, <br />
assuming I’ld be strict<br />
with the punctuation <br />
and the spelling.<br />
<br />
The record’s there –<br />
each meeting that we’ve had,<br />
decision, motion, <br />
every presence. <br />
I’ve not missed one.<br />
<br />
Furthermore, <br />
each minute has been passed by you,<br />
consenting. <br />
You’re in it, <br />
much more than me.<br />
I did the writing, <br />
a ghosted presence,<br />
marginalised, <br />
a gloss.<br />
<br />
The contents are graphic,<br />
in keeping with life –<br />
our meetings in it. <br />
You went over the edge,<br />
I toed the line, <br />
was circumspect.<br />
<br />
Yet you distrust. <br />
Do you fear the record,<br />
posterity?<br />
That it might build<br />
an edifice of scandal <br />
on the pillars of blame,<br />
sculpted from conjecture,<br />
with decorated capitals,<br />
<br />
our lives laid out<br />
like guts of birds,<br />
delphic, <br />
to divine?<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/10/96]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Goethe in Sicily</b><br />
<br />
(April, 1787)<br />
<br />
This evening another of my wishes was fulfilled,<br />
In a surprising fashion. <br />
I was standing in the street, <br />
Talking with one of the men of the town,<br />
When I was accosted by a liveried runner<br />
Who thrust a salver at me. <br />
Since I had no idea what he wanted<br />
I shrugged my shoulders <br />
And ducked my head <br />
In the common manner. <br />
He left as quickly as he had come.<br />
Then I saw another <br />
On the opposite side of the street,<br />
Occupied in the same procedure.<br />
<br />
I asked my acquaintance what this meant,<br />
And he pointed discreetly <br />
To a tall thin gentleman, <br />
Dressed in the height of fashion, <br />
Who was walking down the middle of the street<br />
Through dirt and rubbish, <br />
With an air of imperturbable dignity.<br />
In a curled and powdered wig, <br />
With his hat under his arm, <br />
And wearing a silk coat, a sword, <br />
And neat shoes with jewelled buckles, <br />
The elderly gentleman walked solemnly on,<br />
Ignoring all who watched him.<br />
<br />
“That is Prince Pallagonia,” he said,<br />
“He walks the town in this way<br />
Soliciting alms to ransom those <br />
Taken as slaves by Barbary pirates. <br />
The collection never amounts to much,<br />
But people are reminded of their plight,<br />
And may leave money to the cause. <br />
The Prince is chairman of the charity,<br />
And has done a great deal of good.” <br />
<br />
I thought of the madness of the Prince, <br />
The excesses of his strange, inhuman delirium,<br />
Which I had seen three days before <br />
At his great house; <br />
The spikes under the chair cushions,<br />
The sawn legs of the furniture, <br />
The perverted piety of his chapel,<br />
Deformed figures, monstrosities, <br />
The orchestra of stone monkeys,<br />
The Atlas with the cask.<br />
<br />
“If,” I said, “instead of spending vast sums<br />
On follies for his villa, <br />
He had used them for this cause, <br />
He would have accomplished more.”<br />
My shopkeeper friend demurred.<br />
“Aren’t we all like this?” He said.<br />
“We pay gladly for our follies, <br />
But expect others to pay for our virtues.” <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[3/10/96]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzDIvc4k3jyvjRq_esVEB53MWS_9B13e771x9C7J3ooPptuRzV1nBNwjcMwbqe0VJ-eKkcMg6vwHxUu5z8pETFQSRmb4_anAzzGMpLNTl2u6KtNCV_bgbCvQO4XwqYe8nMKbkKPukKQQ/s1600/sp3+19.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTzDIvc4k3jyvjRq_esVEB53MWS_9B13e771x9C7J3ooPptuRzV1nBNwjcMwbqe0VJ-eKkcMg6vwHxUu5z8pETFQSRmb4_anAzzGMpLNTl2u6KtNCV_bgbCvQO4XwqYe8nMKbkKPukKQQ/s400/sp3+19.jpg" width="147" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Hound</b><br />
<br />
we say it’s the dog<br />
over the fence <br />
by the shed<br />
<br />
but it’s not<br />
I’ve seen<br />
it’s the man<br />
<br />
on the tree<br />
<br />
he howls and barks<br />
and snaps at it<br />
<br />
strains at the dark<br />
sniffs at the bounds<br />
scents the gate<br />
<br />
at night<br />
after one<br />
<br />
when we’ve been sleeping<br />
<br />
we throw shoes<br />
shout out <br />
ring up<br />
<br />
nothing’s done<br />
<br />
he howls when it suits<br />
<br />
we all understand <br />
but still say it’s the dog <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ancient Worship</b><br />
<br />
My worship’s not<br />
for fear of fire <br />
or desire<br />
<br />
for majesty <br />
yr competence<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">so firm</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">so fine</span><br />
in delicate assurance<br />
poised brilliant<br />
<br />
central as this earth<br />
<br />
the day’s unknown <br />
life goes by long motoring<br />
in warm green spring<br />
<br />
can’t write my name<br />
it’s gone <br />
from my head <br />
for the honour done yr noble countenance<br />
and for love <br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">of you</span><br />
until <br />
until the end <br />
I’ll never leave off mocking<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">at death</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>Poetry NZ</i> 14 (1997): 52-53.)</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilB2xIdcWRCzpkh_7735WUIWH6Y0ug3Td73b9E1Zi4hAgnA0B6MF0E-Aw08MUDH8dEZ2t26YeKGKBYEq2lNg_zC80V9h-PzklK9FbUo83tJHZmf8dzGlufpp87OpSljLjlzVkDt4dFLWk/s1600/sp3+21.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilB2xIdcWRCzpkh_7735WUIWH6Y0ug3Td73b9E1Zi4hAgnA0B6MF0E-Aw08MUDH8dEZ2t26YeKGKBYEq2lNg_zC80V9h-PzklK9FbUo83tJHZmf8dzGlufpp87OpSljLjlzVkDt4dFLWk/s400/sp3+21.jpg" width="145" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ibn al Farid</b><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">Cairo, 1280</span><br />
<br />
It was said,<br />
in that time,<br />
<br />
that if the Shaykh<br />
did not attend<br />
<br />
the reading would be dull.<br />
<br />
It was said,<br />
that one time<br />
<br />
he was low in spirits<br />
and made them uneasy.<br />
<br />
The host was pained.<br />
<br />
One of the guests,<br />
who knew the Shaykh,<br />
and was a singer,<br />
<br />
said to the disappointed man:<br />
<br />
Give me ten dinars <br />
and I’ll give the Shaykh his heart again.<br />
<br />
He sang a pilgrim song.<br />
<br />
Ibn al Farid arose.<br />
<br />
He spoke like an angel of God:<br />
<br />
‘Lift up thy loving.<br />
<br />
Sing of the everlasting Lord. <br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">Love is the breadth.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Might is the height.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Wisdom is the deepness.</span><br />
<br />
Loath and be weary <br />
of all things that keep thee.’<br />
<br />
Splendour held them,<br />
every one. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-3-1996-1997.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-LjP_psVhj-GvsL8-D5tTAMcTDlUZvp5sREMkq4uPcPeiUKbx9-VYmZ_NfjMHSWJ0Tcy1Sb-siD-7aurD7lrJ9OGyv8rM-6_Fd28sTOIaW9pEPbUwxspXNZMcgXGWfNmrNKAKvVNh-M/s1600/sp3+22.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh-LjP_psVhj-GvsL8-D5tTAMcTDlUZvp5sREMkq4uPcPeiUKbx9-VYmZ_NfjMHSWJ0Tcy1Sb-siD-7aurD7lrJ9OGyv8rM-6_Fd28sTOIaW9pEPbUwxspXNZMcgXGWfNmrNKAKvVNh-M/s400/sp3+22.jpg" width="297" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s so quiet <br />
you can hear the rain coming<br />
over the top <br />
down conglomerate cliffs<br />
to the paddock on the ridge<br />
where it stops for a bit for a hush<br />
<br />
knowing there it’s needed most<br />
<br />
to the bush <br />
(more urgent force<br />
and gathering) <br />
rattling on the rewa-rewa<br />
and soughing, now <br />
to the house <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[21/2/97]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-76437188548390102072012-01-03T11:32:00.012+13:002017-11-26T10:56:38.085+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 2 (1995-1996)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s1600/Leceister+Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574471027162316738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s400/Leceister+Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2011/03/book-twenty-three.html">Shorter Poems: 2</a></span></b><br />
(1995-1996)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">I Love You (for Miriel)</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Quietly</a> [Sept 1995]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Maundy Thursday at the Mangonui Pub</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">God</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Karamea Jones</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Blue Orchids at Burnetts Face</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Unworldly Thoughts in an Auckland Brothel</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Walking to Taylor's</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">Caravan Club</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">Where Do I Want to Be</a> [14/1/96]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn11" name="_ftnref11" title="">Time Please</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn12" name="_ftnref12" title="">A Walk Around My Church</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn13" name="_ftnref13" title="">Living on the Cheap</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn14" name="_ftnref14" title="">I do magic</a> ... [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn15" name="_ftnref15" title="">Clean Café</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn16" name="_ftnref16" title="">My Father’s House</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn17" name="_ftnref17" title="">Sweeney on a Bicycle</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn18" name="_ftnref18" title="">A Visit to My Psychiatrist</a> [23/9/96]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn19" name="_ftnref19" title="">A Cliff on Mt. Owen</a> [n.d.]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ws_sOMl7Y6i_BErIzF9G_j9Dozwm-hLqo0EF4If5MPhke1OgwyJua8M0mMADMb06z9fAlP2X49IOp7V9DgjSFOJFTho0MnlzqcHR0QfzyME-Z6jQX4-gUI6_bL1Ytd1VcvO5KIAwQV8/s1600/sp2i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi2Ws_sOMl7Y6i_BErIzF9G_j9Dozwm-hLqo0EF4If5MPhke1OgwyJua8M0mMADMb06z9fAlP2X49IOp7V9DgjSFOJFTho0MnlzqcHR0QfzyME-Z6jQX4-gUI6_bL1Ytd1VcvO5KIAwQV8/s400/sp2i.jpg" width="150" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>I Love You</b><br />
<br />
(for Miriel)<br />
<br />
I can’t say I love you.<br />
I can’t say I love you<br />
in three words. <br />
Three words won’t take it.<br />
A word a decade. <br />
Thirty years of love <br />
in I love you. <br />
There must be other words<br />
or other terms.<br />
<br />
An epoch? <br />
An epoch might<br />
conceivably <br />
hold my love for you, <br />
but I don’t know what one is.<br />
An epoch is an age <br />
(it’s said) <br />
and ages smell of tedium.<br />
We’re not tedious, you and I.<br />
<br />
But I don’t know<br />
what an age is either.<br />
It goes on for ever,<br />
(they say) <br />
and our love will die with us.<br />
I can’t say I love you <br />
until I find the words <br />
but I’ll do it <br />
for an epoch, age, or eventide.<br />
<br />
Words are my arms and legs,<br />
my eyes and ears, my mouth.<br />
They ache with age or overuse,<br />
have spectacles and boots <br />
and sometimes don’t work well at all.<br />
Better means for meaning <br />
must be found. <br />
Meantime I’ll just do, <br />
and be speechless. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtct4Zq5lbvJHGTK_YHVwC73fXsqrEE0rF4-1n1KcA6mP6K8Z2jhss2j7WSvjuCnNmS70ErQ4AdpNPWbvOHjhutTgu_22EHUByaOO23tMY0YR9hGfoJA7ni1lOJI5ouWMBOpzV5m3qPxY/s1600/sp2ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtct4Zq5lbvJHGTK_YHVwC73fXsqrEE0rF4-1n1KcA6mP6K8Z2jhss2j7WSvjuCnNmS70ErQ4AdpNPWbvOHjhutTgu_22EHUByaOO23tMY0YR9hGfoJA7ni1lOJI5ouWMBOpzV5m3qPxY/s400/sp2ii.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Quietly</b><br />
<br />
When you lie quietly<br />
<br />
You can hear the sound of the sea<br />
surging in the suburbs.<br />
<br />
It’s there behind <br />
in behind the sounds of the day<br />
<br />
that wash the lives <br />
the lives of the people on the shore<br />
<br />
their life from the sea, <br />
the life the sea strands on the sands.<br />
<br />
It washes and waves, <br />
washing away the rubbish of mind,<br />
<br />
erasing, eroding <br />
the barriers built by the counsels<br />
<br />
to keep down the tide, <br />
the tides and the terrors that well,<br />
<br />
that well from the depths<br />
where volcanoes boil<br />
<br />
and long things drift,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">lightless,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">eyeless.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[Sept 1995]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-vbj9lprhHgz4mrL9o0rVdkY-QJejA0PlxWcpUj4JwYQcDalzzbQEl3PsThWgx5lMqvFBPpzqMqHAXKMbFltez-uEMJS2zjInR-Eki9VAPIdd4yzeVSUhFOPUk73TGhM3fMMtLNeomo/s1600/sp2iii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEid-vbj9lprhHgz4mrL9o0rVdkY-QJejA0PlxWcpUj4JwYQcDalzzbQEl3PsThWgx5lMqvFBPpzqMqHAXKMbFltez-uEMJS2zjInR-Eki9VAPIdd4yzeVSUhFOPUk73TGhM3fMMtLNeomo/s400/sp2iii.jpg" width="176" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXPnGIG7MQSQ5n9myk7asCVUfJWaJIR8dW7yj8FZMvp_o-fudvJLZt4zUgdqZINzdqGsD0_8UTGYlP9zP8M3dcGeKHOtktO0_78qMwHwD7ggpdTxGWTTY_yKgKVEs5tBsIXfdH7XV6xw/s1600/sp2iv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoXPnGIG7MQSQ5n9myk7asCVUfJWaJIR8dW7yj8FZMvp_o-fudvJLZt4zUgdqZINzdqGsD0_8UTGYlP9zP8M3dcGeKHOtktO0_78qMwHwD7ggpdTxGWTTY_yKgKVEs5tBsIXfdH7XV6xw/s400/sp2iv.jpg" width="279" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Maundy Thursday at the Mangonui Pub</b><br />
<br />
The seagull on the topmost wire<br />
stood, as if it had drunk too much, <br />
and tipped and teetered till it tired<br />
then flew, <br />
not far, <br />
for the sea was out the window<br />
on the level, <br />
to come in.<br />
<br />
The sea, the sea, <br />
lapped at the sill<br />
a mystery.<br />
Death or life<br />
as the need may be.<br />
<br />
We talked of infancies:<br />
blizzards at Dunrobin, <br />
cave houses in the cliff, <br />
and saveloys at Sumner by the sea.<br />
<br />
The sea, the sea, <br />
in its pageantry.<br />
<br />
While we talked, rekindling pasts<br />
(as we sometimes do in time of fast)<br />
the creatures of the dark<br />
wandered in and out, <br />
from passages deep down, <br />
crucibles and tanks.<br />
Lovecraft things<br />
with fallen hips and merging limbs, <br />
swollen noses, <br />
and purple faces<br />
(the colour of the time)<br />
and barmen with big shaven heads.<br />
<br />
All of us at supper<br />
as the sea shone, <br />
the day went down, <br />
and I amazed<br />
at the wonder in the world.<br />
<br />
The moon rose<br />
like a sun on the water, <br />
pale and wavering—<br />
or is it my eyes<br />
and I bemused<br />
as the sea poured in<br />
and broke upon my back.<br />
<br />
before my face a cataract, <br />
mist, and coloured crystal.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zLJQHZO4gje4gs1v23pVAB8a9i-Xht7DdSSkZSE0jR9bG6hytWRBZ5U2SnpHk0_mZQcsfgBxp1VktR70vZ7Ft6j4UcCoFRScged_CqckUiQMFjE8QoxfP-cZR1PT4Dw_n0wXqknpnII/s1600/sp2v.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_zLJQHZO4gje4gs1v23pVAB8a9i-Xht7DdSSkZSE0jR9bG6hytWRBZ5U2SnpHk0_mZQcsfgBxp1VktR70vZ7Ft6j4UcCoFRScged_CqckUiQMFjE8QoxfP-cZR1PT4Dw_n0wXqknpnII/s400/sp2v.jpg" width="170" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>God</b><br />
<br />
I’m sewing up a map of the world.<br />
Hemming frayed edges.<br />
Tucking up the tears.<br />
<br />
Old eyes see <br />
the signs of wear. <br />
Worn places needing patching<br />
<br />
that are used a lot, <br />
where feet have run too long<br />
without repair, <br />
for the fabric to bear.<br />
<br />
Where too much has happened.<br />
<br />
I do a good job.<br />
<br />
But it’s not that easy.<br />
It’s an old map,<br />
worn at the folds.<br />
<br />
I do what I can,<br />
give it new backing,<br />
work in lost lines, <br />
make it nearly new again.<br />
<br />
I should have been more careful,<br />
not let it get so bad, but <br />
no-one will notice now.<br />
<br />
I do a good job.<br />
<br />
I like this sort of thing. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpIXR9moZ7_vM6NWDRf-04PDqIpJJpVx9oEXpcaWtOdvjXW7FCS8dvjeD0f8oZ1AW7WLAjgVVzu9l5W-ZAealGsz1MePOWw1GKSZbStnlVcVe2HvUhsJB4c7yVbicJ079c0cmGkYfmb0/s1600/sp2vi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQpIXR9moZ7_vM6NWDRf-04PDqIpJJpVx9oEXpcaWtOdvjXW7FCS8dvjeD0f8oZ1AW7WLAjgVVzu9l5W-ZAealGsz1MePOWw1GKSZbStnlVcVe2HvUhsJB4c7yVbicJ079c0cmGkYfmb0/s400/sp2vi.jpg" width="163" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Karamea Jones</b><br />
<br />
Slender, neat, <br />
in well-ironed clothes<br />
he knocks, <br />
and offers oysters. <br />
They’re in the boot, he says,<br />
the best. <br />
Kai moana, <br />
especially picked for you.<br />
<br />
You can tell <br />
he believes himself. <br />
His eyes glint with honesty.<br />
How much? <br />
Come and look <br />
and make an offer.<br />
Between friends. <br />
I work that way.<br />
<br />
They’re rubbish, <br />
with rocks and mud,<br />
but I’m trapped.<br />
Can’t bear the burden<br />
as he knows. <br />
He always wins this one,<br />
this game.<br />
<br />
The rules are set <br />
and he’s decent about it;<br />
he only plays <br />
in conditions of necessity.<br />
He knows he’s selling me<br />
my freedom.<br />
<br />
When he goes<br />
I throw them<br />
in the bush<br />
down the back. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY46u4CRKGk1zi4XwCD6snlDG5I9EJoT0hy2-5U0IFIU9Tp_Cx2u2zoDo9k-Hty19vNkgqPSvyBe5_Er4FUBlPkPBdrCwFu-ZocK6WGZHnXWrGFwy_Ckc0GdX9l-9r2dBNFfUbw_16pQ4/s1600/sp2vii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhY46u4CRKGk1zi4XwCD6snlDG5I9EJoT0hy2-5U0IFIU9Tp_Cx2u2zoDo9k-Hty19vNkgqPSvyBe5_Er4FUBlPkPBdrCwFu-ZocK6WGZHnXWrGFwy_Ckc0GdX9l-9r2dBNFfUbw_16pQ4/s400/sp2vii.jpg" width="199" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Blue Orchids at Burnetts Face</b><br />
<br />
From the gate, <br />
still swinging on the post<br />
the grassed path <br />
steps down to the stream. <br />
Where a footbridge might have been,<br />
blue sun-orchids grow.<br />
<br />
Tall in strength,<br />
full in flower, <br />
they share their blue<br />
with the far-down sea,<br />
so far below <br />
it looks like mist.<br />
<br />
In the bank glint<br />
shards of glass, <br />
artifacts of household days<br />
from kitchen, shed. <br />
In tangled roots <br />
some bones appear.<br />
<br />
Skeletons of time,<br />
struts of industry,<br />
coal and iron <br />
that ate an alpine forest.<br />
That’s gone now. <br />
There’s tranquillity of sorts,<br />
<br />
an interval in war,<br />
passing peace <br />
for the passive,<br />
sea-blue orchids of the sun<br />
to flower <br />
while homes and mines decay. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWqJql1oj29IqME8phH8ywzp6FuMuHnjcD7x_gYAGDPB_tN_KOOvNhpdI8I9xyFb-igMBwSExZ4Xt45fg82SbIDxsPVEpeB2FgsIgOWV3ALB4gxPkf0QvrMghjqafjujIlmCdlthbghc/s1600/sp2viii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUWqJql1oj29IqME8phH8ywzp6FuMuHnjcD7x_gYAGDPB_tN_KOOvNhpdI8I9xyFb-igMBwSExZ4Xt45fg82SbIDxsPVEpeB2FgsIgOWV3ALB4gxPkf0QvrMghjqafjujIlmCdlthbghc/s400/sp2viii.jpg" width="198" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChVC-cnKmh8lAgMq60ji6_ND_lNybWmFpiHMKvT2Loxmojfy5uLS2elazQBS_MN7ZrSnuXetZOUmeM6DOU4OoZitsg6fkBd_JmMTPR43S2q7wRTXdDWvv_ub6zPTBeDbXd_j-8otei-w/s1600/sp2ix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjChVC-cnKmh8lAgMq60ji6_ND_lNybWmFpiHMKvT2Loxmojfy5uLS2elazQBS_MN7ZrSnuXetZOUmeM6DOU4OoZitsg6fkBd_JmMTPR43S2q7wRTXdDWvv_ub6zPTBeDbXd_j-8otei-w/s400/sp2ix.jpg" width="147" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-mrVez-IEET-XNK-2tXNeZ2HzrB5ObgJjXmJH22J3LpBSifNL6y62ot-EM8sEMQLlMoc-0lm2p8lQ-q6AGXMp9Mpd8VOYi_zOaZRiRgoDcCReG4L6daCcRMx9NnftQZCLZa1zhr6RrCI/s1600/sp2x.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-mrVez-IEET-XNK-2tXNeZ2HzrB5ObgJjXmJH22J3LpBSifNL6y62ot-EM8sEMQLlMoc-0lm2p8lQ-q6AGXMp9Mpd8VOYi_zOaZRiRgoDcCReG4L6daCcRMx9NnftQZCLZa1zhr6RrCI/s400/sp2x.jpg" width="134" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrozeQNW3VluB6l6t7teq2x4bI69bimOeYPWR_oYaYdWaxbI5dlGkOU38eHN6ifi_eu3a0n-k7ubYl95dGhE-0JGRjfoIzJRWH3fPbVHbrIB0w2ScTNW8xa5Np2gQ7HwaQiyJf7ONZMnU/s1600/sp2xi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrozeQNW3VluB6l6t7teq2x4bI69bimOeYPWR_oYaYdWaxbI5dlGkOU38eHN6ifi_eu3a0n-k7ubYl95dGhE-0JGRjfoIzJRWH3fPbVHbrIB0w2ScTNW8xa5Np2gQ7HwaQiyJf7ONZMnU/s400/sp2xi.jpg" width="153" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzX8QWQx8ZeSp1x43AeYz7Tq1qlxVd32Ks137zvS4NIjP8FNBis9lDlqBGNt3CUdEhHJdqmLA-NS2NA7Wkax2wKqj5h5ZAR2IjgYVjGmgQlp-3JZPD0czbAvM7d5wLl2yPMiOOSP5FaY/s1600/sp2xii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjzX8QWQx8ZeSp1x43AeYz7Tq1qlxVd32Ks137zvS4NIjP8FNBis9lDlqBGNt3CUdEhHJdqmLA-NS2NA7Wkax2wKqj5h5ZAR2IjgYVjGmgQlp-3JZPD0czbAvM7d5wLl2yPMiOOSP5FaY/s400/sp2xii.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Unworldly Thoughts in an Auckland Brothel</b><br />
<br />
Here’s the boss, <br />
says the receptionist.<br />
She’ll tell you.<br />
<br />
She has a good face.<br />
Thin lips. <br />
The kind that make decisions.<br />
And they smile <br />
as she approaches. <br />
Her eyes ask questions quickly.<br />
There’s a competence <br />
that makes it plain <br />
she owns the place, <br />
and she moves <br />
directly.<br />
<br />
Nothing special.<br />
Self-trained.<br />
Self-taught. <br />
She’s thought things through.<br />
<br />
Hardly looking<br />
(there’s not the need)<br />
she takes the card<br />
from the counter <br />
and says: <br />
these are our prices.<br />
It’s smartly set, <br />
and laminated.<br />
<br />
There are eleven stipulated categories.<br />
They increase in cost <br />
from the first. <br />
<br />
Most establishments<br />
have charges at this level,<br />
she says, <br />
noting my close interest.<br />
The better ones,<br />
anyway, <br />
like mine.<br />
<br />
There’s a general agreement<br />
(in answer to my question)<br />
but no, <br />
they are not exactly calculated.<br />
There are, however, <br />
guidelines from the past. <br />
Our commercial information<br />
goes back a long way, <br />
and certain forms of service<br />
have always been expensive.<br />
<br />
More rewarding to the client,<br />
more exhausting to our staff.<br />
<br />
I am not aware<br />
of our prices <br />
causing client complaint.<br />
If you would reflect <br />
for a moment <br />
you would see <br />
and accept <br />
that it can’t <br />
be precisely computed.<br />
<br />
Neither is it fixed; <br />
not in the usual sense.<br />
<br />
Questions like yours<br />
are not usually asked.<br />
She looks at me,<br />
penetratingly, <br />
as if about to sniff my breath. <br />
<br />
I’m curious,<br />
I say, <br />
in excuse.<br />
Just curious. <br />
And it would be nice <br />
to have my question answered.<br />
Don’t mind me, <br />
please, <br />
nor think me complaining.<br />
Not in the least. <br />
I’m bona fide, <br />
entirely, <br />
but do wonder <br />
that such an instinctive<br />
human activity <br />
can be costed <br />
with such careful differentials.<br />
For example: <br />
do I pay more for real affection,<br />
or the lack of it? <br />
Why should the back <br />
cost more than the front, <br />
and restraint <br />
more than freedom?<br />
<br />
That’s the way it’s always been,<br />
she says.<br />
<br />
There you are then,<br />
she says, <br />
as if inviting me to leave<br />
or to make myself useful<br />
in a usual way. <br />
And here I am, <br />
puzzled <br />
at the prices people put on things.<br />
Who says? <br />
Is there a commandment,<br />
a beatitude, <br />
come down from above<br />
to give a standard ‘! <br />
If I pay for them now,<br />
unspiritual, <br />
must I pay again later,<br />
value-added? <br />
<br />
If God has doings<br />
with this place <br />
he will be disturbed, <br />
seriously,<br />
for there are happinesses here<br />
not in paradise <br />
nor in other holy places<br />
like the one <br />
with the name <br />
near the same.<br />
<br />
feral joys.<br />
<br />
Old gods knew them well,<br />
and came often to this place.<br />
Still do, maybe, <br />
sitting out the back,<br />
watching porno movies,<br />
picking at the stories <br />
escorts tell.<br />
<br />
Young gods are not so wise,<br />
and are hasty,<br />
inexperienced. <br />
They haven’t had time<br />
to think it through,<br />
and haven’t read <br />
the fine print yet, <br />
so they say <br />
DON’T TOUCH <br />
until we’ve sorted things out.<br />
So things don’t spread.<br />
<br />
In the meantime<br />
(they say) <br />
think it through<br />
and talk it over <br />
and see if you arrive at a consensus<br />
over costs. <br />
<br />
There’s no point, really.<br />
It’s all quite plain, <br />
and is written down<br />
for anyone to see.<br />
Brothel and Bethel <br />
are where two people meet.<br />
Intercourse takes many forms.<br />
<br />
I know,<br />
she said. <br />
Nothing’s overlooked.<br />
You’ll find it all there<br />
on the card. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXM88qYSNjoQNMhVrONJo2r2r2koQhJxVDO9K5V-DwyvURUp65UijhUQVRuOtfNc0E4Njm1HetiduLnKew3TCQQrA9NlaH8objDAQ3evITIaLp19HlR7WdcysZWHncGbkoMDfE91Vv94/s1600/sp2xiii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhVXM88qYSNjoQNMhVrONJo2r2r2koQhJxVDO9K5V-DwyvURUp65UijhUQVRuOtfNc0E4Njm1HetiduLnKew3TCQQrA9NlaH8objDAQ3evITIaLp19HlR7WdcysZWHncGbkoMDfE91Vv94/s400/sp2xiii.jpg" width="388" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MVEc2PPPTohcpT24bO50akPMFB1qU9hOKSrsUeGZTuWM2D2rcHypXT1zx7RogYivpZnhanbmZl3prrJj21RH1TuNE2OUVKkBzpvv3I71z2lyLme0aUx5p4fyYnJhoRBF-gFEU5te0m8/s1600/sp2xiv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4MVEc2PPPTohcpT24bO50akPMFB1qU9hOKSrsUeGZTuWM2D2rcHypXT1zx7RogYivpZnhanbmZl3prrJj21RH1TuNE2OUVKkBzpvv3I71z2lyLme0aUx5p4fyYnJhoRBF-gFEU5te0m8/s400/sp2xiv.jpg" width="362" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4o2VXvCTecOaFPwT7fMwKkU6DdQqUcotVOp20eG3lKUljN28nmqbA3qGNw2rOTyE-RJH9qQsHVP_34nQAZAhkMaiC3uY783G8VOL-WvuMHQmtNAw5T3auXsBGyK-w3czEE2wRrZOmZPM/s1600/sp2xvi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4o2VXvCTecOaFPwT7fMwKkU6DdQqUcotVOp20eG3lKUljN28nmqbA3qGNw2rOTyE-RJH9qQsHVP_34nQAZAhkMaiC3uY783G8VOL-WvuMHQmtNAw5T3auXsBGyK-w3czEE2wRrZOmZPM/s400/sp2xvi.jpg" width="282" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSS6F1gH8WGYe0xPFjcMk9HyoYOtE8iMYHAnB_zp491sRn8X2UPNISt8FQygeun1TWLK2GzdEH1VlJK6x4JKntZonhZMAH7vkKNdq1nKkK7kd0EaUZnj_4Ybd77zaq4-VJ2KVgmgx-Gk/s1600/sp2xvii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXSS6F1gH8WGYe0xPFjcMk9HyoYOtE8iMYHAnB_zp491sRn8X2UPNISt8FQygeun1TWLK2GzdEH1VlJK6x4JKntZonhZMAH7vkKNdq1nKkK7kd0EaUZnj_4Ybd77zaq4-VJ2KVgmgx-Gk/s400/sp2xvii.jpg" width="400" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIM5LS26s5vHkECBplN-QO9duZHZvR7VwmbpvwVTpO-fcL3BZ8NKGAp60LpLxxuxogBjmN2ULL5qUJN-w_EAvptpjcq2IO6b-m519R3IJ0mAMwp-NkoHiTh-RLh8Vg1IXqesxKV3KLmXM/s1600/sp2xviii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjIM5LS26s5vHkECBplN-QO9duZHZvR7VwmbpvwVTpO-fcL3BZ8NKGAp60LpLxxuxogBjmN2ULL5qUJN-w_EAvptpjcq2IO6b-m519R3IJ0mAMwp-NkoHiTh-RLh8Vg1IXqesxKV3KLmXM/s400/sp2xviii.jpg" width="357" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUC6EtwgpHNV1Z3I_lr6fCiCbPDrj6Bg6XMZ4SmlyuUk2gKLIu8h1j-j8VtEruvq8UwVHACpu7lVzEAzXFF98e_cXqOGmkkctIOIp2OkIl-qcVB8qRH-oppQhBU1OFvhETAsQH26NSQs/s1600/sp2xix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlUC6EtwgpHNV1Z3I_lr6fCiCbPDrj6Bg6XMZ4SmlyuUk2gKLIu8h1j-j8VtEruvq8UwVHACpu7lVzEAzXFF98e_cXqOGmkkctIOIp2OkIl-qcVB8qRH-oppQhBU1OFvhETAsQH26NSQs/s400/sp2xix.jpg" width="342" /></a><br />
<br />
<b>Walking to Taylor’s</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>1. clematis</b><br />
<br />
A bramble mass at the foot of the cliff.<br />
Thin canes tangle. <br />
No leaves. <br />
No thorns.<br />
<br />
Lemon-scented flowers hang,<br />
lemon-green, <br />
where the sun burns<br />
and rain can’t reach.<br />
<br />
Look how it manages,<br />
my father says. <br />
It roots under the rocks<br />
where it won’t dry out.<br />
<br />
Nothing else grows here.<br />
Too tough. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>2. the heads</b><br />
<br />
Look at those cliffs,<br />
my father says. <br />
We stand on the ledge, <br />
not frightened at the vertigo<br />
churning deep down.<br />
<br />
The sea writhes on the rocks and reefs<br />
impaled by the wind <br />
trapped there.<br />
<br />
Seagulls ride it,<br />
gusting to the top<br />
in play.<br />
<br />
They nest on these cliffs,<br />
he says. <br />
They get good shelter. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>3. geckos</b><br />
<br />
We should find them here,<br />
my father says <br />
as we come to some rocks,<br />
old rocks, <br />
flattish, <br />
lichen-coloured in the tussock,<br />
heaped, <br />
with small dry plants.<br />
<br />
There’s good cover here.<br />
<br />
There they are <br />
as we pick at the pile –<br />
slivers of jade with running legs<br />
and silver patches.<br />
<br />
What would they live on down there,<br />
I ask. <br />
There are other small things.<br />
<br />
It’s where they live, <br />
and we’ve taken off the roof.<br />
We put it back. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>4. water</b><br />
<br />
We stop at a pool. <br />
A small pool of water<br />
seeping down from the bank.<br />
The only water on the track.<br />
<br />
There are bones in the clay<br />
and smooth black rocks; <br />
moa bones and gizzard stones,<br />
my father says.<br />
<br />
Other things have stopped here,<br />
and been forgotten. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>5. cave houses</b><br />
<br />
The crumbling track<br />
slants across the cliff.<br />
<br />
The caves at the bottom<br />
have doors of flotsam, <br />
and newspaper on the walls.<br />
<br />
We read it:<br />
old news, <br />
earthquakes, wars, riots.<br />
<br />
The sea’s very close, <br />
and there’s a dunny down a tunnel.<br />
<br />
They came <br />
because they had no money,<br />
my father says. <br />
They lived on fish and flour.<br />
No-one lives here now. <br />
<br />
<br />
<b>6. my father</b><br />
<br />
He makes a driftwood fire<br />
and cooks us saveloys <br />
for lunch.<br />
<br />
He comes from the Coast<br />
where it rains <br />
and is green.<br />
<br />
He likes growing things,<br />
and looks for moister soils,<br />
damper climates. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]<br />
<br />
(<i>Poetry NZ</i> 12 (1996): 38-40.)</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bdap8BPfoLLdEiAWMy_yz2NWnSSg44TBg7SyOzC9mRMv3trmtsEs1RJjxLoxqXo_o6Jeqj0xveZrl-UuY2rudbULF0pDk11zDEKtaQZOEJyblm6bylwzKIwDXuPixYkZbaXJpg9r3OU/s1600/sp2xx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_bdap8BPfoLLdEiAWMy_yz2NWnSSg44TBg7SyOzC9mRMv3trmtsEs1RJjxLoxqXo_o6Jeqj0xveZrl-UuY2rudbULF0pDk11zDEKtaQZOEJyblm6bylwzKIwDXuPixYkZbaXJpg9r3OU/s400/sp2xx.jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiAgNvxtJ2Pzc1im2t56HDXlhh2lPCANaSWd3DjT3PQXAKlM2k9QOMCEeZpw7j7pt2YtIlRY2EmclnubEGiPBaNBKF4RkERaehbqvJ0VcGHBgw_PFxKaZOhiPJ-iiJ2Zc-5zB2al7V2o/s1600/sp2xxi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJiAgNvxtJ2Pzc1im2t56HDXlhh2lPCANaSWd3DjT3PQXAKlM2k9QOMCEeZpw7j7pt2YtIlRY2EmclnubEGiPBaNBKF4RkERaehbqvJ0VcGHBgw_PFxKaZOhiPJ-iiJ2Zc-5zB2al7V2o/s400/sp2xxi.jpg" width="391" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Caravan Club</b><br />
<br />
The way is lost; horizons too.<br />
No-one knows.<br />
<br />
Here or there, it’s said. Behind those rocks,<br />
or over the edge.<br />
<br />
They wander oil to see, out over the sand<br />
towards the dark <br />
and stand, <br />
distant dots <br />
on the flat black plain.<br />
<br />
It’s at the back of someone’s van,<br />
dropped and forgot <br />
some think; none look. <br />
Though some do ask where’s the way,<br />
and mill about, <br />
looking for someone who might have a map<br />
or give a direction.<br />
<br />
There’s no road, and no marker. <br />
There’s the route that brought them here,<br />
but now it’s gone, <br />
all tracks and traces gone.<br />
No touch of time. <br />
No past.<br />
<br />
They’re still, <br />
scattered out of line,<br />
each van independently, <br />
and there’s little life in this low light.<br />
No cooking, resting, mending, planning,<br />
no sweeping out. <br />
No jostling about. <br />
No sign of it.<br />
<br />
Stilled in the sand by a far-back fear.<br />
<br />
There –<br />
shifting in the passage of the mind –<br />
behind the eyes – a glimpse: <br />
work done; <br />
growing quieter.<br />
<br />
Lowering night. <br />
<br />
Green.<br />
Old neon, <br />
phosphorous on the black flint plain.<br />
The vans settle, <br />
solidify, <br />
turn to the rock around them<br />
<br />
No moving now.<br />
<br />
The people as still.<br />
<br />
A swirl of dust<br />
from no wind at all. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitI3gHR4L_cONbKnpmxk45WLx-UHreq5iIeUnD4m82RAYRxd5QLES6XyQ96oa1hCe7gMBj70FDiVeDB7LynPIytggdXZXl2zZZMuuvHhfFw676Taqk7tJ8Z0hl9IKfcOUNxvt1OKBVJbI/s1600/sp2xxii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitI3gHR4L_cONbKnpmxk45WLx-UHreq5iIeUnD4m82RAYRxd5QLES6XyQ96oa1hCe7gMBj70FDiVeDB7LynPIytggdXZXl2zZZMuuvHhfFw676Taqk7tJ8Z0hl9IKfcOUNxvt1OKBVJbI/s400/sp2xxii.jpg" width="324" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Where Do I Want to Be</b><br />
<br />
A small minority of the sea-side sort,<br />
Beach Baptists, I think, <br />
or something like that, <br />
is what I belong to. <br />
Biblical Litoralists.<br />
<br />
I used to be a thinking man, <br />
but it’s so easy to go too far out.<br />
Keep near the shore, I decided. <br />
You need support when you’re right.<br />
<br />
So necessary these days.<br />
I get out of my depth <br />
when there are so many little guilts around. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[14/1/96]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzRZDkDteI-fO3Tj_NRFqg27yx64Qbb3Nj3K2jgfvJ_lmZEpefZEtv0Esuwk9cgKFIZ2DDoqt6ihRsiC7_jwxpEy1sFdw8qzZfEB4gNy4P0UxzzjeOkF6dRWSJlUEm87mUiml9eqLxvA/s1600/sp2xxiii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgzRZDkDteI-fO3Tj_NRFqg27yx64Qbb3Nj3K2jgfvJ_lmZEpefZEtv0Esuwk9cgKFIZ2DDoqt6ihRsiC7_jwxpEy1sFdw8qzZfEB4gNy4P0UxzzjeOkF6dRWSJlUEm87mUiml9eqLxvA/s400/sp2xxiii.jpg" width="138" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxmaOe4eP_QdDf_hJnIPh69F9Kd9ovROlS8XVhZJQS6q4Eg9lq4y5pb70y286mtrybT97APW7wvQ63lXTNKZ8eEYRiIIMyLCFsoOh4DzWpfJGl9sAcjLmPcydJB1oYTZf_TIWpY03GQU/s1600/sp2xxiv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhxmaOe4eP_QdDf_hJnIPh69F9Kd9ovROlS8XVhZJQS6q4Eg9lq4y5pb70y286mtrybT97APW7wvQ63lXTNKZ8eEYRiIIMyLCFsoOh4DzWpfJGl9sAcjLmPcydJB1oYTZf_TIWpY03GQU/s400/sp2xxiv.jpg" width="272" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Time Please</b><br />
<br />
First sign of closing time –<br />
he’s turned the music down.<br />
<br />
It’s wet outside,<br />
and cold; <br />
we’re warm and doing well,<br />
the last ones here; <br />
don’t want to leave.<br />
<br />
He’s giving us the message.<br />
She’s not pleased.<br />
<br />
He can’t do this to us,<br />
she says. <br />
Don’t look.<br />
<br />
He turns the music off<br />
and wipes the bar.<br />
<br />
Don’t look, she says. <br />
He doesn’t need to bother us.<br />
Don’t let him see we’ve noticed.<br />
<br />
He tinkers with the spirits,<br />
wipes the whiteboard clean,<br />
stares darkly <br />
while he polishes the glasses,<br />
<br />
signals sent <br />
as certain as decision.<br />
<br />
He’s tired, I say,<br />
he’s had a long day.<br />
let’s leave.<br />
<br />
He counts the money, <br />
rings the change, <br />
wipes an item from the<br />
Programme For The Month.<br />
<br />
I don’t want to go outside,<br />
she says. <br />
it isn’t time, <br />
and I don’t like being pushed.<br />
<br />
It’s been good, I say.<br />
<br />
Let’s go while there’s choice.<br />
<br />
She doesn’t like it. <br />
<br />
Stay till twelve, she says. <br />
Turn your back. <br />
Be quiet. <br />
Don’t speak. <br />
Don’t look.<br />
<br />
It’s no use. <br />
No pleasure’s left.<br />
<br />
We take our things,<br />
say goodnlght, <br />
and go. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiuimsod0RuclQyb_dmCfyzWbc3ti2-G5PNoq-_i3s97T1TwPUUGwX_b2wCjXx7ZT9a10N_KLkgff4NRTDyFpF1LzQRcmGbmHfYm0J-784ulqa2ZOE9o9d-n33DjmZeHF-SAeu0GVpaSU/s1600/sp2xxv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiuimsod0RuclQyb_dmCfyzWbc3ti2-G5PNoq-_i3s97T1TwPUUGwX_b2wCjXx7ZT9a10N_KLkgff4NRTDyFpF1LzQRcmGbmHfYm0J-784ulqa2ZOE9o9d-n33DjmZeHF-SAeu0GVpaSU/s400/sp2xxv.jpg" width="162" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVbnDrWHOOLA4q9BrlFpkTV6__zU3OjugVZGjSlDjb5NS8DltkzBGM9J_6GkM_srN_X2Hfm91MZqOe5i2-FMGT-96rfj4tajSociHZTLCFm9l-tb59NRXWL9bca4mAaNfcg2OWbVcV1I/s1600/sp2xxvii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOVbnDrWHOOLA4q9BrlFpkTV6__zU3OjugVZGjSlDjb5NS8DltkzBGM9J_6GkM_srN_X2Hfm91MZqOe5i2-FMGT-96rfj4tajSociHZTLCFm9l-tb59NRXWL9bca4mAaNfcg2OWbVcV1I/s400/sp2xxvii.jpg" width="194" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Walk Around My Church</b><br />
<br />
I unlock the door,<br />
put out the notice,<br />
turn on the light, <br />
and sit at INFORMATION,<br />
waiting <br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">for someone</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">to come.</span><br />
<br />
It’s all worked out.<br />
It’s here on the desk –<br />
cards and brochures. <br />
This is what they’ve given me to say:<br />
<br />
Welcome to our church.<br />
It’s been here <br />
since 1844, <br />
built by Bishop Selwyn,<br />
using native wood.<br />
<br />
Come with me, <br />
and I’ll walk you round<br />
and show you. <br />
– down this aisle.<br />
<br />
Note the timber,<br />
the broad boards –<br />
stained rimu,<br />
milled from bush, <br />
from a swamp near Mt. Smart.<br />
The pews are totara, <br />
made later.<br />
<br />
This is the transept.<br />
You might notice<br />
that the church <br />
is built <br />
in the form<br />
of a cross. <br />
This is the cross-bar.<br />
<br />
Here is the memorial chapel,<br />
to the war dead. <br />
There is where the choir sit. <br />
The wall has damp in the plaster.<br />
We’ve tried to fix it, <br />
but it’s the shady side. <br />
<br />
Some people see a face of Christ<br />
in the stain. <br />
It changes after rain.<br />
<br />
The windows are lovely.<br />
They’re William Morris,<br />
made late last century,<br />
in England. <br />
They say the angels look like Mrs. Morris.<br />
<br />
This is the pulpit.<br />
It’s oak, <br />
made to the memory<br />
of our first vicar, <br />
an Englishman, <br />
here for 42 years. <br />
A character. <br />
Our vicar doesn’t use it now.<br />
He preaches from the step<br />
to be nearer the people.<br />
<br />
Come this way. <br />
You can see the organ.<br />
It’s a nice instrument,<br />
but not used much now;<br />
and the altar, <br />
plain, but serviceable. <br />
It’s from early this century.<br />
<br />
Note the four sanctuary windows.<br />
Each is an apostle, <br />
a gospel writer,<br />
Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John<br />
from left to right, <br />
captioned in a bottom corner.<br />
They’re lovely in the rising sun.<br />
The colours are quite life-like.<br />
<br />
This lectern is from France,<br />
captured in the First World War.<br />
The Bishop’s chair <br />
is a bit too small <br />
for some of them.<br />
<br />
Now, <br />
look down the nave.<br />
There’s the font, <br />
at the end of the aisle, <br />
the west window behind,<br />
and the rose above.<br />
<br />
If you look above, <br />
from where we’re standing,<br />
you can see daylight<br />
through the cracks <br />
in the gable wall. <br />
No rain ever blows in.<br />
<br />
Such an inspired use of space,<br />
so judicious. <br />
Nothing’s been much changed.<br />
<br />
I’ve been coming here all my life.<br />
I live near here, you see. <br />
Every week I come.<br />
<br />
There was a presence here,<br />
in this order, <br />
and beauty. <br />
It’s gone now, <br />
and there’s just quiet.<br />
But that’s got value – <br />
a defence against outside.<br />
That’s why I come.<br />
<br />
I think that’s all there is to show you.<br />
The way out <br />
is the same as <br />
the way in. <br />
<br />
Take care. <br />
It’s so dark in here<br />
and bright outside,<br />
and there <br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">are three</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">steep steps.</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDUwN5rqkwB_hbFCDATB28FPt7cxOwqulAOJKs3KzkhaGeXxlaajVXa8YItgZWEBPYbyYh_8eFF8ijoNEjhyfUGhTdUBF5pAKOeZ5cPHfxfzlZiQcFm8FE9ONpo-j9szOF5ZePDt5rLA/s1600/sp2xxviii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHDUwN5rqkwB_hbFCDATB28FPt7cxOwqulAOJKs3KzkhaGeXxlaajVXa8YItgZWEBPYbyYh_8eFF8ijoNEjhyfUGhTdUBF5pAKOeZ5cPHfxfzlZiQcFm8FE9ONpo-j9szOF5ZePDt5rLA/s400/sp2xxviii.jpg" width="167" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4hjVdcbioT56V9uznSjzOSh6gL43Y3xzBTmlE5YKDK95MnDBn-KnWcey8HRYzj9l6Ka5nrrrXo8aqceZAd7cUIBu_v15X80uVwaq_mjzKnMfTToEgXJJRNgGcDwGrVwN3tcG3O2LY0Y/s1600/sp2xxix.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-4hjVdcbioT56V9uznSjzOSh6gL43Y3xzBTmlE5YKDK95MnDBn-KnWcey8HRYzj9l6Ka5nrrrXo8aqceZAd7cUIBu_v15X80uVwaq_mjzKnMfTToEgXJJRNgGcDwGrVwN3tcG3O2LY0Y/s400/sp2xxix.jpg" width="304" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Living on the Cheap</b><br />
<br />
From here <br />
I can reach everything.<br />
Books on my right,<br />
radio on my left, <br />
and matches under the rug<br />
with the candle <br />
in a bag.<br />
<br />
My boots are just inside the tent,<br />
to the left of my feet. <br />
on the right is the pack <br />
with the food in it, <br />
and toilet things in a pocket.<br />
The parka’s over the pack,<br />
and my feet.<br />
<br />
It’s easy. <br />
There’s everything I need,<br />
and it’s dry. <br />
I’m warm enough,<br />
sitting up reading, <br />
waiting for the rain to stop<br />
some time soon.<br />
<br />
There’s a lump <br />
under the groundsheet<br />
at the base of my spine.<br />
I’ll move it when I can.<br />
The tent’s quite taut,<br />
but a spray gets through<br />
when it pours.<br />
<br />
I’ll light the primus soon<br />
and make a pot of tea.<br />
It’s alright really <br />
and I don’t mind much, <br />
but it’s a small world when it’s raining<br />
and I like to get out, <br />
now and then.<br />
<br />
I know this world so well<br />
and can get around. <br />
I know where things are. <br />
I know what’s up the creek,<br />
and how to get to the top <br />
when conditions are right.<br />
It’s all there<br />
<br />
for me to explore again,<br />
prospecting the tracks. <br />
I don’t like this white light. <br />
I can’t hear a thing in the rain,<br />
but I’m having a rest,<br />
preparing for the <br />
next good day. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTPqnEt5-SO5QMzd_DPU2a1NhWh_L9H4xQHHibi00pBZsGIt1B3sapX-vKYTX_GwsSO-dV80C5Q3l1qIboBqzJzME-FdVjYgWs4aN4xyu43iU0ickww3RVCmZqN1SraGEQbOuNUw9djg/s1600/sp2xxx.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTTPqnEt5-SO5QMzd_DPU2a1NhWh_L9H4xQHHibi00pBZsGIt1B3sapX-vKYTX_GwsSO-dV80C5Q3l1qIboBqzJzME-FdVjYgWs4aN4xyu43iU0ickww3RVCmZqN1SraGEQbOuNUw9djg/s400/sp2xxx.jpg" width="388" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
I do magic,<br />
she says, <br />
but does she know there’s no such thing?<br />
I pretend I pretend I pretend, she says,<br />
but does she?<br />
<br />
Even if there’s such a thing<br />
her magic doesn’t work.<br />
<br />
If it does <br />
(just a bit)<br />
there’s no proof. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjRdGo0tZPs5byT7gnEJWLeE26kOJAVOEXBDhscuorTwexiFj6_2-uU5WI24cpJoezmqzWCg_gsUuycEgOE_yw28ekRRdxX-XE_j53v7jSan7OSgINZg_JidkoVCDe3WBwDM3Emc_tq0/s1600/sp2xxxi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNjRdGo0tZPs5byT7gnEJWLeE26kOJAVOEXBDhscuorTwexiFj6_2-uU5WI24cpJoezmqzWCg_gsUuycEgOE_yw28ekRRdxX-XE_j53v7jSan7OSgINZg_JidkoVCDe3WBwDM3Emc_tq0/s400/sp2xxxi.jpg" width="260" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Clean Café</b><br />
<br />
Mrs. Fatialofa keeps her cafe clean.<br />
She wrote a notice: <br />
MAKE NO CRUMBS.<br />
No-one came.<br />
<br />
So she wrote: <br />
PLEASE MAKE NO CRUMBS.<br />
No-one came.<br />
<br />
She tried again: <br />
PLEASE TAKE YOUR CRUMBS WITH YOU.<br />
But the people <br />
went to the cafe <br />
over the road.<br />
<br />
She made one last try: <br />
PLEASE MAKE CRUMBS.<br />
They all still kept away.<br />
<br />
I’ll shut the shop, she said,<br />
I’m running out of money,<br />
and she took the notice down.<br />
<br />
That same day they all came back. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L27RDLGy2I2d4fOl0GIBdg26Qlkv9eZoiEyhI7w4hyphenhypheny74MdMD-XmZoL6qZH7PtHhauHTyek1vE_Hfz_69dKz0HzWf_D5hxJd9RZgdiIHnStvRN4zwvs3R8wYx0zNM7RaV4wn_ELz63o/s1600/sp2xxxii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-L27RDLGy2I2d4fOl0GIBdg26Qlkv9eZoiEyhI7w4hyphenhypheny74MdMD-XmZoL6qZH7PtHhauHTyek1vE_Hfz_69dKz0HzWf_D5hxJd9RZgdiIHnStvRN4zwvs3R8wYx0zNM7RaV4wn_ELz63o/s400/sp2xxxii.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My Father’s House</b><br />
<br />
Once shining on your corner,<br />
first-finished in the avenue,<br />
you shiver in the winter sun,<br />
roof mossed, paint pale,<br />
sun-cracked.<br />
<br />
Where can I return,<br />
if not to you, <br />
my corporal kind, <br />
my founded self,<br />
four-cornered, square,<br />
still sound?<br />
<br />
The walls of your rooms<br />
are bruised with my life,<br />
your corridors <br />
are galleries of grief,<br />
your cuts and scars<br />
my weeping wounds, <br />
your stains the night-stuff<br />
of my sleep.<br />
<br />
Your doors are dead now,<br />
windows blind, <br />
your chimneys never breathe,<br />
<br />
but you read to me,<br />
silently, <br />
my life <br />
and diaried end. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDDRSap-7k8HMJxw9-CnEXWwBEleSYEOPxxXFFfySK4QrQZ0P09uCkDWznyEPH3JFQSQDzwkR34rQS6ASpm8qqVezkSZrUJSDGF3g19biSWA5OayM52FFBsTGnJHO9vK7Lo06Y1bYcDc/s1600/sp2xxxiii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDDRSap-7k8HMJxw9-CnEXWwBEleSYEOPxxXFFfySK4QrQZ0P09uCkDWznyEPH3JFQSQDzwkR34rQS6ASpm8qqVezkSZrUJSDGF3g19biSWA5OayM52FFBsTGnJHO9vK7Lo06Y1bYcDc/s400/sp2xxxiii.jpg" width="182" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Sweeney on a Bicycle</b><br />
<br />
I sit still<br />
in this mist-and-mushroom<br />
morning<br />
<br />
but<br />
<br />
the world’s a wind in my mind, <br />
a vortex<br />
rushing me<br />
<br />
houses and gates and automobiles<br />
and burning brakes<br />
<br />
out of control at last, <br />
<br />
down the road<br />
and over the cliff, <br />
into the space there for me, <br />
tumbling & leaping & streaming<br />
a rainbow falling<br />
into the autumn<br />
aerially<br />
to never come down again, <br />
<br />
living like a wild man<br />
in the upper branches, <br />
<br />
as you can<br />
if yr fixed<br />
and yr muscles are right, <br />
<br />
and the spirit’s in you<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUuoCHZmMXpa3fWeC9CfYWTQCf5ThjivvZ4_yZtkvwRgqr2yB_8FAjrCFpOicG4T1SvRc6tKyEKNZOP-ABj8RGiV48ZyL6RaebBVzErskINWSBHTmXW3vhOiczB4sFS7BpedpgYbc_h8/s1600/sp2xxxiv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtUuoCHZmMXpa3fWeC9CfYWTQCf5ThjivvZ4_yZtkvwRgqr2yB_8FAjrCFpOicG4T1SvRc6tKyEKNZOP-ABj8RGiV48ZyL6RaebBVzErskINWSBHTmXW3vhOiczB4sFS7BpedpgYbc_h8/s400/sp2xxxiv.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Visit to My Psychiatrist</b><br />
<br />
At the end of today<br />
I’ve nothing left to hide.<br />
You know all.<br />
<br />
Do I earn your interest?<br />
Do I perch in trees, <br />
dig widows into garden beds, <br />
eat offal, <br />
or practise magic rituals<br />
you envy?<br />
Do I shout or scream, <br />
break glass, <br />
sob at the moon?<br />
<br />
You track me inside-out.<br />
Your peering<br />
through the fence irritates.<br />
<br />
You could look over.<br />
Your house looks into mine.<br />
<br />
I’ve no defence.<br />
<br />
I’ll straighten every garden line, <br />
pull every weed, <br />
wear brown, <br />
drive a Jap import, <br />
<br />
and, each day at ten<br />
I’ll sit with tea<br />
by the nectarine, <br />
and read the Herald, <br />
<br />
until you’re bored, <br />
and look elsewhere.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[23/9/96]<br />
<br />
(<i>Poetry NZ</i> 14 (1997): 52-53.)</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-2-1995-1996.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLiYll-OBu_9yYu1eAPWPQDQHAU2wuuOGfZwnCgdIPN45N3VfqYodGoY9HZogchusmZ6DFpR57pAOw8MwB4qyJ-o-cjCMQlDVuqaeKQPUGmYX9_8EsDqq91zm2NJReIMSny1nGoShMmU/s1600/sp2xxxv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJLiYll-OBu_9yYu1eAPWPQDQHAU2wuuOGfZwnCgdIPN45N3VfqYodGoY9HZogchusmZ6DFpR57pAOw8MwB4qyJ-o-cjCMQlDVuqaeKQPUGmYX9_8EsDqq91zm2NJReIMSny1nGoShMmU/s400/sp2xxxv.jpg" width="164" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Cliff on Mt. Owen</b><br />
<br />
Sideways, upwards,<br />
down, <br />
it takes all space.<br />
<br />
There’s not much sky,<br />
<br />
nor sun, <br />
at the foot of this facade.<br />
<br />
Grey as mist,<br />
siliceous,<br />
unscaleable,<br />
<br />
so vast <br />
it seems alive for worship,<br />
a might <br />
to reverence <br />
at this height <br />
of falcons, keas,<br />
and brittle crystal<br />
emptiness.<br />
<br />
Small plants grow<br />
in the interstices,<br />
felted for the cold,<br />
<br />
and there are caves<br />
from another age.<br />
<br />
People disappear<br />
from here. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[n.d.]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
<br />
<br />Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-59780714979298085702012-01-02T10:59:00.012+13:002017-11-26T10:56:49.909+13:00Selected Shorter Poems 1 (1983-1995)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s1600/Leceister+Kyle.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5574471027162316738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinqAzEkOD4J4rLFTXXUZqfSN5D53DvrOLvIBLa0yEXQyryz4a6h7U4-AMB4zhFPjtD0TdEgBk7d7a6rCuWs7oUw4zsLT9bylGcQYM1iucvA1NDdTo3URpMdUhyphenhyphenqETEbVO5FeWA1BbCJBg/s400/Leceister+Kyle.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 295px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.co.nz/2011/03/book-twenty-two.html">Shorter Poems: 1</a></span></b><br />
(1983-1995)</div>
<br />
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">Grapefruit</a> [1983]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">In a New Country</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Hallelujah</a> [June 1994]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title="">Kerikeri, 1946</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Dancing Maria</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Ancient Worship</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Coal Kingdom</a> [March 1995]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn8" name="_ftnref8" title="">Pipes</a> [April 1995]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn9" name="_ftnref9" title="">House Guest</a> [n.d.]</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn10" name="_ftnref10" title="">Edge</a> [July 1995]</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAcVlShN64QJQt9i5Flocszd8STFew3cZ8VtlFMuWsTOYvA1UeubCrLJEL3CvMtkHEhZdqN1plWDSP12F7JvCarK4izXuUw1Gjy8ui2Ww_aHhcLM3JOXJMWrV3tDdeufkjdkVZruoTgs/s1600/sp1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrAcVlShN64QJQt9i5Flocszd8STFew3cZ8VtlFMuWsTOYvA1UeubCrLJEL3CvMtkHEhZdqN1plWDSP12F7JvCarK4izXuUw1Gjy8ui2Ww_aHhcLM3JOXJMWrV3tDdeufkjdkVZruoTgs/s400/sp1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Grapefruit</b><br />
<br />
The golden apples of the sun, <br />
their daily tour of duty done, <br />
do rest at last upon the tree, <br />
in less celestial harmony.<br />
<br />
In autumn mist and winter rain<br />
they falter, to shine out again;<br />
and sing aloud, to tastes that suit, <br />
that they are not a common fruit. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
[1983]</div>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEg189HcJt_uGkAZlBhb58dMmotOlofL3tLTWSvzo3EBi251GVGM2PMD9GbEujgjBvIZKe3El0yNeddMB1-aLz1LIjqx1zBnN2whvrfebrJrnYQwppReBGK8VN51LVXAliKG6R5GTTZgE/s1600/sp2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEg189HcJt_uGkAZlBhb58dMmotOlofL3tLTWSvzo3EBi251GVGM2PMD9GbEujgjBvIZKe3El0yNeddMB1-aLz1LIjqx1zBnN2whvrfebrJrnYQwppReBGK8VN51LVXAliKG6R5GTTZgE/s400/sp2.jpg" width="234" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>In a New Country</b><br />
<br />
When we pick mushrooms in the bush<br />
we stay by our voices. <br />
We don’t want to lose ourselves<br />
or each other <br />
in the dark places<br />
where we lose our track<br />
and our time. <br />
There are no names for our<br />
fears or our finds.<br />
<br />
We find them on the logs,<br />
on branches, <br />
on the litter at the roots,<br />
and call the discovery. <br />
But we can’t call what it is.<br />
<br />
Found! we call each other,<br />
and its colour, <br />
and smell, <br />
and if we can cook with it,<br />
eat it, <br />
sleep, or see visions with it.<br />
Or kill with it. <br />
But we can’t tell what it is.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[n.d.]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezuoWvsGUBj20XbSgyfTFj3gxtNrCSqt-CU0NkoziUD3Mm39Gjy9Ar74J_NeUoampFZd7BSxPLRR2dH_PkpjtWZdb7iEXbbJtmIk0qtRtrV8MZApUS204jnnUMZdpSPSh-8Fn6sAtZFA/s1600/sp3i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjezuoWvsGUBj20XbSgyfTFj3gxtNrCSqt-CU0NkoziUD3Mm39Gjy9Ar74J_NeUoampFZd7BSxPLRR2dH_PkpjtWZdb7iEXbbJtmIk0qtRtrV8MZApUS204jnnUMZdpSPSh-8Fn6sAtZFA/s400/sp3i.jpg" width="144" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCvvcYHUqqZyZ29vHQf52Rj36H-wfT2dDsd8VuvyqniSv9QO4X4xVUUph6obcnXAcQ8hUq6ohR4VsRxae6JnH2Q_eLpFB8Ge_WcG7qjRtuRMUKfq5tXNJ09MKm_xX5Gui1bIM5kAR2DI/s1600/sp3ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnCvvcYHUqqZyZ29vHQf52Rj36H-wfT2dDsd8VuvyqniSv9QO4X4xVUUph6obcnXAcQ8hUq6ohR4VsRxae6JnH2Q_eLpFB8Ge_WcG7qjRtuRMUKfq5tXNJ09MKm_xX5Gui1bIM5kAR2DI/s400/sp3ii.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Hallelujah<br />
We sang <br />
As the shake began<br />
As the books fell out <br />
And the bricks began to move.<br />
<br />
It was a song <br />
We only sang at school;<br />
Too rude to sing at home.<br />
A secret joke <br />
With teacher <br />
And his guitar.<br />
<br />
And then the bang!<br />
We stopped <br />
But couldn’t stand,<br />
Holding on <br />
As the world tilted<br />
On one end <br />
And then the other.<br />
<br />
We couldn’t sing <br />
As the books fell out <br />
And the bricks began to move.<br />
Through the window <br />
I could see <br />
Rocks catapult <br />
From the tops <br />
To smash the trees below<br />
And bury them.<br />
<br />
I ran <br />
To put my back against the door<br />
And called the children to me,<br />
My sisters and my brothers <br />
And the others, <br />
Teacher dropped one. <br />
His guitar was in the other hand.<br />
We dragged him by his leg.<br />
<br />
Outside<br />
We stood <br />
To see the world collapsing<br />
At our feet. <br />
The ground opened<br />
With jets of mud<br />
And gravel. <br />
The tankstand fell<br />
And our horses lay <br />
With their legs in the air.<br />
<br />
Hold hands<br />
Said teacher <br />
And huddle close together<br />
So we don’t go down a crack.<br />
And we sang <br />
Hallelujah <br />
I’m a bum <br />
Because we knew it<br />
And we laughed <br />
As the world came to pieces<br />
Around us <br />
And we could only see each other<br />
As our school fell down <br />
And the mountains slid <br />
And the roar of the fall <br />
Was silenced by our fears.<br />
<br />
[<i>At School, Murchison, 17/6/1929</i><br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[June 1994]<br />
<br />
(<i>School Journal</i>)</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoxY9Ziq7JrLDXc4U-zuRV62fMRwVh4150ahE3CjHbCfW3noVw-RV0TUmV-WUsazTfUoCMnBX9vJHwscQkmL8pC7fLFzS9TDK9VPxGOWznTBbqEA5FjuVk368rw7aY0rvPBKAp1g7wXc/s1600/sp4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvoxY9Ziq7JrLDXc4U-zuRV62fMRwVh4150ahE3CjHbCfW3noVw-RV0TUmV-WUsazTfUoCMnBX9vJHwscQkmL8pC7fLFzS9TDK9VPxGOWznTBbqEA5FjuVk368rw7aY0rvPBKAp1g7wXc/s400/sp4.jpg" width="188" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Kerikeri, 1946</b><br />
<br />
“Service!” Mrs.Bartle cried,<br />
at the door; <br />
much too proud to go inside<br />
into the store.<br />
<br />
The sleek car idled on and purred<br />
by the road; <br />
her barks though loud went unheard<br />
by Mr.Jobe.<br />
<br />
“Service” said Mrs.Bartle loud,<br />
but less assured, <br />
this time seeming not so proud;<br />
no-one stirred.<br />
<br />
“Please move, you’re keeping out the light,”<br />
Jobe asked. <br />
His son was crouching out of sight,<br />
untasked.<br />
<br />
The customers stared right ahead,<br />
all unmoved; <br />
Mrs.Bartle coloured red,<br />
first refused.<br />
<br />
And stepped back to her purring car,<br />
stern and straight.<br />
Insulted, unprovisioned, set to spar,<br />
in wrathful state.<br />
<br />
“That’s the way to stop their ways,”<br />
said Mr.Jobe. <br />
The customers admiring praise<br />
on him bestowed.<br />
<br />
“I’m serving Mrs.Sondering –”<br />
Jobe said it. <br />
“She always pays on purchasing –<br />
No credit.” <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[n.d.]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuCX-r0B626x4EuymOy5z0l2ngBWNXnnXcWWY65LIM_tq5CjKEt61ITV4z70AybmVsIV3efeLBlZCvAbkCgGK8wdE2v3glV0PmPxgb9HuvxvqA6R90NAwCl1MX6eWUM65hZ3eCoY2AvQ/s1600/sp5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDuCX-r0B626x4EuymOy5z0l2ngBWNXnnXcWWY65LIM_tq5CjKEt61ITV4z70AybmVsIV3efeLBlZCvAbkCgGK8wdE2v3glV0PmPxgb9HuvxvqA6R90NAwCl1MX6eWUM65hZ3eCoY2AvQ/s400/sp5.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
Dancing Maria: <br />
When you took the floor in our church<br />
we held our breaths, <br />
not for the surprise <br />
or the interruption,<br />
nor for the scandal you would cause<br />
or our apprehension for the wars, <br />
But where would it stop, we asked,<br />
when you put us to the test. <br />
would there be a chain reaction? <br />
You were being pretty fundamental.<br />
And we knew that if God wasn’t careful<br />
and let you do something, <br />
the sun might go early <br />
and do things to time; <br />
that the moon might come up crooked,<br />
and we mightn’t be able to eat our dinner<br />
even if we wanted to.<br />
<br />
Maria, <br />
the earth might have shaken<br />
when you did your dance. <br />
Putahi could have popped,<br />
Omapere could have spilled itself,<br />
and Ngapha balled away. <br />
Other dances might have stopped –<br />
the stars, the tides, <br />
the comings and the goings,<br />
the lovings, births, and dyings. <br />
Did you know what you were doing?<br />
We laughed at you, Maria. <br />
We knew we had to. <br />
We wouldn’t have laughed <br />
if you had been pretty or a virgin,<br />
but we were frightened, <br />
for had you turned us upside down<br />
as you wanted, <br />
had we gone brown and you gone white, <br />
had all the world turned on your dancing floor,<br />
even though we had just come <br />
we would have had to go back home.<br />
<br />
[<i>Kaikohe</i>]<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[n.d.]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdZVlroVyu3qaagXioRjAdHRBcGZAaDX184culKSYdk85EZD8uFEKUIh7roySqYU-RrmQzc9PCQ2TPpZy10_AKOKX4VD7xgKEadMoLY41TXn8tE_gD-jxmmwZrwiJ9iP6vGaTdRf1hgQ/s1600/sp6.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZdZVlroVyu3qaagXioRjAdHRBcGZAaDX184culKSYdk85EZD8uFEKUIh7roySqYU-RrmQzc9PCQ2TPpZy10_AKOKX4VD7xgKEadMoLY41TXn8tE_gD-jxmmwZrwiJ9iP6vGaTdRf1hgQ/s400/sp6.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ancient Worship</b><br />
<br />
When Mr. Reid gets up in the morning<br />
he goes to the front door <br />
to fetch his milk. <br />
He steps outside <br />
and looks up at the sky,<br />
and says: <br />
Thank you God for giving me another day.<br />
If he’s feeling really well, he adds: <br />
And for giving me sleep too.<br />
The second thanking dies away <br />
if his body has its aches and pains.<br />
In bad weather <br />
he just says: Thank you God,<br />
and doesn’t step out.<br />
<br />
Old Mrs.Payne lives next door.<br />
The courtesy annoys her. <br />
What’s he got to thank God for, she asks.<br />
God’s let him be ninety-three. <br />
Blind! So blind he can’t see for looking.<br />
Deaf! So deaf he can’t hear himself speak.<br />
And each night, <br />
when he lies down in bed,<br />
he asks God to let him die.<br />
I know; he’s told me. <br />
He can’t even taste the blessed milk! <br />
What’s sun or sleep to him!<br />
Living’s never done anyone any good, she says.<br />
I know; I’ve done it, she says. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[n.d.]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1PnDyvpyWWSCeDb3SAjXJS0TJ__bpF-F5qpqizUya1UKD202hLKUqDzK7CEGZ3kRmq-3N2-sWOEoDlNHJaOMIDBPn4diJbOnjoYallDMKfC1j0SG__5-Rx0OVDzxu41wf9pjg93w_SY/s1600/sp7i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEht1PnDyvpyWWSCeDb3SAjXJS0TJ__bpF-F5qpqizUya1UKD202hLKUqDzK7CEGZ3kRmq-3N2-sWOEoDlNHJaOMIDBPn4diJbOnjoYallDMKfC1j0SG__5-Rx0OVDzxu41wf9pjg93w_SY/s400/sp7i.jpg" width="168" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJVK-8OgMtmww3M0GiMIbHEHhPLmV628C0PPFbq9FNhthOx8mPfudUafMg_5keUh8IW1af9uWGAiim3NeLxcnFwqlh4P5F3BM0kjDQUVxxm9Z2wxdzjTAARcvqyul2lnyoLxosai-7jo/s1600/sp7ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyJVK-8OgMtmww3M0GiMIbHEHhPLmV628C0PPFbq9FNhthOx8mPfudUafMg_5keUh8IW1af9uWGAiim3NeLxcnFwqlh4P5F3BM0kjDQUVxxm9Z2wxdzjTAARcvqyul2lnyoLxosai-7jo/s400/sp7ii.jpg" width="218" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Coal Kingdom</b><br />
<br />
Tell me, <br />
in mercy tell me, <br />
come back and tell me, <br />
another story. <br />
I’ll wait here for you,<br />
patiently, <br />
among the ferns and puriri trees<br />
long here before you, <br />
and while waiting <br />
I’ll listen to their story,<br />
which might restore us both<br />
to the heart of it.<br />
<br />
I’ll dream <br />
an older dream, <br />
and listen to the silence, <br />
the long non-predatory quiet, <br />
of the time when stones were made.<br />
Moss-quiet, <br />
and every doing lithographed:<br />
lasting impressions, <br />
etched forever <br />
molten and deposited as clue,<br />
in record true.<br />
<br />
Like the season<br />
you are forward, <br />
and come more hotly.<br />
You think yourself alone. <br />
We’re both passers on this land,<br />
which sings and says its own <br />
to all who stop to note, <br />
and has its story writ <br />
on every stone and tree <br />
about me now. <br />
It sounds in every run<br />
of water, sough of wind. <br />
<br />
The God <br />
who made these hills and seas<br />
stopped on the fifth day of his work,<br />
and turned to other shores <br />
to house the images of self.<br />
We are the sunrise of the making,<br />
and can only be <br />
a dream of humankind,<br />
permitted but to loiter,<br />
rest a while, <br />
and if too harsh<br />
shrugged off.<br />
<br />
Tread carefully,<br />
my friend. <br />
Look about you as you go.<br />
Where there’s something now<br />
There nothing soon may be. <br />
A fern-seed mist from off the hills,<br />
a lotus-spume from off the sea –<br />
then sleep and fancy seize us all<br />
and silence falls: <br />
the silence of birth, <br />
the morning that began,<br />
of bird and fish and earth. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[March 1995]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEtbJ1tqKwotUW8Hoa0wlT9SuHLb2cqREjNcDmJSUeKpO2awHghiNbM4MWaCgcE5_PzYQi3S2NwVda7bzqAZKRINjZI4bmATDfDP7U_PNebottkAk3gG3YYQ4FIp14gMDnaNI7Pt6Qco/s1600/sp8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZEtbJ1tqKwotUW8Hoa0wlT9SuHLb2cqREjNcDmJSUeKpO2awHghiNbM4MWaCgcE5_PzYQi3S2NwVda7bzqAZKRINjZI4bmATDfDP7U_PNebottkAk3gG3YYQ4FIp14gMDnaNI7Pt6Qco/s400/sp8.jpg" width="291" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Pipes</b><br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
at dawn <br />
if I listen carefully <br />
I can hear the lady in the next flat<br />
fart. <br />
Distant, <br />
but distinct. <br />
A rush of running water’s with it,<br />
as with her, <br />
before she goes to work.<br />
Sounds of comfort, <br />
though some might find them crass.<br />
But what’s a working body <br />
without an arse? <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[April 1995]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1s6Vo92BfjXdNnqBQn3WoeZ4hzIqzde2z5YuqlntvEIvbOe2QFuCJpnu42WzD_FeKnPu8p6g-6Xc2DZKLfDC_NhMqZRZPFbS5_7YQJ3bMyKk9UbMdsUBbspTaEhY9RW0bhC63eiVK5A/s1600/sp9i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjr1s6Vo92BfjXdNnqBQn3WoeZ4hzIqzde2z5YuqlntvEIvbOe2QFuCJpnu42WzD_FeKnPu8p6g-6Xc2DZKLfDC_NhMqZRZPFbS5_7YQJ3bMyKk9UbMdsUBbspTaEhY9RW0bhC63eiVK5A/s400/sp9i.jpg" width="244" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGProc2FuOCauNPOQ1vpCiK-1lq08SNH0SLZkpnloaWPxzwN7GMdhciaB0kdGjK5N9IaUF4pMGoAtDT34WOlwwdQkBHPW3yQ3D3k7A0tS9YKb2DNOC6tLYuUQjXNygQeUVxc5zmvEprEE/s1600/sp9ii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGProc2FuOCauNPOQ1vpCiK-1lq08SNH0SLZkpnloaWPxzwN7GMdhciaB0kdGjK5N9IaUF4pMGoAtDT34WOlwwdQkBHPW3yQ3D3k7A0tS9YKb2DNOC6tLYuUQjXNygQeUVxc5zmvEprEE/s400/sp9ii.jpg" width="233" /></a><br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCcHKEKywvV5RWpDFoqCAtg_lIQUdnl8aqDxD1XR2jKyacBn3vw8ecCzRd0zulQ2EyNY89vueVuz2fRcqkAZUla-kO3RSbKGqa7Lrh3FmYuWDZPiEWyma-G0q92tWZzsA8oiRL9fwyso/s1600/sp9iii.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkCcHKEKywvV5RWpDFoqCAtg_lIQUdnl8aqDxD1XR2jKyacBn3vw8ecCzRd0zulQ2EyNY89vueVuz2fRcqkAZUla-kO3RSbKGqa7Lrh3FmYuWDZPiEWyma-G0q92tWZzsA8oiRL9fwyso/s400/sp9iii.jpg" width="212" /></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDR0oA1hPARRKAzEzz6mEbgvBXNeLfmxg7Y2n4uL_ALMyt3k8UY_zkrsId28oxYnsHtB3lJsVSFWiscZImJjfvSTuxq6-QJH-_DmylYPRU0R0PRXl_eXUoieA3hY9yLRsyswUxFGBWu8/s1600/sp9iv.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuDR0oA1hPARRKAzEzz6mEbgvBXNeLfmxg7Y2n4uL_ALMyt3k8UY_zkrsId28oxYnsHtB3lJsVSFWiscZImJjfvSTuxq6-QJH-_DmylYPRU0R0PRXl_eXUoieA3hY9yLRsyswUxFGBWu8/s400/sp9iv.jpg" width="229" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>House Guest</b><br />
<br />
When death comes to our house<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>The Coming of the Guest</i></span><br />
She finds good quartering.<br />
She moves into the cupboard under the stairs<br />
where the books are kept. <br />
She likes it there. <br />
So do we. <br />
I know She’s there<br />
but no-one else does.<br />
She is very quiet <br />
and She will stay a long time.<br />
I know She’s going to.<br />
<br />
On a wet weekend<span style="padding-left: 7em;"><i>A Wet Day</i></span><br />
we bring out the books from under the stairs,<br />
spread them around the floor, <br />
and choose. <br />
Dad lights the fire, <br />
Mum cooks some scones.<br />
We can keep the cold away,<br />
but not Her. <br />
Good pickings She has –<br />
three for one.<br />
<br />
She’s there in our books,<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>She Turns the Pages</i></span><br />
(the others don’t know)<br />
lurking, infiltrating,<br />
making things Her way. <br />
from the darkness under the stairs<br />
we take them. <br />
Don’t make dust, Mum says, <br />
so we spread them over the floor.<br />
treat them gently, <br />
Dad says, <br />
as we lift our ones onto the table.<br />
<br />
The Pilgrim’s Progress<br />
with engravings. <br />
Beulah is for the blessed<br />
after they die, <br />
he says. <br />
Are there fountains in heaven<br />
really? I ask. <br />
The Inferno: <br />
brooding bat-winged Hatana<br />
with his head in his hands. <br />
<br />
Dis is the Devil, he says.<br />
Look at those wings!<br />
Look at the power! <br />
But why would the Devil<br />
need wings down there? <br />
There is Dickens for the loosing<br />
and Scott for dreams.<br />
Botany, geology, the sea, the land.<br />
The Lady of Shalott, <br />
etched and webbed on glass,<br />
Goblin Market, <br />
and Shakespeare.<br />
<br />
Then Dad says:<span style="padding-left: 7em;"><i>He Leaves us with Her</i></span><br />
I’ll go and see Tony for a little while,<br />
and we’ll plan that fishing trip. <br />
And Mum says: <br />
don’t be late then; <br />
tea will be rather special tonight.<br />
He kisses her <br />
(he does love her)<br />
and promises: <br />
I’ll be back soon. <br />
We know that promise,<br />
that he’s doing Her work.<br />
I know what She wants, <br />
but none of us know Her name.<br />
<br />
We know Her as an emptiness,<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>What She was Like</i></span><br />
a dark place under; <br />
something to do with words<br />
and thoughts <br />
and the past. <br />
There’s a place we have to fill,<br />
for he doesn’t come back for tea.<br />
We eat without him <br />
and it’s nice. <br />
We’re happy, <br />
pretending that he isn’t necessary,<br />
that when he comes home <br />
it’ll be alrlght –<br />
but It isn’t. <br />
It’s Her.<br />
<br />
Put the books away now,<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>Trying to Tidy Up</i></span><br />
Mother says <br />
after the dishes <br />
and we do, <br />
my brother and sisters and me.<br />
I try to keep one <br />
to hide under the mattress:<br />
one of the Rabelais, <br />
or Daphnis and Chloe.<br />
(A classic, of course.) <br />
<br />
Then he comes home,<span style="padding-left: 5em;"><i>He Comes Home</i></span><br />
rosy and rolling,<br />
sits in his chair,<br />
and goes to sleep<br />
not eating. <br />
We pretend that nothing’s wrong.<br />
We’re cheerful, <br />
and listen to Paul Temple.<br />
Mum knits, <br />
I feel sick. <br />
She, the unseen silent She,<br />
is going round the house<br />
putting up danger signs: <br />
SHARP CURVE; SLOW DOWN; SLIPPERY.<br />
NO EXIT is the big one. <br />
Then he wakes and says <br />
I’m going to bed. <br />
Mum says I’m not; <br />
I’ll stay down here tonight.<br />
We know the danger signs. <br />
They don’t know who’s made them.<br />
<br />
The night’s empty<span style="padding-left: 7em;"><i>Night Passes</i></span><br />
and quiet. <br />
There’s the sound of movements just begun<br />
but not continued. <br />
Slight slitherings on the stairs.<br />
Someone starting up, <br />
someone starting down.<br />
Longings with a floor inbetween.<br />
High on hope <br />
we can’t sleep, <br />
until the night drains into day<br />
and they awake again <br />
into a smaller space, <br />
and signs to show one way.<br />
<br />
One way only now.<span style="padding-left: 6em;"><i>They Emigrate</i></span><br />
Holding hands they take it.<br />
I know what they’re doing <br />
but I’m frightened to wake up.<br />
She’s closed all the other doors<br />
and stands behind <br />
to stop them turning.<br />
Dying life or living death<br />
She tells them.<br />
Anything but the truth. <br />
(Lie is the first of life in death)<br />
They think She’s the truth, <br />
for She lives amongst the books, <br />
and they are of an age to respect the learned. <br />
<br />
They see the dark ahead,<br />
too thick to let them back. <br />
The light is on the other side, She says.<br />
Too hurt to question, <br />
too in love to go alone, <br />
they take our sister with them<br />
and leave us sleeping. <br />
I hear them. <br />
Away from the day they follow Her<br />
to the last land of all. <br />
It’s best in the West. <br />
Everything ends there. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[n.d.]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2012/01/selected-shorter-poems-1-1983-1995.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlI7eCsE_xrGWG7S1VsQiAHjs-rNSBgOKGLcuEvPw-aF_mzsgmUgjwcIYYhEHo7qpvlHRhs8JnpDN-wxfYptPwmOk64Tpz1xQl5C7_aeVZ3DdItkqo9NQsPA5yXvXXPejuXZVcFZUQbw8/s1600/sp10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlI7eCsE_xrGWG7S1VsQiAHjs-rNSBgOKGLcuEvPw-aF_mzsgmUgjwcIYYhEHo7qpvlHRhs8JnpDN-wxfYptPwmOk64Tpz1xQl5C7_aeVZ3DdItkqo9NQsPA5yXvXXPejuXZVcFZUQbw8/s400/sp10.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Edge</b><br />
<br />
A little slit,<br />
a little light, <br />
but please – no sun.<br />
<br />
When it’s like this <br />
I don’t like to go out,<br />
though I would like to,<br />
it’s safe on a bad day, <br />
but now there’s too much life<br />
on the edge, <br />
where garden meets the bush.<br />
It’s closer now, <br />
reaching over the tilled <br />
and the mown; <br />
a wild wash of green<br />
with things in it.<br />
Not safe for her.<br />
<br />
She’s not gone yet<br />
nor left her space,<br />
so, no sun here,<br />
please. <br />
Keep it out. <br />
Blinds down, door locked,<br />
until it rains. <br />
And keep the spray handy.<br />
Too much life <br />
is bad for the dead. <br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
[July 1995]</div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s1600/flower.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5583322979304047554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQgDDorD_TssVUs208wcxRm57ook04rqxsAy1W0vNiUDnUr-iVjGGMpdY8AvPqu-Lc-obwQyXmUsD1bAtz29GGb9x_SK2w_qZCI7aUaSRT7FV7VM3goMtVdfYU9EYLvYE4ZKfdR6hPAc8/s400/flower.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 384px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Found in Filebox 2</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-36475913690162047902011-06-08T09:17:00.027+12:002017-11-26T10:57:01.130+13:00Pamphlets & Ephemera (1996-2005)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0E-icTDmgd6t0sJDPUPqn3lRYjyxmHyibWODFuaqKeCmMETA-jayHIMgEH5gB13HMJkgcG5GOdJ-wBhk9rTvZ8MiQTocj3wE1URt9POE6qLH0fLtKwAw_Iom21T7NazPPRQHWbY6265f/s1600/Christmas.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622308486524100786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_0E-icTDmgd6t0sJDPUPqn3lRYjyxmHyibWODFuaqKeCmMETA-jayHIMgEH5gB13HMJkgcG5GOdJ-wBhk9rTvZ8MiQTocj3wE1URt9POE6qLH0fLtKwAw_Iom21T7NazPPRQHWbY6265f/s400/Christmas.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Christmas Card (c.2000)</span><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Cards, Ephemera, Pamphlets:</span></b></div>
<br />
<b>Contents:</b><br />
<ol><br />
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn1" name="_ftnref1" title="">Christmas letter</a> (1996)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn2" name="_ftnref2" title="">Christmas letter</a> (1998)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn3" name="_ftnref3" title="">Christmas letter</a> (c.1999)</li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn4" name="_ftnref4" title=""><i>Red Dog / Brown</i></a> (2005):<ul>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn5" name="_ftnref5" title="">Red Dog / Brown</a></li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn6" name="_ftnref6" title="">Where Francis first sang to St. Clare</a></li>
<li><a class="style23" href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn7" name="_ftnref7" title="">Rules of Engagement</a></li>
</ul>
</li>
</ol>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><span style="font-size: 130%;">Christmas Letter</span></a><br />
(1996)<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCJYLvtIVTnGkSXTqkLXUBmg1RCxFe_rkc-bOln3YUMKn-nC81NAst0B3R1-S0IXXqzKyQNasAEu1VjZ8yTBWmODG8NNs8kdNYpgDn4-mbTaMc9xRc5U6snd12xJyBs8zHZSy_AQ7rtRM/s1600/Christmas+96.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622308554804415890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFCJYLvtIVTnGkSXTqkLXUBmg1RCxFe_rkc-bOln3YUMKn-nC81NAst0B3R1-S0IXXqzKyQNasAEu1VjZ8yTBWmODG8NNs8kdNYpgDn4-mbTaMc9xRc5U6snd12xJyBs8zHZSy_AQ7rtRM/s400/Christmas+96.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 291px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
CHRISTMAS 1996<br />
<br />
Dear <i>Richard</i> [Taylor]<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">It’s now over a year since we moved into this apartment, to make it our home, and as a home it serves well. We feel we’ve made a good choice, as we are comfortable, and conveniently placed for living in the city. Already our city lives are well developed, and we each have independent and creative outlets, and city-wide networks of friends, colleagues, and acquaintances, who help us to feel well established and fully-functioning. Our sense of home is helped by having Joseph living at Henderson, and Anna at Mt. Albert, where she’s settled down with Richard. Michael is in Sydney at present, but soon intends to return to New Zealand, either to Auckland or to Nelson. Ruth is in Sydney, where she has become engaged to Brett. </span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">City life suits us, and we’ve developed a good routine to make advantage of it. In the morning we both write, Miriel at history (herstory, she calls it), and I at poetry. After lunch we often go into town, to a library or gallery or concert, or to Mt. Eden for the shops or coffee. Miriel is increasingly becoming more involved in recording for the Auckland Diocesan archives, and I in the business of poetry. This grows ever more absorbing, and personally satisfying. In the autumn a friend and I will be assuming responsibility for the arts magazine ‘Printout’, and this is already giving us much to plan ahead for. I’m producing my first poetry collection at present, and Miriel has a book with a publisher’s reader.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">Over the course of the year we have each had difficulties with health, but are now much improved. Miriel had two melanomas removed, and a course of radiotherapy. I was found to have an atypical depression, and to require psychotherapy and medication. Oddly, neither of us became physically ill, and the now usual course of our lives has not been greatly interrupted though there was, of course, some anxiety, through which our families were most supportive.</span> <br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">Though a new year always brings the unexpected, such of it as we may be allowed to control promises well, with stimulating projects ahead, and the consolidation of the already accomplished. We wish you a happy and a tranquil Christmas with friends and family, and hope we might meet again before too long, in 1997.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>Leicester and Miriel.<br /><br />with thanks for your encouragement and guidance,<br /><br />L.</i></div>
<br />
Leicester and Miriel Kyle, Flat 8;1 Ruapehu St. Mt. Eden, Auckland. New Zealand. <br />
ph. 630.9434. </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><span style="font-size: 130%;">Christmas Letter</span></a><br />
(1998)<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0e9EpmWP9rK5Iq8JQjPS4xHaZV9kHTG_ZFo_ZRnZPhy84ppBDeoy0Dahwv0o2pDuCYS45nMwgYFrlVnO-eZyqxYanbwAeJYmBsvnuzObsWPG49uMVzb3MqsIzrQc4hqVTiABVC69-tdZ/s1600/Christmas+98.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622308616162807250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEia0e9EpmWP9rK5Iq8JQjPS4xHaZV9kHTG_ZFo_ZRnZPhy84ppBDeoy0Dahwv0o2pDuCYS45nMwgYFrlVnO-eZyqxYanbwAeJYmBsvnuzObsWPG49uMVzb3MqsIzrQc4hqVTiABVC69-tdZ/s400/Christmas+98.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b>WISHING YOU EVERY BLESSING <br /><br />FOR CHRISTMAS AND THE NEW <br />YEAR</b><br />
<br />
<i>from<br /><br /><b>Leicester</b></i><br />
<br />
<i>To<br />Richard</i><br />
<br />
<b>REMEMBER MIRIEL, D. 29.3.98.</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I’ve worked for you<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for forty years or so,</span><br />
wandering about<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">in some pretty strange places,</span><br />
and liked it. <br />
<br />
<br />
Thanks, God,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">it’s been good.</span><br />
You treated me well<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and watched over those</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">whom I love.</span><br />
<br />
But now, if you will,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">let me be.</span><br />
Let me off the hook<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for a time,</span><br />
to loaf in the garden,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">write a poem or two,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and read a book.</span><br />
<br />
Then, when I go to bed,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">give me a long sleep,</span><br />
and strength for a good work.</blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><span style="font-size: 130%;">Christmas Letter</span></a><br />
(c.1999)<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sLyRjnNxy3rtoQDmHhSC2qn5EReNbVcV7QWu_xB5DPzkJIdtkD6FX9N0_MXcjNbXXt3bzG02dVpHFR3J9ljJ4JWwNRZU8vNatvMiVlN6J43JEMQXWGS0D7Zg0EHo1fVoYudLBlpBQSbE/s1600/christmas1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622306872557036242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8sLyRjnNxy3rtoQDmHhSC2qn5EReNbVcV7QWu_xB5DPzkJIdtkD6FX9N0_MXcjNbXXt3bzG02dVpHFR3J9ljJ4JWwNRZU8vNatvMiVlN6J43JEMQXWGS0D7Zg0EHo1fVoYudLBlpBQSbE/s400/christmas1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 284px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
Greetings to you in your various spaces. <br />
I hope this year has gifted you its graces.<br />
<br />
The next? Some say it starts a wondrous era, <br />
but better far wish less – that it’s the bearer<br />
of usefulness like wisdom, love, the best<br />
of peaceful weeks and happy days, with rest.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>To Richard,<br /><br />wishing you every blessing<br />for Christmas and the New Year,<br /><br />from Leicester</i></div>
<br />
Leicester Kyle, Residential: Calliope Rd., Millerton. Ph. (03) 782 8608. <br />
Postal: C/o Postal Agency, Ngakawau, Buller, New Zealand. </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><i>Red Dog / Brown</i></span></b></a><br />
(2005)<br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2DhV5d5S3B3p-FgwLBGQCrDl9GDFZXTewExlkPZ_fQ9rEoGjWmomOedQ74abR63Qeq4NM8uCBcla8Em4mYuQiPeoGYcmzQiIA8sUjzOu5A9zvHE9v3VXdWOC66kApYs-ZoAQSgJcJjxB/s1600/Red+Dog+-+Brown+%25282005%2529.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973739922625970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi2DhV5d5S3B3p-FgwLBGQCrDl9GDFZXTewExlkPZ_fQ9rEoGjWmomOedQ74abR63Qeq4NM8uCBcla8Em4mYuQiPeoGYcmzQiIA8sUjzOu5A9zvHE9v3VXdWOC66kApYs-ZoAQSgJcJjxB/s400/Red+Dog+-+Brown+%25282005%2529.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Jim Conolly: "Another Rare Botanical Discovery for the Millerton Botanist!" (2005)</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Another Rare Botanical Discovery for the Millerton Botanist!<br />
<br />
Jim 05</blockquote>
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQHzQuxlkjGpIeFMHBvwXiPleKJOl2_NrBPh-TXHWGz9FzFgyjxTaEseaPHFOFjZKu600n5zmUJW3mn_aTjJJUggYpzgFLIiEGdqQI2sqOqqRRSrQIGDQ28cLSZAjStjmefEJz7jrE7Jt/s1600/RD1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973650933788530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhXQHzQuxlkjGpIeFMHBvwXiPleKJOl2_NrBPh-TXHWGz9FzFgyjxTaEseaPHFOFjZKu600n5zmUJW3mn_aTjJJUggYpzgFLIiEGdqQI2sqOqqRRSrQIGDQ28cLSZAjStjmefEJz7jrE7Jt/s400/RD1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><i>To Richard</i></b><br />
<br />
<b><i>something sweet for Christmas,</i></b><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><i><br /></i></b>
<b><i>from</i></b><br />
<b><i>Leicester</i></b></div>
<b><i><br />I think you will enjoy this for what it seems,<br /><br />it is, however, a text that supports some scores of poems.</i></b></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUo_5LMq8t4JAQDhaG9Y_w_t3_vvYtTAV-wraOuF34uL8UJaYIFpm73SvNQ2PRcCwP-_m8iWLUnPbUn_A4SCBS7MNRqi1PVueNydke7bH9Io-kAeMUL5PaRfDxfd8bbHDf7dmHQzR0Eaep/s1600/RD2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973588510717538" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUo_5LMq8t4JAQDhaG9Y_w_t3_vvYtTAV-wraOuF34uL8UJaYIFpm73SvNQ2PRcCwP-_m8iWLUnPbUn_A4SCBS7MNRqi1PVueNydke7bH9Io-kAeMUL5PaRfDxfd8bbHDf7dmHQzR0Eaep/s400/RD2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a><br />
<div id="ftn5">
<br />
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b>Red Dog / Brown</b></a></div>
<br /></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
In Tintown <br />
people did things and made trouble.<br />
<br />
We should have been at peace <br />
because that's all there was around us –<br />
hills bush and the full clean air, <br />
with mountains in the distance to remind us<br />
<br />
of the better way of living. <br />
Then a wise old neighbour pointed out <br />
that there was only trouble when people did things.<br />
<br />
Better, he said, to keep still. <br />
Don't talk much and find peace ill the sun.<br />
It's better.<br />
<br />
We knew that he was right<br />
and since have done nothing<br />
except grow pot <br />
and hide old cars in the bush.<br />
<br />
Things have gone rusty<br />
but nothing's gone wrong.<br />
We're like our dogs –<br />
getting older and quieter <br />
and keeping warm in the sun <br />
while the trucks go past to the mine.<br />
<br />
Placid in the middle of this small brown town<br />
lived a rusty young dog called Red. <br />
He had silky ears <br />
that he could move around<br />
and droop at the tip <br />
and a white butterfly on his chest.<br />
<br />
Some called him Burglar Bill <br />
for the dark brown mask round his eyes.<br />
<br />
Others called him Dingo Dirk<br />
because he looked Australian.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie6NUe5Spa4bHJ339AC3tCxsFP4xP4V4U-uKvk8-NZhD9Emgb-UFNH8wS-KxDd2H1meIWfa9NuGMHRPQz-CzGZQJ-YWSj9bIXVE_JjwCuqEN9_a-NU6yx9SYBKMhTKaeRGmXy_8D0GMIxZ/s1600/RD3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973513988044466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie6NUe5Spa4bHJ339AC3tCxsFP4xP4V4U-uKvk8-NZhD9Emgb-UFNH8wS-KxDd2H1meIWfa9NuGMHRPQz-CzGZQJ-YWSj9bIXVE_JjwCuqEN9_a-NU6yx9SYBKMhTKaeRGmXy_8D0GMIxZ/s400/RD3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
He lived under a house by the Fire Shed<br />
and never went anywhere <br />
in case something happened<br />
<br />
When he was a pup <br />
He had lived in the house,<br />
but when his master died <br />
the house was shut and now was cold.<br />
There were no neighbours. <br />
<br />
His company was the Fire Shed. <br />
The townsfolk fed him often enough<br />
though nobody gave him a home.<br />
<br />
As nobody did anything there weren’t any fires,<br />
but the firemen practised every week <br />
by having a barbeque out the front <br />
to keep their hands in – as they said –<br />
and brushing up the news,<br />
<br />
and Red watched.<br />
It was his world, <br />
of alcohol and motor bikes fire and pot. <br />
<br />
He sat outside the firelight<br />
and watched the men. <br />
<br />
He knew their faces their bikes<br />
their smells and their names.<br />
<br />
Sometimes the women came, and children;<br />
he wondered that such miracles could be. <br />
<br />
He knew they were wonderful.<br />
They gave him scraps –<br />
he knew they were gods, <br />
and always said thankyou with a lick.<br />
<br />
“What a well-mannered dog,” the Fire Chief said.<br />
“You’d think he’d be rough by now.”<br />
<br />
“You should take him,” the others said.<br />
“You need a dog now Lisa’s gone off.”</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7DTBlqEnWGBkFOfInyKv96ZJWnWndA2ZTl59Eqa3knvVx64DDYbsyNEv89iEdYzmekNL9bO6lzxv5CLqOmxsczvU9F9va8oiPOKSf6vB_wUzOhRpfyiaZvXrlLMpSlbpwOsmGTtvLgfS/s1600/RD4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973447127118770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi7DTBlqEnWGBkFOfInyKv96ZJWnWndA2ZTl59Eqa3knvVx64DDYbsyNEv89iEdYzmekNL9bO6lzxv5CLqOmxsczvU9F9va8oiPOKSf6vB_wUzOhRpfyiaZvXrlLMpSlbpwOsmGTtvLgfS/s400/RD4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
One night the barbeque got rough.<br />
It was their animal spirits <br />
as well as the pot and the booze<br />
and it was a cold night.<br />
<br />
There wasn’t any wood<br />
as nobody had cut it. <br />
They burned most of the furniture<br />
and one of the doors, <br />
and ran out of pot.<br />
<br />
It seemed too early for home.<br />
<br />
“Let’s go down to the rocks” said the Chief.<br />
They knew what he meant <br />
and they all went together. <br />
Red went too.<br />
<br />
The Chief kept his stash in a cave<br />
at the top of the cliff, <br />
a secret place <br />
that couldn’t be seen from the air.<br />
<br />
The track was faint<br />
but they knew it; <br />
they were all a bit stoned<br />
but had torches.<br />
<br />
Red went last so no-one got lost.<br />
<br />
They muddled about<br />
when they got to the cave,<br />
pushing and shoving <br />
to let the Chief through <br />
and telling each other what to do,<br />
so no-one heard him fall, <br />
no-one knew he had gone <br />
until they wondered<br />
why he hadn’t moved the stones,<br />
<br />
then someone said “Where’s the Chief?”<br />
and someone else “Where’s Red?”</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrW6nYCHIj-IamaADpDWJPg9YE37mhTrSrAuhbbbJjNfXQzajx9Nrsa6bYWCYPUr2_NsAM-DneOuoEC_76oUbJ2mGoq9nZpBe8NaJFIwgrhIXOWMvafSrFzWmwOwvXbxtxsBGV6HwtuYv/s1600/RD5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973262186818386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyrW6nYCHIj-IamaADpDWJPg9YE37mhTrSrAuhbbbJjNfXQzajx9Nrsa6bYWCYPUr2_NsAM-DneOuoEC_76oUbJ2mGoq9nZpBe8NaJFIwgrhIXOWMvafSrFzWmwOwvXbxtxsBGV6HwtuYv/s400/RD5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 272px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
They looked <br />
they staggered about<br />
they called, <br />
and there came an answering howl,<br />
distant dreadful and full of pain.<br />
<br />
They listened –<br />
it was coming from<br />
the bottom of the cliff, <br />
far below where they were standing.<br />
<br />
“Jeez,” said John, <br />
“The Chief’s gone over”.<br />
<br />
“Red’s alive,” said Pete,<br />
as he howled again.<br />
<br />
They were still, <br />
trying to clear their brains<br />
and work out what to do.<br />
There were rocks down there<br />
and trees.<br />
<br />
“We’ll have to go down”, someone said.<br />
“We can’t wait for sunrise,” <br />
so they went back to the Shed, <br />
got ropes first aid and a stretcher,<br />
and made their way around the cliff <br />
to where they thought the two had fallen.<br />
<br />
It took a long time <br />
for though they had sobered up by now<br />
it was steep rocky bushed and dark <br />
and they kept falling over.<br />
<br />
Red howled now and then<br />
to guide them. <br />
He put sobs in it <br />
and sounded as if he was dying,<br />
which made them go <br />
as fast as they could,<br />
<br />
then he stopped,<br />
just as they reached the foot of the cliff<br />
there was silence.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSn18z0w5l6modDhrX8u3WNUhcSc7SyvXx7UrhMY20YwJhdTs90foY_QsEuGpyp_g0XEN71ZrxahAYIjzRpKaVQpPvVsHTy3fbPdvCW2yj-LzUjmop54bk0HN1HhBhUCegt7IEApMTkk0/s1600/RD6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973198228929890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbSn18z0w5l6modDhrX8u3WNUhcSc7SyvXx7UrhMY20YwJhdTs90foY_QsEuGpyp_g0XEN71ZrxahAYIjzRpKaVQpPvVsHTy3fbPdvCW2yj-LzUjmop54bk0HN1HhBhUCegt7IEApMTkk0/s400/RD6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 275px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
They stood, unsure what to do.<br />
There were no more howls <br />
to give direction. <br />
<br />
“Jeez,” said John,<br />
“That was his last;<br />
he must have died.”<br />
“Yeah,” said Morrie, <br />
“You could hear the gurgle in it.” <br />
“He must have gone with the Boss,” said Mel,<br />
“We’ll have to look around for the bodies.”<br />
“Just follow the line of the cliff,” said Pete.<br />
“They won’t have bounced far.”<br />
<br />
No-one liked the sound of that,<br />
it put bad pictures in their minds,<br />
so they hesitated in the dark<br />
which pressed around them <br />
soft like a duvet, <br />
until Me! said in a shaking voice<br />
“There’s someone sniffing my feet.”<br />
<br />
Pete flashed a torch. <br />
“It’s Red!” he said.” The little Bugger.<br />
How did he manage that!”<br />
<br />
And a voice called out from higher up <br />
“Hey! Someone come and get me out of this!” <br />
<br />
It was the Chief. <br />
He was caught in the Kie Kie<br />
and hadn’t hurt a thing.<br />
<br />
It wasn’t easy to get him down<br />
but they rescued him, <br />
climbed back up, <br />
and went to the Shed <br />
where they each had a beer and a joint<br />
talking flat out with relief. </blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcefYyT-eK06SJRjXB6Y2jyT4TA_bQcuXcrFauPfzmXdc5cfHWLm0m8tPnIymqOBLu9QqsQN9JqYnFaE15eaMME0Ci2oJNRTsgIGzxrzIitRbEeOHia2Hn_JyVzGz85ymSgzQR9UumRTV3/s1600/RD7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973129428558146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcefYyT-eK06SJRjXB6Y2jyT4TA_bQcuXcrFauPfzmXdc5cfHWLm0m8tPnIymqOBLu9QqsQN9JqYnFaE15eaMME0Ci2oJNRTsgIGzxrzIitRbEeOHia2Hn_JyVzGz85ymSgzQR9UumRTV3/s400/RD7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
“What happened?” they asked . <br />
“I lost my balance,” said the Chief. <br />
“I staggered a bit and fell.”<br />
“Did you take Red with you?”<br />
“I don’t know,” said the Chief. <br />
“When I came to he was down there howling.<br />
I think he did it all himself.”<br />
<br />
They shook their heads in wonder<br />
and stared at Red, <br />
who was embarrassed and looked away,<br />
then they shut up shop <br />
and went home to bed, <br />
very tired.<br />
<br />
Red went home with the Chief.<br />
He was invited and he stayed.<br />
<br />
They were very happy together<br />
with one exception –<br />
that his Boss wouldn’t smoke or drink anymore,<br />
which wasn’t what Red was used to,<br />
<br />
Bur once in a while <br />
and always at Christmas <br />
they would barbeque again,<br />
with beer pot and fire and bikes<br />
and Red, <br />
sniffing the tyres <br />
and breathing the fumes,<br />
would be in heaven.<br />
<br />
His whole world was right.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">Leicester</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 16em;"><i>Christmas, 2005</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUI8FOaSJKjG8ki7gODNs_JopgtprI9lGCNbZO_MY_xrPeepLTOSC-3JFxDOzQaEMoshMTA4An9DibsSNv9p5DBTllVveYWw1ESEqfI83ylGRM6NjTlS8GRQvvfp51s709crKGUJ4xAeU/s1600/RD8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615973057742970818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCUI8FOaSJKjG8ki7gODNs_JopgtprI9lGCNbZO_MY_xrPeepLTOSC-3JFxDOzQaEMoshMTA4An9DibsSNv9p5DBTllVveYWw1ESEqfI83ylGRM6NjTlS8GRQvvfp51s709crKGUJ4xAeU/s400/RD8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b>Where Francis first sang<br />to St. Clare</b></a></div>
<br />
there would have been a cypress<br />
one of those long thin ones <br />
that grow in Italy<br />
<br />
and an olive<br />
<br />
There would have been rocks<br />
for where there are saints<br />
there’s always rock<br />
<br />
and a fig<br />
<br />
There would have been<br />
a singing bird <br />
a blackbird most probably<br />
<br />
or a thrush<br />
<br />
It would have been sunny<br />
and just after lunch <br />
for then it’s quiet in Italy<br />
<br />
and there would have been<br />
something old <br />
made of stone <br />
standing nearby<br />
<br />
He would have said<br />
‘you sing first’ <br />
and she –<br />
‘no, you’ <br />
and he –<br />
‘your servant, sister’<br />
and sung</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/06/pamphlets-ephemera.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b>Rules of Engagement</b></a></div>
<br />
When the mantle-piece fell down<br />
and I stuck it back with sealant<br />
you said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>that's just fine</i></span><br />
<br />
When I tried to replace the tap<br />
and it took three days <br />
and the cupboard got flooded<br />
you said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>that’s just what I wanted</i></span> <br />
<br />
When I ran the duck down<br />
and made it dizzy <br />
and cut off its head with an axe<br />
you said <br />
with a smile:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>you hunter-gatherers are all the same</i></span><br />
<br />
And when the septic tank leaked<br />
and I got reduction valves <br />
and things like that <br />
another pipe to another pit<br />
another under that <br />
and there was mud<br />
and bad smells:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>that should do just fine</i></span><br />
you said <br />
and gave me a cup of tea<br />
<br />
So <br />
seeing everything is suitable<br />
just fine and satisfactory<br />
nice and alright <br />
we think we’ll settle down</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ_3Q31j2DplS1elpOQIiJM1Ar5lU4Idwahw9kb92vSFeILMuJiUMPSY1n8JTUapzMRf2lPOeGgeIBUZjhsKFlsMeL0-S8KeXZT9SVi7uQ6wWbgIwnQGFq9jbrZjz0r5fxetxQIYLXTgV/s1600/RDc.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615972902279195458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYZ_3Q31j2DplS1elpOQIiJM1Ar5lU4Idwahw9kb92vSFeILMuJiUMPSY1n8JTUapzMRf2lPOeGgeIBUZjhsKFlsMeL0-S8KeXZT9SVi7uQ6wWbgIwnQGFq9jbrZjz0r5fxetxQIYLXTgV/s400/RDc.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
© L. H. Kyle. 2005,<br />
<br />
<b>Covers:</b><br />
<blockquote>
<i>front:</i> Jim Conolly<br />
<i>back:</i> Jocelyn Maughan</blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4XpMExIIfm5cbB8HfjFaamrYPsxYS3Qx3Np8ZX62eVCG9QgmV1dTHYo8hunUb9Nwdtp-XldPqqfsyHJNw4AI1gNILv9IYj73TJwYCQOzgqDkfU9H4ShVhDq8H86YYbH5iVUpZiP6spnO/s1600/RDc.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5615996643076259186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiB4XpMExIIfm5cbB8HfjFaamrYPsxYS3Qx3Np8ZX62eVCG9QgmV1dTHYo8hunUb9Nwdtp-XldPqqfsyHJNw4AI1gNILv9IYj73TJwYCQOzgqDkfU9H4ShVhDq8H86YYbH5iVUpZiP6spnO/s400/RDc.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 280px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;">Jocelyn Maughan: "Red" (Patonea, NSW)</span><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle Literary Estate, 2012</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-478778782483539772011-03-10T08:58:00.100+13:002017-11-26T10:57:13.712+13:00Breaker (2005)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lz6EKclwl-zjXGysle0ODHN6izYsJpqelui_Vg4LqTIstQyus_kkoCOdeEA6PPAZEXMUENE5m_CDhzwsJDqIshBOTI95pib6b63NKyZOSrhMwUXFb6v9XIjLaH2KNPOhROdowcO1W4s/s1600/bc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579204956499259842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5lz6EKclwl-zjXGysle0ODHN6izYsJpqelui_Vg4LqTIstQyus_kkoCOdeEA6PPAZEXMUENE5m_CDhzwsJDqIshBOTI95pib6b63NKyZOSrhMwUXFb6v9XIjLaH2KNPOhROdowcO1W4s/s400/bc1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-twenty.html">Breaker: A Progress of the Sea</a> (2005)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZkIN_QCBtmqevQsZp8oPS-tOeuQ97nLP8lG8mXiIrgcSBKGtfAylp7-PIU5PgBgCHfkTalWF-1jIjv1pAskpQxLeztAMiJU1TkFipIBC05qUW9YOEKC-xyGBgNB38Ne_1hn2lrTGQtM/s1600/b1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579204773921415378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglZkIN_QCBtmqevQsZp8oPS-tOeuQ97nLP8lG8mXiIrgcSBKGtfAylp7-PIU5PgBgCHfkTalWF-1jIjv1pAskpQxLeztAMiJU1TkFipIBC05qUW9YOEKC-xyGBgNB38Ne_1hn2lrTGQtM/s400/b1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a><br />
<blockquote>
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Breaker</span><br /><br />a progress of the sea</b></blockquote>
</div>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;"><b>text:</b></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 16em;"><i>Leicester Kyle</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;"><b>illustrations:</b></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 16em;"><i>John Crawford</i></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoUVreXDfV1-soHnxYsHBf_8vAw3V0LzSA_ZD0e6VI6XvLJhr614nAn7FEi4Tma6gFJO0el8zBsg2ZWnp_i-TsnMhCcs6uGNDsivWczPzE44rekex-h0_Ro9ZOWegc3mgtHTVm4w5sOA/s1600/b2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5585927703053971362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxoUVreXDfV1-soHnxYsHBf_8vAw3V0LzSA_ZD0e6VI6XvLJhr614nAn7FEi4Tma6gFJO0el8zBsg2ZWnp_i-TsnMhCcs6uGNDsivWczPzE44rekex-h0_Ro9ZOWegc3mgtHTVm4w5sOA/s400/b2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 344px;" /></a><br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />PREFACE</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>Breaker</i> was suggested by the Catalogue of Armed Forces in the second book of <i>the Iliad</i>. I read it in Pope's translation, and was fascinated by the whole idea and the poetry of it. The fascination led to a desire to do something of the kind myself and, casting about for a local battle, I hit on the idea of our self-defence against our eroding coast.<br />
<br />
There is, of course, not the slightest attempt to emulate Homer; I have just wished to experience the enjoyment of applying an Homeric concept to our own domestic situation here in Buller. As the situation is real, there is an underlying seriousness throughout the work which does, I hope, make it more readable. The characters who figure in it are all composite beings - though I have placed them in real communities, I know none of them personally.<br />
<br />
The eight~line rhyming stanzas which open each portrait are meant to give a light and slightly archaic touch; the 'Legends' are a very distinct element of Buller culture - they deserve a book of their own.<br />
<br />
The illustrations, by John Crawford, enhance the text most considerably; they reveal a depth I didn't know was in it, and add both wit and beauty.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">Leicester Kyle</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">Millerton, August 2005</span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWNUpwUuTsFyhhLl91eqhh9IMDPgdeHJf7gZaHJbFPj71T021bPcfhOdmOAM5tf8ewPttNnEPuysZ36qAJD_Tn13DFnMtFH_9bVe9F8xTIcAXRxENJe1-L2qkIvH8BdXoaP2j11UyojfH/s1600/b3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586269202304304370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpWNUpwUuTsFyhhLl91eqhh9IMDPgdeHJf7gZaHJbFPj71T021bPcfhOdmOAM5tf8ewPttNnEPuysZ36qAJD_Tn13DFnMtFH_9bVe9F8xTIcAXRxENJe1-L2qkIvH8BdXoaP2j11UyojfH/s400/b3.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTbR_VeXEw8NakqK-yJ-D3enG2qvjW6rM32ZrYoXjJAER0OFUb3OC9mgWsL9E4PjtKW6KJoqStAfNCCvmZ250v9ksVMLRxJzYZDkIPLMLOo7LP3DonU5CAJpwqz0FWFagvWBMDFPL37dy/s1600/b4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5586268869615994178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOTbR_VeXEw8NakqK-yJ-D3enG2qvjW6rM32ZrYoXjJAER0OFUb3OC9mgWsL9E4PjtKW6KJoqStAfNCCvmZ250v9ksVMLRxJzYZDkIPLMLOo7LP3DonU5CAJpwqz0FWFagvWBMDFPL37dy/s400/b4.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 250px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Bay</b><br />
<br />
Sometimes there’s a vision lit<br />
on an empty afternoon perhaps<br />
or at night<br />
when there’s nothing to see<br />
<br />
lacustrine and lovely<br />
of a violet ocean<br />
that beats a violent shore<br />
<br />
Dawn rises<br />
shadows are cast from the east<br />
the sun shines down the gorges<br />
birds sing of a day easily lost<br />
rivers run endlessly<br />
<br />
It’s a scented land<br />
there’s fern<br />
flowering trees<br />
and some farms<br />
<br />
There are mountains to the north<br />
a town at the south<br />
and all along the glistening curve<br />
are breakers<br />
sounding bass upon the beach<br />
<br />
The land pushes into the sea<br />
the breakers beat at the land<br />
<br />
The land defends<br />
by stone & wood<br />
by riverwash & fault<br />
<br />
The sea attacks<br />
with constancy<br />
devouring <br />
<br />
From time to time the earth extends<br />
at other times it’s eaten</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuprUsIHhwumT2OBmaj9Jz7_z8OAk7XonFzOQ8n0I3Rt5SDmdGyjfF50CpFJAw5CzGgTAjPRpMeW2AxKY90msTIceu7cBXEz-OldE8QVnFB-GRKxo0CdX7Bduvqxb9bZgqFgb4fO3ImSSo/s1600/b5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473714383752562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuprUsIHhwumT2OBmaj9Jz7_z8OAk7XonFzOQ8n0I3Rt5SDmdGyjfF50CpFJAw5CzGgTAjPRpMeW2AxKY90msTIceu7cBXEz-OldE8QVnFB-GRKxo0CdX7Bduvqxb9bZgqFgb4fO3ImSSo/s400/b5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0coRerUpzR-aY65QfJk4fsmHdzdervjPR9yhaUbn38_RIMpH96lUFFNWdPoF-pyNGOS1Hgy0mlmg34I7G7r_GtBjNc2ZRIne4HxRmjhcNbrvNsDqJfq-F44f22hP3xtvVooHKp4YnxOH/s1600/b6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473637444232018" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEir0coRerUpzR-aY65QfJk4fsmHdzdervjPR9yhaUbn38_RIMpH96lUFFNWdPoF-pyNGOS1Hgy0mlmg34I7G7r_GtBjNc2ZRIne4HxRmjhcNbrvNsDqJfq-F44f22hP3xtvVooHKp4YnxOH/s400/b6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 221px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Life</b><br />
<br />
Out of the struggle this world’s made<br />
of animal and plant <br />
and in topography<br />
<br />
capes of limestone<br />
granitic gneiss <br />
and stacks of volcanic breccia<br />
<br />
tumbled rocks <br />
blue with mussels shadowing<br />
<br />
sand and gravel beaches<br />
at rivermouth<br />
<br />
The small bush left at the beach<br />
is trimmed by salt wind<br />
<br />
Some nikau poles still stand<br />
unaccompanied<br />
<br />
The littoral’s mostly left to flax<br />
(with blackberry on the inward side)<br />
to stand against the highest tide <br />
and turn the breakers back<br />
<br />
Where there’s rock<br />
pepper grows <br />
and whitey-wood <br />
here and there a karaka<br />
<br />
dolphins use the bay<br />
<br />
seals bask<br />
where dogs and people are less likely<br />
<br />
but generally<br />
for the violence of the sea<br />
little that’s of life <br />
is left upon the beach </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1q4pFiNTzMb29GBHaA8uY9suft-5QummlamKjhtmh4v4i3D52HBp1iUGLY5uuagE4y4PBHFqoeYHxPkMsn3mmizfLBNAlnBx3kFQAqL71Xv1ieU57-PBdJ5cA9QVlTXAfwP8MhY1yHEJ/s1600/b7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473544054888850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJ1q4pFiNTzMb29GBHaA8uY9suft-5QummlamKjhtmh4v4i3D52HBp1iUGLY5uuagE4y4PBHFqoeYHxPkMsn3mmizfLBNAlnBx3kFQAqL71Xv1ieU57-PBdJ5cA9QVlTXAfwP8MhY1yHEJ/s400/b7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
it’s broken by surf<br />
or taken by gulls <br />
to their colonies on the hill <br />
from where they watch this ancient war<br />
of land and sea <br />
on the narrow battle ground<br />
that brings them profit <br />
<br />
Its noise is carried to them<br />
and is their comfort<br />
<br />
Its existence is our necessity </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DdZ2YvnoE0vP3-E4g_b0_2sFCu_5qckdTo7PQs6qVGu1q-nZxmZzn6KwY0I-b2C4RyhywFLRR4qChVlY7Vcdu5Lir7q6-HvcG_5TdomYYsvmdLyl_8o8jhV9kErMb7TWdsDLPNPzfMh8/s1600/b8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473453593728690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-DdZ2YvnoE0vP3-E4g_b0_2sFCu_5qckdTo7PQs6qVGu1q-nZxmZzn6KwY0I-b2C4RyhywFLRR4qChVlY7Vcdu5Lir7q6-HvcG_5TdomYYsvmdLyl_8o8jhV9kErMb7TWdsDLPNPzfMh8/s400/b8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1AWJrFe-MQcaFuOU5YYAlFo0kkNXjVwJ6S_usIM0Ye3yAYeH8sB4-3fYLDpozPV83MyQm-n_wlAbfGzugg5OLP43b52u0JnIotAaGFQzwYf81WOM4EXQAKULyEvZa0tavFPMegBLjY2s/s1600/b9.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473357171427586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhu1AWJrFe-MQcaFuOU5YYAlFo0kkNXjVwJ6S_usIM0Ye3yAYeH8sB4-3fYLDpozPV83MyQm-n_wlAbfGzugg5OLP43b52u0JnIotAaGFQzwYf81WOM4EXQAKULyEvZa0tavFPMegBLjY2s/s400/b9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 223px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The People</b><br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
we wonder<br />
why we’re here —<br />
<br />
a question they don’t ask<br />
over the hill<br />
where they had a planned coming<br />
<br />
We came in a rush<br />
out of coal gold and timber<br />
<br />
we’re of the earth<br />
at no particular place<br />
and aren’t on the way<br />
to anywhere<br />
<br />
They’re there<br />
over the hill<br />
for a reason<br />
to do go or be<br />
for a particular<br />
<br />
We have no particular<br />
we’re of this space<br />
so we do as we please<br />
it’s us<br />
<br />
if we cut<br />
we leave healing<br />
to time and weather<br />
<br />
if we dig<br />
we leave the rain<br />
to fill it<br />
<br />
There’s time<br />
there’s season<br />
and no need to question</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQhpmdxV5yil4FYxFna2AbR3FCFi9j4e26fkneAVz8w3iDH9wpQbP2rtUgecUYdzBCktkVzxj-Wg8iz3xRT8uVwY-KPbq1MYWjTjxJqlkMwB5VApI_G4yl7nOcRpcWVskSXhyphenhyphenyHIMPYkS/s1600/b10.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473265553658898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzQhpmdxV5yil4FYxFna2AbR3FCFi9j4e26fkneAVz8w3iDH9wpQbP2rtUgecUYdzBCktkVzxj-Wg8iz3xRT8uVwY-KPbq1MYWjTjxJqlkMwB5VApI_G4yl7nOcRpcWVskSXhyphenhyphenyHIMPYkS/s400/b10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 239px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
though sometimes<br />
we wonder - - -<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">our little flat land</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">is washing away</span><br />
What would happen<br />
if the water stopped running<br />
the sea stopped eating?<br />
<br />
Over the hill they ask:<br />
What will happen if it doesn’t rain?<br />
<br />
sometimes<br />
it doesn’t<br />
<br />
Their unease is from the weather<br />
Ours is from the sea</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPczKleI6jY8-OLdqWDm8PKOnTWRDN_YDl4rH5wUP5lzCyDsXN2xm24v93T_gwNRZBLzyoJfTOgiUV5u1Ugeg2KONHmt7UVjGEWF46KmhFcId0b9Wfx4xTtrcdEGVgqLNpZBcLUX8Q95_W/s1600/b11.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473183235741330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgPczKleI6jY8-OLdqWDm8PKOnTWRDN_YDl4rH5wUP5lzCyDsXN2xm24v93T_gwNRZBLzyoJfTOgiUV5u1Ugeg2KONHmt7UVjGEWF46KmhFcId0b9Wfx4xTtrcdEGVgqLNpZBcLUX8Q95_W/s400/b11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 272px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizomhOjuaKx14A8EoipvqcOVfku9GQK-qqVWmFK4-eFPrHQ00VDANb005CBPr2J22ijFCTVoE7LAIrNDIr9vk2E3i6YlvciFWluEzH5Ea4m23t6DkJnR7-yGdykNnqzQWB_ZvSvIxo-ow8/s1600/b12.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473088753892978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEizomhOjuaKx14A8EoipvqcOVfku9GQK-qqVWmFK4-eFPrHQ00VDANb005CBPr2J22ijFCTVoE7LAIrNDIr9vk2E3i6YlvciFWluEzH5Ea4m23t6DkJnR7-yGdykNnqzQWB_ZvSvIxo-ow8/s400/b12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />THE FORCES</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Sd0hH-N_dDSZ937gYqnErJsorMd5yr5Vh5OisNAxP1gY8a49SERRGSuOYN5_cMhyphenhyphenHRiDtLLApL4wZsAQn5II-57VEAFdbJdXCbAJHinWFYmZtwrI3QdlMUdHbZzv9V2PHv04ZGqHLQew/s1600/b13.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676473012367389954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4Sd0hH-N_dDSZ937gYqnErJsorMd5yr5Vh5OisNAxP1gY8a49SERRGSuOYN5_cMhyphenhyphenHRiDtLLApL4wZsAQn5II-57VEAFdbJdXCbAJHinWFYmZtwrI3QdlMUdHbZzv9V2PHv04ZGqHLQew/s400/b13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJjnkppDox-qUioDuos8UI784ms3Q5w5zk-SUVKlPIi3nygTQGNqxc32dEyFXVPhT0dkvNvH7qKPXQuaLu3EpFtxRhS5Y7kof-R84COBZmoJurUMKgFnbKHzRXGIUTNYI3_rzF0RvhLw6a/s1600/b14.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472930509452994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJjnkppDox-qUioDuos8UI784ms3Q5w5zk-SUVKlPIi3nygTQGNqxc32dEyFXVPhT0dkvNvH7qKPXQuaLu3EpFtxRhS5Y7kof-R84COBZmoJurUMKgFnbKHzRXGIUTNYI3_rzF0RvhLw6a/s400/b14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 231px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Paul.</span><br /><br />At Gentle Annie Paul o’ersees the coast. <br />He comes from Karamea, and knows the most<br />Of anyone around, of rivers, lakes, <br />Of how the sea can give, and how it takes.<br />He lives a life alone, and every day <br />Notes all the sea leaves here and takes away.<br />Beneath the Gentle Annie and in its lee <br />Where driftwood’s left, the waves return to sea.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Rata</b> is amongst the best<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">it keeps the fire in all night</span><br />
<b>Cedar</b> and <b>Yellow Pine</b> have scented gum<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">so does Matai</span><br />
<b>Kamahi’s</b> good in the stove<br />
<b>Broadleaf’s</b> slow and sparks a bit<br />
<b>Ngaio</b> never goes out <br />
<b>Totara</b> sparks<br />
<br />
You leave it in the sun <br />
for the rain to wash out the salt <br />
then stack it to dry <br />
and you won’t have soot in the chimney<br />
<br />
it’s hard on the saw <br />
if there’s sand in the wood<br />
<br />
it’s best from a shingle beach </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiUduKbIPem-2qVWEgBUeb8b69DQ_X_UdXVj8Q4s6UH37eIasiAxX8zZ1Pb-ZwepBRxX2PakUb8TgZkbbBeDpUs8edsskrUtlx1lZ4ymj_90vQiHeLMeIhp-c9g5xrcW6d1ORtguOkn4T/s1600/b15.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472847494017362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJiUduKbIPem-2qVWEgBUeb8b69DQ_X_UdXVj8Q4s6UH37eIasiAxX8zZ1Pb-ZwepBRxX2PakUb8TgZkbbBeDpUs8edsskrUtlx1lZ4ymj_90vQiHeLMeIhp-c9g5xrcW6d1ORtguOkn4T/s400/b15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 243px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Paul fights with fact<br />
reads ‘<i><b>Lives of the Explorers</b></i>’<br />
and books of the early times<br />
before gold and coal<br />
<br />
he knows the plants and birds<br />
how things should be<br />
<br />
studies the sea<br />
and notes the weather daily<br />
<br />
When his father died<br />
he built himself a house<br />
at the rise at the end of the road<br />
where he grows tamarillos <br />
<br />
Being given to truth<br />
he can’t belong<br />
and has no politics <br />
<br />
but where there’s offence he fights<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to keep the sea untroubled</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">penguins from dogs</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">driftwood on the beach</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">cars off it</span><br />
with a show of assumed authority<br />
<br />
sometimes he goes public<br />
<br />
and he takes away trash</blockquote>
<br />
<b>Legend:</b><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
it’s said<br />
Paul dries driftwood<br />
under his bed</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 16em;"><i>but in March when the<br />ground’s still warm and before the rains begin we get out the trailer and take our 4x4 with the kids and go for a buzz on the beach and load all we can before they can stop us small stuff for the range and big for the open fire because if we don’t we’ll be beaten by---------</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9w6DQtXrdiSL3Hs083dwPvD1v2iHrgbUH3SIC4W4VqTDwcV7u0smFuJs-iNZSZMHZtnd0YMeRVuZZsIae6Qb57wIkS5gePoQGyphnFYc0O5bGIB1wJr11vuLaqN4NF_FWfUnyv_js3-3A/s1600/b16.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472728041222834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9w6DQtXrdiSL3Hs083dwPvD1v2iHrgbUH3SIC4W4VqTDwcV7u0smFuJs-iNZSZMHZtnd0YMeRVuZZsIae6Qb57wIkS5gePoQGyphnFYc0O5bGIB1wJr11vuLaqN4NF_FWfUnyv_js3-3A/s400/b16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXYGrLOqVCiMtXN9wsoeW4Fd7PmeGvPChS899URIHgVSUiRHDTNk8uxxYV7j7xU0YiMiUzhfXpd_z5I0f6AlsvARmFGiOVoArOSmSNSiT3CBol3vbV0w7qaCWYUtSzwBV7ojcT9EIr8dI/s1600/b17.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472635280626402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtXYGrLOqVCiMtXN9wsoeW4Fd7PmeGvPChS899URIHgVSUiRHDTNk8uxxYV7j7xU0YiMiUzhfXpd_z5I0f6AlsvARmFGiOVoArOSmSNSiT3CBol3vbV0w7qaCWYUtSzwBV7ojcT9EIr8dI/s400/b17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 201px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Raewyn</span><br /><br />Raewyn keeps the Backpack at the beach;<br />She aims to bring costs down, to stay in reach<br />Of tourists, and of those who like to camp.<br />She cleans the rooms, takes bookings for the ramp<br />That lets the boats have access to the sea<br />On quiet days, by way of the estuary<br />Which storms eat at, reducing bar and mouth<br />Especially when the weather’s from the south.<br /><br />She’s made a breakwater of rocks and tyres<br />And who complains of it? She calls them liars.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
‘a beach must be trained<br />
educated to use<br />
<br />
if it goes wild<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">discipline</span><br />
with rocks and tyres and piles and wrecks<br />
until it breaks water<br />
as a man does wind<br />
<br />
a natural resource is for use<br />
<br />
if it gets knocked about a bit<br />
it’ll recover<br />
<br />
you can always hide the evidence<br />
in the bush<br />
<br />
and all’ll be right in a year or two<br />
<br />
nature looks after itself’</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhScuMi5nDQ5WFGniVjLfyQSZQZZcRuhdT8FOntJOfah6H43_U3u7rPBwn2daWr3GPK9M5G3P_0DYPEqlKNCY8Dc3VVS00-4ifIWrmKYgt_1-vnHEaX8crTSEjLVZ3SCrt0tCmxorXxJI/s1600/b18.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472551502418978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZhScuMi5nDQ5WFGniVjLfyQSZQZZcRuhdT8FOntJOfah6H43_U3u7rPBwn2daWr3GPK9M5G3P_0DYPEqlKNCY8Dc3VVS00-4ifIWrmKYgt_1-vnHEaX8crTSEjLVZ3SCrt0tCmxorXxJI/s400/b18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 217px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Raewyn intends to survive<br />
she doesn’t understand very much<br />
and doesn’t think she ought<br />
<br />
the Backpack is her necessity<br />
her farm her park her beach her barn<br />
over it she’s queen<br />
out of it she’s myth<br />
<br />
the camp meets her appetites<br />
it’s made for this<br />
they’re huge<br />
have damaged many a family<br />
exhausted many a man<br />
<br />
she barely connects with the world<br />
is separate like a state<br />
<br />
here there’s no check<br />
she can do as she likes<br />
at the bar at the beach at the breakwater<br />
to make sure that<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the whitebait runs</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">flounders breed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the toilets flush</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and it doesn’t often rain</span><br />
she’s a character<br />
and people come<br />
lots of them<br />
to see her</blockquote>
<br />
<b>Legend:</b><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Raewyn’s tough<br />
she drinks beer from her gumboot<br />
and is rough</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>she thinks she might start up a pub and is sure she can bring it off as all authority’s over the hill<br />or further south but she’s cautious because things are getting tougher and it might make her<br />vulnerable to compliance officers and people like------</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50WCUrFw06DhHVWdhFxkzb1QM0qBWgBHlgTbSzYBuhVOggpc285p_mj0ByyYlVX7Pj1briqoOCiFJmEkwQA3nQk1tWN-XDM_ZBym1owJXezCrUBvrHwbmTzxpggRED98elrraXO3DeoT_/s1600/b19.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472456438355858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj50WCUrFw06DhHVWdhFxkzb1QM0qBWgBHlgTbSzYBuhVOggpc285p_mj0ByyYlVX7Pj1briqoOCiFJmEkwQA3nQk1tWN-XDM_ZBym1owJXezCrUBvrHwbmTzxpggRED98elrraXO3DeoT_/s400/b19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSfhAlgkFYnDFdAZy5OAkKKjoL6kUIUWRHy0F0Dlvn91ARsUdlVwuG558T3-_Fks4a1JTUBLkzYqsmMyS327J1sbhcoeyaa1NygyaV3ZLpNVrD-Sk-jF1UBgPu75gZcdBtr-3Zu3eg8Bq/s1600/b20.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472371673901458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVSfhAlgkFYnDFdAZy5OAkKKjoL6kUIUWRHy0F0Dlvn91ARsUdlVwuG558T3-_Fks4a1JTUBLkzYqsmMyS327J1sbhcoeyaa1NygyaV3ZLpNVrD-Sk-jF1UBgPu75gZcdBtr-3Zu3eg8Bq/s400/b20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Gary</span><br /><br />Gary lives at Seddonville, and he<br />In every cause is Raewyn’s enemy; <br />He thinks of earth as Gaia, and is said <br />To wish that every human being was dead.<br />He loves his world of nature––we’re exempt,<br />And our polluting ways he must pre-empt<br />By prowling daily up and down the beach,<br />And bagging all the rubbish that’s in reach.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[it’s exposed by the sea<br />
as it eats at the sand -<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">iron plastic fragments glass</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and old machinery</span><br />
his hut is built on it ––<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a century of cinders oozing</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">after rain</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and rubbish concrete wire</span><br />
in the scrub refrigerators<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">three and two tubs</span><br />
down the bank a boiler<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">two coal trolleys</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and some rails</span><br />
a patch where nothing grows <br />
<br />
a seepage of oil<br />
<br />
something grey that flows slowly<br />
<br />
nothing’s left untouched<br />
they’ve all had her before<br />
despite appearances<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">she’s no virgin]</span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBV7uDHMm2McXidoDfQhC0KvNc7UGB2Y5xxdBQlz6f8podByV-mGhcii-8MaAouJjO1vVxXIAQmXkjUJZl2GdTPNUBLQV9-e6F_yP88AwVH0XOZM2xYIksF4B_L7QXB-ZP62rtdrdMiO3/s1600/b21.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472278905598370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrBV7uDHMm2McXidoDfQhC0KvNc7UGB2Y5xxdBQlz6f8podByV-mGhcii-8MaAouJjO1vVxXIAQmXkjUJZl2GdTPNUBLQV9-e6F_yP88AwVH0XOZM2xYIksF4B_L7QXB-ZP62rtdrdMiO3/s400/b21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 238px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Gary grows pot in Chasm Creek<br />
and wages war on possums. <br />
The crop brings in a grand or two<br />
and a bad back brings the benefit.<br />
<br />
He does a correspondence course––<br />
environmental science <br />
to exercise the brain<br />
<br />
Nature he sees <br />
as part of himself––<br />
she doesn’t work<br />
and needs defending <br />
She’s plotted at by corporates––<br />
poisonous intricacies <br />
to bring desired ends<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">species failures</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">climate changes</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">new land forms</span><br />
Pot helps him see this <br />
illuminates and joins loose ends<br />
enables him to see what others miss ––<br />
the unlikely<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">which is more likely</span><br />
He scoffs at the obvious <br />
and sees in earthquake wind and fire<br />
precursors of the Cleansing <br />
when only his kind will be left <br />
to defend the defenceless <br />
from the last upwelling of the sea</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Gary tries</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to run his truck on methane</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">but it dies</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>sadly, for he works to be clear of ‘the System’ and to stand upon his own <br />two uncertain feet so he can have a relationship with a kindred spirit and kids he can bring up <br />naturally like himself free of this world’s ills and to this end be has his eye on-------</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80zP4qNW6ry_fecg0yj_JtVochODdF506ZwZiTB-3lcSXphpAq2gQmiu4KhsznSzYToolXtMrke2s7d-Yv_LFVuJc3jbEbYFnXZnqPqM_qDkl7wWt5RI38KpNwvHPXSPw-AvUyzkDoyGH/s1600/b22.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472180291965730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg80zP4qNW6ry_fecg0yj_JtVochODdF506ZwZiTB-3lcSXphpAq2gQmiu4KhsznSzYToolXtMrke2s7d-Yv_LFVuJc3jbEbYFnXZnqPqM_qDkl7wWt5RI38KpNwvHPXSPw-AvUyzkDoyGH/s400/b22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6ACc2PMM9_uvpk1P7T0UbMuAxLiGIYBQ_vZcfeNPr6dkiz-XF-VuzwDEiN8ctwNVgiBRAt1FS5Qei7oP0Yq1199OTenGI27WBa8KtnYhttdru6cQ25kuhcyiWtNQRxheXJ0X0JJLl9Sq/s1600/b23.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676472071102327330" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM6ACc2PMM9_uvpk1P7T0UbMuAxLiGIYBQ_vZcfeNPr6dkiz-XF-VuzwDEiN8ctwNVgiBRAt1FS5Qei7oP0Yq1199OTenGI27WBa8KtnYhttdru6cQ25kuhcyiWtNQRxheXJ0X0JJLl9Sq/s400/b23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 220px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Jane</span><br /><br />A little further south are Mussel Rocks, <br />Where time and tide and algae lower the stocks<br />Of shellfish, and where Jane <br />Observes most days in sorrow and in pain<br />That seals steal, and human beings a ton,<br />Though entitlement may only be to one.<br />She puts up notices along the track <br />Which tell the thieves to turn, and put them back. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
Says Jane: <br />
‘they take the lot:,<br />
they don’t think.<br />
<br />
there was enough for all<br />
even at half tide <br />
but now they’re at the breaker line.<br />
<br />
The Americans came<br />
the Germans the Asians <br />
and from expensive Nelson,<br />
<br />
who build for the view<br />
push up prices <br />
are only here for half the year<br />
and take away the tucker.<br />
<br />
They must be told <br />
and have it explained to them’<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">says Jane.</span><br />
‘I’m sure they’ll stop<br />
when they understand.’ </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kSDD3RuPQlG-RwX6RtSlMsV_AMMT_9ZZka3rylJf9Cflb_SoKB0_und0qXy6X3cVAYOB46EfMVQGMrKaPkRwZ7hTiXIFrnfvlx-NB8kc54Uz9r9I9GGUnathgj2x6qRHCptD6XwZtIT3/s1600/b24.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471979700714578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3kSDD3RuPQlG-RwX6RtSlMsV_AMMT_9ZZka3rylJf9Cflb_SoKB0_und0qXy6X3cVAYOB46EfMVQGMrKaPkRwZ7hTiXIFrnfvlx-NB8kc54Uz9r9I9GGUnathgj2x6qRHCptD6XwZtIT3/s400/b24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Jane’s from the city<br />
and has a famous view,<br />
<br />
it makes her feel superior<br />
as views do,<br />
<br />
as if she owns<br />
all she can see <br />
of the glittering coast<br />
<br />
(it’s the sun that glitters<br />
on the sea <br />
that charms her most).<br />
<br />
Nothing may change ––<br />
it’s her mission <br />
she stares through binoculars<br />
and darts at picnic parties<br />
<br />
She works<br />
in the office<br />
at the mine <br />
and likes a miner <br />
they debate Open Cast Extraction<br />
and Acid Mine Drainage<br />
<br />
they go together to the pub<br />
<br />
she fears for her philosophy</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Jane’s trick</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">is to cook a dish of algaed ones and</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">make them sick </span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i>though she knows this<br />isn’t the answer that<br />it’s mean that she’ll have to stop being like this and open up and get a mate for soon she’ll be <br />too old unable to change her ways and get odd and blinkered like-----</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLK4DqZPQtzZ7AoHCgib8fYi-aTQ61DeJlTzg-w2wvoSr1rTvptKpk80UaCSN5Jr9fVKzLfdvpHYgNb-7gMx4N6-PYrggPoodqtiWEmh5-vr_qwB1yxSMTocwly8r2rvo5CY6oVanv8zQv/s1600/b25.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471888740562786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLK4DqZPQtzZ7AoHCgib8fYi-aTQ61DeJlTzg-w2wvoSr1rTvptKpk80UaCSN5Jr9fVKzLfdvpHYgNb-7gMx4N6-PYrggPoodqtiWEmh5-vr_qwB1yxSMTocwly8r2rvo5CY6oVanv8zQv/s400/b25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 218px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAiq32FNr8uC0iKSup1oyEc6xRCjIJx78e1LRJtWGt-vTOcKRSwk6TN_7tO_-otYU8BPjKfYBSaXk-Os1Lwa-zKFFLtHEWHb6dDkeNuQWr7wNDq9TVhfHGWd-AgAePD5xt4XvKhbp6d69/s1600/b26.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471801177006194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMAiq32FNr8uC0iKSup1oyEc6xRCjIJx78e1LRJtWGt-vTOcKRSwk6TN_7tO_-otYU8BPjKfYBSaXk-Os1Lwa-zKFFLtHEWHb6dDkeNuQWr7wNDq9TVhfHGWd-AgAePD5xt4XvKhbp6d69/s400/b26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Moltz</span><br /><br />Moltz calls it Buller Bay, and he <br />At Hector guards the Dolphins’ destiny;<br />Up and down the coast he makes us mind <br />That human beings and dolphins are entwined.<br />The sea eats at the coast and makes attack<br />Because of all we take and won’t give back.<br />Repent, he cries, and change your ways and then<br />The sea will turn and give it back again.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[Tolkien sent Moltz here.<br />
<br />
He saw the film <br />
bought a map <br />
and took the next plane from Cologne<br />
<br />
This is the last frontier<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">he says</span><br />
the last green place, <br />
and never talks of Germany<br />
<br />
He lives down here <br />
at the end of the world <br />
and looks through Tolkien’s eyes<br />
He makes epics out of daily walks<br />
heroes of his neighbours <br />
he demonises industry <br />
turns caves to sacred grottoes<br />
puts trolls under bridges<br />
smells evil in the wind <br />
gives mystic traits to simple things<br />
andanimates the bush<br />
<br />
The wekas<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">he says</span><br />
make conversation<br />
<br />
and won’t tell what they say]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gDWVf5m9LbwudbpX-6Sy39zQ4qPhXeKQjXLUacPdrB2gBu18-wvzC_CsxjbPH5w-V1KRo_9Ja849_nhM5WgZD9-vBqhCK_XDArcFAo8WH4d2siskFIcd4YtFXarL-9Dxp8znADpCwmQs/s1600/b27.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471714321636946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4gDWVf5m9LbwudbpX-6Sy39zQ4qPhXeKQjXLUacPdrB2gBu18-wvzC_CsxjbPH5w-V1KRo_9Ja849_nhM5WgZD9-vBqhCK_XDArcFAo8WH4d2siskFIcd4YtFXarL-9Dxp8znADpCwmQs/s400/b27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 220px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
This, says Moltz, <br />
is the perfect state ––<br />
on a littoral shelf, <br />
the ocean on one side<br />
the wild on the other,<br />
<br />
and he reads Ursula le Guin.<br />
<br />
It’s like starring from scratch,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">he says,</span><br />
it’s all fresh;<br />
turn your back <br />
and the bush is in your garden<br />
look away <br />
and a weka does a runner<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">with your lunch.</span><br />
(He talks our way already <br />
and likes fush and chups.)<br />
<br />
An earthquake<br />
could sweep us away,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">says Moltz,</span><br />
as if he wouldn’t mind.<br />
Even a storm could wipe us.<br />
I like it here, <br />
you can’t fool yourself<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">says Moltz,</span><br />
and is content.<br />
<br />
He’s just discovered Dunsany.</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">His premise</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">is that he’ll come back as a Peripatus</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">when he dies</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />He thinks the primitive is good, the complex bad, and that civilisation’s ultimate goal must be a <br />return to the woods to live like Hansel and Gretel in isolated cabins eating nuts so he gets very <br />annoyed at the sophisticated politics of------- </i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioDr2Xb2v6NAOz3f1QErJOG3RSqayh8fMFIRPVMfTYcQH13NLKWnMvZr2e1mD4V134mxlsmpPbYlzvmBEeaJ6OjLwjlhZJDSRSBJRuMkhQRXDWcdbdwSSbdDMOc41qyd85P1QWlRPFmTr/s1600/b28.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471624154483698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiioDr2Xb2v6NAOz3f1QErJOG3RSqayh8fMFIRPVMfTYcQH13NLKWnMvZr2e1mD4V134mxlsmpPbYlzvmBEeaJ6OjLwjlhZJDSRSBJRuMkhQRXDWcdbdwSSbdDMOc41qyd85P1QWlRPFmTr/s400/b28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHTVBsVd1s_V6Yh6oxqsZtN5jzva1PsAucq8bVHJS1hwb3QWmWiwAeG5VD5tpgY5nRNMpnEASHwETTIYM0Q6xoQuPvsehAhWw1xP8zz1kwCjdJaAlYHhx6569dwZxriISzQ948pIyOgN8/s1600/b29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471340632581298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLHTVBsVd1s_V6Yh6oxqsZtN5jzva1PsAucq8bVHJS1hwb3QWmWiwAeG5VD5tpgY5nRNMpnEASHwETTIYM0Q6xoQuPvsehAhWw1xP8zz1kwCjdJaAlYHhx6569dwZxriISzQ948pIyOgN8/s400/b29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Olwyn</span><br /><br />Olwyn lives next door to Moltz, and they<br />Don’t share a single view, nor ever obey<br />The dictum that to win they must unite <br />In every aim of each to put things right.<br />She’s hard and fast, and if it could be done<br />Would dodge the law and even use a gun<br />To make all Buller practise conservation––<br />so at least it is our observation.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
It’s said: <br />
that Olwyn has a doctorate<br />
in conservation science<br />
<br />
She’s little general knowledge<br />
and when Moltz talks of home<br />
has no interest<br />
<br />
but she’s familiar with the mudfish<br />
in the ditches <br />
out the back <br />
and protects them from the farmer<br />
like they’re family<br />
<br />
Conservation is her norm <br />
like sight touch and speech––<br />
anyone without it is disabled<br />
and must be put right<br />
<br />
Above all else<br />
Conservation is her law<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">her right</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">her enabling</span><br />
She wins her way in life with it<br />
and her society </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9clkHcYMoIlcjP4d0puIC5F0Euq7xgnyRoxVkYPuXVQi1PZjM_XX7j_-FPjzgqFIlTeJ-08LaIdrMggc37NTKt3ZLrGhL1-80DC2-SF9hSQaAnLhREdCsvEAzwCGMVAMbJA2CzF3OVuWA/s1600/b30.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471442104703970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9clkHcYMoIlcjP4d0puIC5F0Euq7xgnyRoxVkYPuXVQi1PZjM_XX7j_-FPjzgqFIlTeJ-08LaIdrMggc37NTKt3ZLrGhL1-80DC2-SF9hSQaAnLhREdCsvEAzwCGMVAMbJA2CzF3OVuWA/s400/b30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 235px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Olwyn has an inconvenient environment<br />
<br />
She’s planted nettles at the letter-box<br />
for the butterflies<br />
<br />
She’s made Moltz put a bell on his cat<br />
<br />
Her compost heap is maggoty<br />
<br />
Her pet pukeko chases people<br />
<br />
She shifts her toilet round the back<br />
so she can grow organic potatoes<br />
<br />
She’s forever on patrol<br />
against despoilers exploiters<br />
lazy bastards <br />
the ignorant<br />
and confident people with money<br />
and she won’t join groups<br />
<br />
She sees herself as Guardian Mother<br />
some say she’s silly <br />
others she’s a saint <br />
<br />
In truth she’s both<br />
but veers about<br />
with a cutting wind</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Olwyn drinks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">then sits in the middle of the</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">road and thinks</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />of nature wrapped round her like a blanket, and how with one sharp thrust it could change her <br />forever---like a tornado or even an illness as she sometimes wishes she could be changed by <br />some initiative not her own and be noticed by the object of her worship as other people were, <br />and be a victim like –––</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCwGo64B_HMYcSAq-oAVEZ9oZE0jN7syrVJSdds4dwvM16lLflICDdUIdmYhRAiuceWm2_gBjvauFGwV4ujDZ5qey7NfcNrcQwYcq7DG28VfbZ3BE0r8m2RsK5Ur1KC2ZlDy8QQd4Kj-8/s1600/b31.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471234166857458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKCwGo64B_HMYcSAq-oAVEZ9oZE0jN7syrVJSdds4dwvM16lLflICDdUIdmYhRAiuceWm2_gBjvauFGwV4ujDZ5qey7NfcNrcQwYcq7DG28VfbZ3BE0r8m2RsK5Ur1KC2ZlDy8QQd4Kj-8/s400/b31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 304px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r4LNIsutVFh2ELVjcQYdjUbYl5qF6388Pr2qYspw3RElEdhlZ9Q48oL4TXUlqKg4vTRSIxI_bzip4C9QV-Dg1PEFDGREERocPG94fcT7-znoQrnuZe9KyiDNr6lKtBLJPzOU1CU1K-5Z/s1600/b32.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471142648867378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5r4LNIsutVFh2ELVjcQYdjUbYl5qF6388Pr2qYspw3RElEdhlZ9Q48oL4TXUlqKg4vTRSIxI_bzip4C9QV-Dg1PEFDGREERocPG94fcT7-znoQrnuZe9KyiDNr6lKtBLJPzOU1CU1K-5Z/s400/b32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Larry</span><br /><br />Across the river Larry still resides <br />Beach at his back, and at the highest tides <br />The sea invades the yard and flows around<br />Across the road and onto the football ground.<br />He’s hired a digger, made some gravel banks––<br />For these and other acts he gets no thanks;<br />Disturbance of the beach makes no protection,<br />But needs, they say, immediate correction.<br /><br />I can’t be blamed, he says, if I have damaged<br />An ocean that won’t let itself he managed.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[In these quiet times <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">nothing’s brought to the beach</span><br />
No quake nor flood <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">brings gravel</span><br />
No storms <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to bring the trees</span><br />
to pile along the bank and break the breakers <br />
<br />
It’s a hungry sea<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">now ––</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">it eats the land</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">digests the stones</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">expels the sand</span><br />
says Larry <br />
whose garden is mostly gone<br />
whose house stands precarious<br />
<br />
It won’t stop with me <br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">he says</span><br />
soon it’ll be at the road]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9V935RePNn3-i822wPVfnMWeMiKTsuRM6-Q_df4hIX4uh9evKlKJ2IpYBLV56x9fW9P9GPLhJdRJHAyb82E2S6mY4n16NeSP5vBCCD4FmmcfGbR-uTqPIlK633XgKT3GcK3W7GwLQgpdE/s1600/b33.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676471041766870290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9V935RePNn3-i822wPVfnMWeMiKTsuRM6-Q_df4hIX4uh9evKlKJ2IpYBLV56x9fW9P9GPLhJdRJHAyb82E2S6mY4n16NeSP5vBCCD4FmmcfGbR-uTqPIlK633XgKT3GcK3W7GwLQgpdE/s400/b33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
A man’s gotta survive <br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Says Larry</span><br />
This is my land<br />
I’ve paid for it <br />
I’ve paid the mortgage<br />
<br />
I can’t just let it happen<br />
<br />
There used to be houses all along<br />
and now there’s only mine <br />
<br />
<br />
Look at it — <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">from Mokihinui to Carter’s Beach</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the sea eats in</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and no-one does a thing!</span><br />
soon it’ll be into town <br />
and then what will happen?<br />
<br />
April’s the worst<br />
<br />
The ground shakes<br />
when the sea comes<br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
I think <br />
it knows me</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Larry saw</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">a penguin in the passage as he waded</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">out the door</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />then a couple of years go by quiet and without a flooding tide the beach builds up with flax <br />boxthorn grass and stuff and everyone begins to think the danger’s past security restored <br />though there’s another threat nearby which is being met by ----</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHwLJjGkMIcIMqp1CIWzLOD2DjMoKvvQn0T7F8LN8a7xyCCtsG1wmoFUtbtsfLi1eNxV_gp4g3U4uMpiwdAxZ1RxfdITdAS_NnG0wPD6gpLfVAn2i4Hk0Pni5t3oXaUqUBbsGCQ71AJqS/s1600/b34.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470943200014802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQHwLJjGkMIcIMqp1CIWzLOD2DjMoKvvQn0T7F8LN8a7xyCCtsG1wmoFUtbtsfLi1eNxV_gp4g3U4uMpiwdAxZ1RxfdITdAS_NnG0wPD6gpLfVAn2i4Hk0Pni5t3oXaUqUBbsGCQ71AJqS/s400/b34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<b></b><br />
<blockquote>
<b><br /></b>
<b>In Parenthesis:</b></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />The Ngakawau</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The Ngakawau carves a gorge to the sea<br />
Deep, and brown from the pakihi; <br />
The course is long and it travels fast<br />
From the Glasgows and the Open Cast, <br />
Through chasm rock and fall and tree<br />
With Charming Creek a tributary, <br />
Though dark, it’s clear and clean when fine,<br />
But when it rains it’s fouled from the Mine, </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5ygTvobhgeIV6kImR0GedjzS1NyZ3JMlHt5vKrmBZWbQiG-IF2cLofi7Oqq5a8LZWQwd5pLu1_PNm5WQ-DU2NlaXYWQwTO1Pm63VAMw6zIPiUWYgDpNc4_3dsmJtXiuIyt5SPh5eobh8/s1600/b35.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470856705093586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga5ygTvobhgeIV6kImR0GedjzS1NyZ3JMlHt5vKrmBZWbQiG-IF2cLofi7Oqq5a8LZWQwd5pLu1_PNm5WQ-DU2NlaXYWQwTO1Pm63VAMw6zIPiUWYgDpNc4_3dsmJtXiuIyt5SPh5eobh8/s400/b35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZwyOl8btuGOIu3qU9a3ZvI26FWDLqRY5ZFRiq7y4iP3g0NizlvuxcKXst7p8CgMw-Z80aBtgknooJZhS90jZ4lDj170YkLuFZpNn9dvcSv8p7ie-E_5RixUrrYjkyhfCo6Qat6tQz3v4/s1600/b36.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470761088457602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjkZwyOl8btuGOIu3qU9a3ZvI26FWDLqRY5ZFRiq7y4iP3g0NizlvuxcKXst7p8CgMw-Z80aBtgknooJZhS90jZ4lDj170YkLuFZpNn9dvcSv8p7ie-E_5RixUrrYjkyhfCo6Qat6tQz3v4/s400/b36.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Grant</span><br /><br />At Ngakawau the beach is made of banks<br />Of granite stones, for which the rich give thanks,<br />And order from afar this granite gravel;<br />In ponds and yards and paths it’s quite a marvel.<br />A man is taking orders from abroad.<br />When Grant observes: ‘we first should have restored<br />Our only buffer left against the tide’,<br />He hurries to deny Grant and deride.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[from Karamea to the Cape<br />
and from nearer streams<br />
quartz from Chasm Creek<br />
and gneiss <br />
ground by the sea<br />
and some translucent<br />
some black<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">brown</span><br />
and some orbicular<br />
gecko-speckled<br />
patched with brick<br />
dotted with white mica<br />
<br />
dragged by the sea<br />
and thrown up again<br />
they expect to be exhibited<br />
in jars on window-sills<br />
on front porch steps<br />
made mystic in rock shops<br />
or drifted in dead corners<br />
on the dark side of the house<br />
<br />
they hint<br />
of old holiday]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR6qkEqBYvB_23ZTbB_LuRG4EYA7EygaXUUdt9bREgUqcFe6_r3DdtmMG7s7lJHCPu3v6i-JbCaZv2-vYQsN32GQofLyF2YmnbGr-hH-wq4Ua-EFarSCXfnN11e8lJLMomVJnw1hMUW4l/s1600/b37.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470668552168594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTR6qkEqBYvB_23ZTbB_LuRG4EYA7EygaXUUdt9bREgUqcFe6_r3DdtmMG7s7lJHCPu3v6i-JbCaZv2-vYQsN32GQofLyF2YmnbGr-hH-wq4Ua-EFarSCXfnN11e8lJLMomVJnw1hMUW4l/s400/b37.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 215px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Whatever it is you need<br />
to take away a beach<br />
they’ve got it—<br />
permit or nod—<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">loads</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">in trucks</span><br />
the tide fills in <br />
the holes they leave<br />
<br />
they bring nothing<br />
in return<br />
<br />
as the beach gets lower<br />
the sea gets over<br />
<br />
‘Shit’<br />
says Grant<br />
in his best Buller voice<br />
‘They’re making a mint out of us’<br />
and goes to the pub<br />
for a drink and a talk<br />
to plot<br />
to stop<br />
the damage<br />
<br />
they fire for a time</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Grant smokes</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">gets stoned himself on Friday nights</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">like other blokes</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />then takes a day or two to recover and think again of what he ought to be doing to make a<br />living and of his self-respect so he organises a working bee to cover up the damage and writes<br />a letter to the paper about the danger to-----</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfVjJSm1uIqhvPZMD0ktLP_DSbNtPhmytRfucVc-dJI-wjcZUBcnDOo15709AamlyOG4uGzOz_GadkUR3s_fpSYO6ys9yObEPM6EpqFirx7nehN02Sl7O05X1oH1B2jPsvNJa2BcgIJUQ/s1600/b38.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470583482612370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqfVjJSm1uIqhvPZMD0ktLP_DSbNtPhmytRfucVc-dJI-wjcZUBcnDOo15709AamlyOG4uGzOz_GadkUR3s_fpSYO6ys9yObEPM6EpqFirx7nehN02Sl7O05X1oH1B2jPsvNJa2BcgIJUQ/s400/b38.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 230px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcVFHu8nQ0iFvSwdFiy7Z3JDCuCXUmxkeHfENtD1J_ynMEr2uP0gFoAqGq6qdcJLwqt8q6e8PXGrk6_A-FQouPLkSQgx_0Jbd6ggsHLf8LnCrBAfPUnVTLAM4ECsn8d1dhILoW6Y38eYd/s1600/b39.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470473395506386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEikcVFHu8nQ0iFvSwdFiy7Z3JDCuCXUmxkeHfENtD1J_ynMEr2uP0gFoAqGq6qdcJLwqt8q6e8PXGrk6_A-FQouPLkSQgx_0Jbd6ggsHLf8LnCrBAfPUnVTLAM4ECsn8d1dhILoW6Y38eYd/s400/b39.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />The School</span><br /><br />For years the school has had its grounds diminished,<br />Has built a bank (but never had it finished)<br />To keep the sea from taking out the rest<br />Of shed and lawn, to try to keep suppressed<br />This tendency of ocean to arise<br />And sweep away by might and by surprise.<br />They say the sea’s already took a field<br />And what it has it won’t be made to yield.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[The school<br />
under the state<br />
expects exemption from<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">private sector loss</span><br />
when<br />
the sea erodes or<br />
a creek might flood the neighbours<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">such are acts of God</span><br />
but<br />
if they befall the school<br />
they’re an impertinence<br />
an unkind cut<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">at Government</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">at the dignity of being official</span><br />
which has consequence —<br />
<br />
to the neighbours<br />
we show sorrow at the rubble<br />
<br />
to the school<br />
we have a duty in its trouble]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgxCkwOJJTK3jyltGjBFgGsSyiv9jzNpEcr_MVA5ExrwNOiI1-xMkQsTROoT3KyEC_S6wvI-DeOpU68Tbww2eD2VXZZjd76zsEkV6SzxQeDRhUPRRMAdG3MQPGWS-tPGWzNA6WRwsLAll/s1600/b40.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470384530673634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqgxCkwOJJTK3jyltGjBFgGsSyiv9jzNpEcr_MVA5ExrwNOiI1-xMkQsTROoT3KyEC_S6wvI-DeOpU68Tbww2eD2VXZZjd76zsEkV6SzxQeDRhUPRRMAdG3MQPGWS-tPGWzNA6WRwsLAll/s400/b40.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 192px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
As the school belongs to all<br />
it’s everyone’s duty to keep out the sea<br />
by some sort of dike,<br />
<br />
which will stand countless surges<br />
king tides queen tides<br />
and vigorous depressions which<br />
by low barometric pressure<br />
equip the sea with power<br />
to storm the wall<br />
invade the ground<br />
and scatter it with stones.<br />
<br />
If the school can be kept<br />
so can the bowling green<br />
the pub the pensioners’<br />
the op-shop church and fire shed,<br />
<br />
and then this rope of a town<br />
which has stood against a century<br />
of chronic loss and tidal rip,<br />
might be saved.</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">there used to be</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">a field between the play-ground</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and the sea</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSnNZTC2pdz7nFjqixRH6tf_ug169mqCzt9PxqIDukTiaZ4Suyne8iqadXNB52tHHy4nBNTLwQHujVAF1LlpZ8qQXTzvJ0NbxogwiqHk0o90ddAtmvo3xhIcNXE-W-0AIIpoSTwn3iPcM/s1600/b41.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470298217744594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDSnNZTC2pdz7nFjqixRH6tf_ug169mqCzt9PxqIDukTiaZ4Suyne8iqadXNB52tHHy4nBNTLwQHujVAF1LlpZ8qQXTzvJ0NbxogwiqHk0o90ddAtmvo3xhIcNXE-W-0AIIpoSTwn3iPcM/s400/b41.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 206px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3Sko2br4rqQQLH44S47fETjt2PzAKHT4VSkR12V4NZOGUrKyKJq3PrTB9npym5V_1i-In2ahhYfhko3Bm4jeXYCDXrjS5AZH2dXRloh-BnvD1tZGYh5vr5fK7xzE5VlQTw7k6naaeOYG/s1600/b42.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470205312255442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgt3Sko2br4rqQQLH44S47fETjt2PzAKHT4VSkR12V4NZOGUrKyKJq3PrTB9npym5V_1i-In2ahhYfhko3Bm4jeXYCDXrjS5AZH2dXRloh-BnvD1tZGYh5vr5fK7xzE5VlQTw7k6naaeOYG/s400/b42.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 164px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Granity</span></b><br />
<br />
She has <br />
in her eyes <br />
the look of one <br />
whose short life is over<br />
and the remnant left <br />
is a luxury hard to enjoy<br />
<br />
She is a town of small stresses<br />
these, <br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for example––</span><br />
the house-church <br />
with the misspelt table<br />
is next to the masons<br />
with whom it is at war<br />
<br />
there are two pubs<br />
not enough publicans <br />
and one accompanied by bowls<br />
<br />
the pensioners<br />
are not as old <br />
as they should be<br />
<br />
the nearly-vanished Ngakawau<br />
shares its name<br />
<br />
and there’s Millerton<br />
on the hill behind <br />
where the unexpected is out of control<br />
<br />
It’s a quiet life in Granity <br />
for the sea drowns every other noise<br />
and nearly the town<br />
<br />
which is mostly on its side of the road<br />
strung out <br />
for the Americans </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgHOKA-E6D-q51yNw5mRbP40zb0pfCO9karlW0DS0G9dDb8Fjb0yJ5d_VU_1H_22S6VZ9h-q78G6b1jdaA3y4sYTUtEDAGJfpWs55rnvzTxTwLnvg7bJ7JtPjLCWxNggvvZg370rHDYf7/s1600/b43.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470111071866962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpgHOKA-E6D-q51yNw5mRbP40zb0pfCO9karlW0DS0G9dDb8Fjb0yJ5d_VU_1H_22S6VZ9h-q78G6b1jdaA3y4sYTUtEDAGJfpWs55rnvzTxTwLnvg7bJ7JtPjLCWxNggvvZg370rHDYf7/s400/b43.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 140px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
who are here <br />
for only half the year<br />
and don’t much help<br />
<br />
and for wealthy city couples<br />
who add years to their lives<br />
by being local<br />
<br />
A fine day <br />
and a quiet tide<br />
is Granity’s joy </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vkuMmRG_DvjypLX3Tr1SGQNBQNKp6mbF2jj6i8gfK9zzMPuNiLDcQswowpam6Z6QS79aHa7CHW77KuBjl-_02cTF5YaXYqxTPWdUXZmmjruqfsXuYX4hIJVMVVCsrhPEVnoPrl-cuFgK/s1600/b44.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676470024712656002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7vkuMmRG_DvjypLX3Tr1SGQNBQNKp6mbF2jj6i8gfK9zzMPuNiLDcQswowpam6Z6QS79aHa7CHW77KuBjl-_02cTF5YaXYqxTPWdUXZmmjruqfsXuYX4hIJVMVVCsrhPEVnoPrl-cuFgK/s400/b44.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 178px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkWeIynP_nqp1CZOEY4aR6dDue10gQWGzmjaVnq892T7fOApfv78d36ex8lOMyaaLElXcZgaah39VrkK5lm51A4JU0SRlWaqqzoIlRxDsPJAZRgJVOiCCA9my9Kbs6X9f4H7INRNM6Jxl/s1600/b45.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469897738050290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQkWeIynP_nqp1CZOEY4aR6dDue10gQWGzmjaVnq892T7fOApfv78d36ex8lOMyaaLElXcZgaah39VrkK5lm51A4JU0SRlWaqqzoIlRxDsPJAZRgJVOiCCA9my9Kbs6X9f4H7INRNM6Jxl/s400/b45.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 198px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Neville</span><br /><br />Near Jones’s Creek young Neville has a hut<br />Illegal on some: road reserve there but<br />Unwanted by the public, so he sits <br />And works a plan, refines until it fits. <br />He wants to run himself a sea-side racket <br />By which he hopes to make himself a packet.<br />Resource consent is hard to get for it, <br />So he must think and juggle yet a bit.<br /><br />There must be ways of making all this pay<br />An income large enough to let him stay.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[A place may be protected<br />
by enlightened self-interest<br />
which makes it a necessity<br />
to one’s own <br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">or the public’s</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">welfare</span><br />
as sand to a beach<br />
grass to a lawn<br />
<br />
Here <br />
the sea’s too rough <br />
for anyone’s use <br />
and the sand blows<br />
something could be grown <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">he thinks</span><br />
fish<br />
perhaps<br />
or flax<br />
<br />
there might be coal<br />
deep to tunnel to<br />
or gold in the creek<br />
tourism?<br />
<br />
But what is there to look at?]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFmhwlZS02nfVFkFsU7TA0kAIvy3EE9agKeitHUQ-gymSnRvRbqdCWGyUdwAiz-AB0NhppM_2QLgRn97EFzr_rACh5B6jJ_jCO6o7yMTecOKhn34yi4mtRtluSfoZjXJ1NKljmHJJe_ghp/s1600/b46.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469813989652290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFmhwlZS02nfVFkFsU7TA0kAIvy3EE9agKeitHUQ-gymSnRvRbqdCWGyUdwAiz-AB0NhppM_2QLgRn97EFzr_rACh5B6jJ_jCO6o7yMTecOKhn34yi4mtRtluSfoZjXJ1NKljmHJJe_ghp/s400/b46.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Nev admires <br />
big guys in big boots<br />
who fondle big dogs<br />
<br />
who live where things can<br />
get out of hand<br />
<br />
at the edge of the bush<br />
by a creek <br />
by the sea<br />
<br />
where you don’t know<br />
what will come<br />
washed down <br />
or washed up <br />
or pecking out of the shadows<br />
<br />
who like the thrill of the raw<br />
a threat of catastrophe<br />
<br />
who need the Coast<br />
to be <br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">over the hill</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">at the end of the road</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and nowhere</span></blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Neville lives on</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">bread butter and watercress</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and damper scone</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />saving to get ahead a bit though he doesn’t really have the means for this and thinks that <br />life’s in charge of him and will some day change its structure for his benefit and he will effort-<br />lessly find himself wiser moneyed and married living in a house of his own like ---</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVy1vV3B1Av7TVPOOzmraH4qKXPuCRiKX7GTtRG76HJ7-yyA3LM6tUZk2KTOMIvVimgiECyGxNLqNBRHKgQsVBsEdaLL-9lTvTlqzveWgryNubrnKoz1prR3JAvTUL4CEiDcEvyDY9Xki/s1600/b47.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469712145078530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEVy1vV3B1Av7TVPOOzmraH4qKXPuCRiKX7GTtRG76HJ7-yyA3LM6tUZk2KTOMIvVimgiECyGxNLqNBRHKgQsVBsEdaLL-9lTvTlqzveWgryNubrnKoz1prR3JAvTUL4CEiDcEvyDY9Xki/s400/b47.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 286px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg4nsixFKDeTwj0HXR23wEDcTSRDJc0MwYNQUgdzy7YnT2rGk85H2O0H8jBnv3O4wlkVzzEDEEINGqllu85rrkxmT8jr2QijO-APwlEae6_ANAXFbrCYg3kHmw7MeM9kSeX0HPLSvBRBk/s1600/b48.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469581934050786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDg4nsixFKDeTwj0HXR23wEDcTSRDJc0MwYNQUgdzy7YnT2rGk85H2O0H8jBnv3O4wlkVzzEDEEINGqllu85rrkxmT8jr2QijO-APwlEae6_ANAXFbrCYg3kHmw7MeM9kSeX0HPLSvBRBk/s400/b48.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Henry and Nan</span><br /><br />At the back of Birchfield there’s a house<br />Owned by Henry Logan and his spouse.<br />A neighbouring fanner’s asked that he<br />Might drain the swamp; he won’t agree,<br />For Henry’s anxious that the usual state<br />Of nature be retained, will make him wait. <br />The boon will be denied, the answer sent by fax,<br />The swamp stay habitated by Phormium tenax.<br /><br />(Do not their coupled solitude disparage, <br />they each have several kids by earlier marriage.)</b><br />
<br />
<br />
You can’t see the sea<br />
from the Logans’ house<br />
there are dunes in the way<br />
and manuka<br />
<br />
hut you can hear it ––<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">very close</span><br />
They listen<br />
They’re used <br />
and can interpret every message<br />
<br />
There’s bush <br />
ill scattered patches round about them<br />
old stuff <br />
rimu rata kahikatea<br />
with some nikau <br />
it’s dark in the bush<br />
with ferns<br />
<br />
There are bitterns in the swamp<br />
herons and ducks <br />
wekas<br />
<br />
It’s not made for houses<br />
not at all <br />
there are other places for those</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6OCHziOiF0A-gmmdRnvpIqCkJapW_z1Htn1sW0O0LHWwFTXLDnLrJrEW0G2UswxkMQQAEK495kPOM8NrJjh3tchmvVZZ3vV9p1HSUJN5EgWLOAIOCdk7yw8RRzPAONRiSX0fu4_z8er1/s1600/b49.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469488524404866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjb6OCHziOiF0A-gmmdRnvpIqCkJapW_z1Htn1sW0O0LHWwFTXLDnLrJrEW0G2UswxkMQQAEK495kPOM8NrJjh3tchmvVZZ3vV9p1HSUJN5EgWLOAIOCdk7yw8RRzPAONRiSX0fu4_z8er1/s400/b49.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 205px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
There should always be places<br />
for people like us <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">say Henry and Nan</span><br />
who don’t care for leisure <br />
and work to survive<br />
<br />
We’re not snooty <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">say Henry and Nan</span><br />
but we like to have our space <br />
to chop wood <br />
and grow vegetables<br />
and a dog <br />
and have room for trees<br />
<br />
we like <br />
to be able to hear things<br />
to get to know them <br />
<br />
and <br />
though we’re legal <br />
it’s nice to be out of rhe way of the law <br />
<br />
there need to be places like this<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">say Henry and Nan</span><br />
if it were all filled with houses<br />
it’d be empty </blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">to surprise</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">they’ll find a Maori Site in the swamp</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and publicise</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />though living in opposition has its drawbacks and they find it’s a bit like being besieged and too<br />easy to be bitter and ungenerous so they have joined a conservation group for company and<br />support and very now and then meet up with ---</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VhF-dkuvk6w7rRdwXFkDhciIr6KOUAowGwBSVKOQpcl0LdvoS8yxYdXkTUARl4HgAVdHXMCRQZ_PEP8-XXQ61IqeAi1sj4Hc-34lk5MBu4MxYN44md0qMRnt3Evl9D6pwmEGkcAGRXR2/s1600/b50.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469395895732866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi9VhF-dkuvk6w7rRdwXFkDhciIr6KOUAowGwBSVKOQpcl0LdvoS8yxYdXkTUARl4HgAVdHXMCRQZ_PEP8-XXQ61IqeAi1sj4Hc-34lk5MBu4MxYN44md0qMRnt3Evl9D6pwmEGkcAGRXR2/s400/b50.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 236px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn51">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn51" name="_ftn51" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">51</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ePNEqFZfwxrs_31VE-_yjej767knX0ajpxXvXuJ0z9FfTb5bZL5IyrqPCNdY3udDM0sf4rat9IO7ETJUhy92UQ0_amac-4JWcza3pbaTF47ilZub9pgWpwJNqSx0N-eJypgE_w86hnsp/s1600/b51.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469146141474146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4ePNEqFZfwxrs_31VE-_yjej767knX0ajpxXvXuJ0z9FfTb5bZL5IyrqPCNdY3udDM0sf4rat9IO7ETJUhy92UQ0_amac-4JWcza3pbaTF47ilZub9pgWpwJNqSx0N-eJypgE_w86hnsp/s400/b51.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 201px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Katherine</span><br /><br />The Waimang River voids upon the sea<br />Directly, and gives itself no estuary. <br />The currents switch, and carry off the sand,<br />Eat into the scrub and cut at the land.<br />Katherine hears it breaking near her fence––<br />On windy nights and wild it’s most intense. <br />In last month’s storm the sea broke in the bush,<br />But she intends to stay and won’t be pushed.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
Katherine knows <br />
the birds and small animals<br />
trees ferns and flowers <br />
the fungi mosses lichens<br />
<br />
She’s a library<br />
knows by name <br />
and the distribution<br />
<br />
She’s a diary <br />
of what she sees<br />
how it grows<br />
and protects it<br />
<br />
and in those parts of herself<br />
that are most conscious <br />
she feels <br />
that her love<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">is returned</span><br />
her patronage<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">affirmed </span><br />
She walks the bush <br />
to start and end her day<br />
and grieves at the threat<br />
that it might soon <br />
be washed away </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn52">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn52" name="_ftn52" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">52</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf3dk3hU2hNii6sGi9UwYbIuLv67VYcVggMjI4f9VLz-kTWYF7RaeORumfmK0CLLkixHm_c-UnfrhOaDNlz3f35CXGQdeREVgbTSf41getXBhIj5Qe7bYx-3gflBv5AAoRHSGhztu4-lQ9/s1600/b52.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469241677264498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf3dk3hU2hNii6sGi9UwYbIuLv67VYcVggMjI4f9VLz-kTWYF7RaeORumfmK0CLLkixHm_c-UnfrhOaDNlz3f35CXGQdeREVgbTSf41getXBhIj5Qe7bYx-3gflBv5AAoRHSGhztu4-lQ9/s400/b52.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 200px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
If nature’s the norm<br />
and is good<br />
<br />
If anything not natural<br />
isn’t good<br />
<br />
when she poisons<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">devours</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">turns on herself ––</span><br />
what then?<br />
<br />
As god <br />
nature sets a cruel] rite<br />
though beautiful <br />
and with a soft pretence<br />
<br />
to love her <br />
is to take a wild ride<br />
<br />
Katherine thinks<br />
(though not thinking)<br />
that her patronage<br />
will earn reward<br />
<br />
She overlooks the evidence––<br />
like all gods<br />
nature grinds to finest dust<br />
those who love her most</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">botany means</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">so much to Katherine that she</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">doesn’t eat greens</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />and lives instead as well as she can on fruit and grains and nuts pretending that these are <br />differently botanical and are fair prey and eating lots of vitamins to supplement deficiencies and <br />to keep scurvy at bay though sometimes she feels a bit slow ---</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn53">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn53" name="_ftn53" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">53</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a03h-D0TRrksb0CnxL6oeP-IU-47N3L7IBoKgyhyphenhyphenp0-5e7FkL76LDZk3CVA-0_zYqyADaOLoC47E46t0LWNAAEw9HpntVowrtApXGP8w2CyV4ia1RtZr6pJYHILPihVY8Dp3JDsQurlE/s1600/b53.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676469058620022002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7a03h-D0TRrksb0CnxL6oeP-IU-47N3L7IBoKgyhyphenhyphenp0-5e7FkL76LDZk3CVA-0_zYqyADaOLoC47E46t0LWNAAEw9HpntVowrtApXGP8w2CyV4ia1RtZr6pJYHILPihVY8Dp3JDsQurlE/s400/b53.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn54">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn54" name="_ftn54" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">54</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApXa0wH8pMSTMcnm2hvGUn32nQ1lIHrVClUY21GyBVxlDQlk6_vUOeTygE5n-7HWxPjThbSaAVefkglTRmOkVFnT3prlm22WPwKIyc2JyVKpI96pdl-urXkiKqMH29-DPqXxeHQRDO46X/s1600/b54.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468968869633650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiApXa0wH8pMSTMcnm2hvGUn32nQ1lIHrVClUY21GyBVxlDQlk6_vUOeTygE5n-7HWxPjThbSaAVefkglTRmOkVFnT3prlm22WPwKIyc2JyVKpI96pdl-urXkiKqMH29-DPqXxeHQRDO46X/s400/b54.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Snodgrass</span><br /><br />At Snodgrass you survey a placid bay<br />That’s gently in and out each twice a day;<br />Serene and by the water Snodgrass is,<br />A place to while time away in bliss<br />Where no storms are, no rough nor greedy sea,<br />But little waitress waves for company,<br />That lap against the shoreline of your life<br />To soothe and ease its past of pain and strife.<br /><br />Retire you may, to read the ‘Pickwick Papers,’<br />To settle down—no adolescent capers.</b></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn55">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn55" name="_ftn55" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">55</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFwosPW5rEit7qJokj3cqxh-jcjPo8vusj9wxcMz0L9VhWr2HActKP_qHgnYZ8fww83PSR88AwbkyCVY12V5ArK-El4ITTQltG_H3HzW3Z4fNU3yz1uSNwDxW6UezNpepGs7yDX2YfwY4/s1600/b55.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468883688791986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQFwosPW5rEit7qJokj3cqxh-jcjPo8vusj9wxcMz0L9VhWr2HActKP_qHgnYZ8fww83PSR88AwbkyCVY12V5ArK-El4ITTQltG_H3HzW3Z4fNU3yz1uSNwDxW6UezNpepGs7yDX2YfwY4/s400/b55.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 204px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn56">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn56" name="_ftn56" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">56</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TfZ_c2zG1dySQQClorMnhX8G5xGb6dl0_m0lXtU77HhduEAISmunx_ECvVlG5bOqfx4gTABGF2xOe5teVOxCOeGorTGnTTDyQiVE8Fh1iihNKdxDgw5OcYb4xkvabPoo_xVW4PKex3mg/s1600/b56.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468777877396882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_TfZ_c2zG1dySQQClorMnhX8G5xGb6dl0_m0lXtU77HhduEAISmunx_ECvVlG5bOqfx4gTABGF2xOe5teVOxCOeGorTGnTTDyQiVE8Fh1iihNKdxDgw5OcYb4xkvabPoo_xVW4PKex3mg/s400/b56.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 189px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />The Port</span><br /><br />The beach curves now to the Westport Port.<br />The sand builds up; here’s where it’s caught<br />By the tip-head reaching out to sea<br />To keep the Buller deep and free<br />Of mud and rock, so it flows faster<br />And all goes well for the Harbour Master.<br />It’s washed to and fro by the grinding motion<br />Of the ceaseless restless ruthless ocean.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">engagement here</span><br />
of fish cement and coal<br />
<br />
beach on either side<br />
with dead cars and flotsam<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">from</span><br />
small ships<br />
and the small town<br />
that arose<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">to service</span><br />
gold<br />
then coal and wood<br />
<br />
on this delta<br />
where you turn left<br />
to go down<br />
and right to go up<br />
to nowhere<br />
<br />
by hills<br />
and a sea that’s out of hand<br />
<br />
between these two port walls<br />
there’s shelter of a kind<br />
<br />
even this must be repaired<br />
for everything material<br />
is slowly ground to sand</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn57">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn57" name="_ftn57" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">57</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_Ni1b6VjS4FQOhHR_WwkaunJa1tpV1pMQBVXyRF4zs2c-QtweOvSL0-pmYLqOkIkbxSwlanV7rPeu3Tn4htJgNfaxr-k9rOvVAP1yYXs5XCl_4wkbNRurQ3sxbEywMUDuVnaPp9m3e-x/s1600/b57.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468693376754370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv_Ni1b6VjS4FQOhHR_WwkaunJa1tpV1pMQBVXyRF4zs2c-QtweOvSL0-pmYLqOkIkbxSwlanV7rPeu3Tn4htJgNfaxr-k9rOvVAP1yYXs5XCl_4wkbNRurQ3sxbEywMUDuVnaPp9m3e-x/s400/b57.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 184px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The Port’s a metaphor––<br />
a meeting of two waters<br />
and the land <br />
<br />
It’s a comfortable place where<br />
nothing exceeds or subdues<br />
<br />
Activity traffics with the tides<br />
and wealth flows into the town<br />
<br />
except in storms <br />
when all hangs still<br />
and the ships ride high<br />
with the river<br />
<br />
from the shops <br />
you can judge the flood<br />
by the height of the vessel<br />
against the roofs<br />
<br />
and you know <br />
that you’ll be swept away<br />
one day </blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Prophecy:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Westport goes to marsh and fen</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">when the Buller flows north again</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn58">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn58" name="_ftn58" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">58</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkxBcoI6g47bA4t1dRKwyLqK3TKhf1PPyBtt2hAAdARCT-SzIdtZjbT_YwwhVSAVCvlC_Bt6ucs0pAIC-G3kakakYVf5Um-V6yLLMvfP-PPtDQLJz_-fXFDg-W0ehmfxzWgaA3co-BQhj/s1600/b58.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468610418580546" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSkxBcoI6g47bA4t1dRKwyLqK3TKhf1PPyBtt2hAAdARCT-SzIdtZjbT_YwwhVSAVCvlC_Bt6ucs0pAIC-G3kakakYVf5Um-V6yLLMvfP-PPtDQLJz_-fXFDg-W0ehmfxzWgaA3co-BQhj/s400/b58.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 291px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn59">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn59" name="_ftn59" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">59</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwtaNHSf-dDoDxMPg5OAqvNObga2KhyphenhyphenbdwyuKm3ZYJpFu08FiePvYP5nVYZZXIACW9oN7-EVsq99XI-AghEg79JJIS0TXdL4Q98ps3k7KYOw18XLTIpRX8_spqrWKA4UPS9Qee71W7xgeZ/s1600/b59.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468456746560834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwtaNHSf-dDoDxMPg5OAqvNObga2KhyphenhyphenbdwyuKm3ZYJpFu08FiePvYP5nVYZZXIACW9oN7-EVsq99XI-AghEg79JJIS0TXdL4Q98ps3k7KYOw18XLTIpRX8_spqrWKA4UPS9Qee71W7xgeZ/s400/b59.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 195px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Town</span></b><br />
<br />
There are wekas in Westport<br />
and pukeko;<br />
the sand-flies have taken a running jump (mostly)<br />
so it’s not so bad to live in.<br />
The streets are wide,<br />
to let out the wind,<br />
and in the CBD<br />
there are some fine old shops<br />
and several public buildings.<br />
<br />
If you’re doing a job in Westport<br />
go by Brougham St.,<br />
cross Palmerston<br />
and park at the railway end<br />
in Adderley St.,<br />
where there’s plenty of space<br />
and a bush for the dog to piss in.<br />
<br />
It’s the town’s back end.<br />
The front’s in Palmerston<br />
where all the windows are,<br />
the doors are in Adderley <br />
where they sit<br />
at smoko.<br />
<br />
The big sheds are in Adderley,<br />
and a lot of business starts here<br />
at building and truck,<br />
where you ask the question<br />
‘Do you reckon you could get me’ ---<br />
and are quickly told<br />
‘We’ll have it here in the morning’,<br />
<br />
which everyone knows is a lie,<br />
that it’ll take weeks<br />
even months,<br />
but this is how to start—<br />
you fire the rite</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn60">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn60" name="_ftn60" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">60</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GztKcDUjJG4nK2Rjj6dwBvTXPGa443M_kWM5X3nPwIJqNOkel9awdJGJn_sNPpqjbd0rmSDBfzcEODVg31zTRCT7w7oQ5nUjnhNRlkuYiRnPuZruvmiXvVHQR8Qgvq-OGfnratiRAhoS/s1600/b60.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468287955925810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7GztKcDUjJG4nK2Rjj6dwBvTXPGa443M_kWM5X3nPwIJqNOkel9awdJGJn_sNPpqjbd0rmSDBfzcEODVg31zTRCT7w7oQ5nUjnhNRlkuYiRnPuZruvmiXvVHQR8Qgvq-OGfnratiRAhoS/s400/b60.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 174px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
and on it goes<br />
eventually producing.<br />
<br />
Westport’s not a wealthy town<br />
and doesn’t hold much stock;<br />
we don’t have clout,<br />
so businesses over the hill<br />
aren’t keen to oblige;<br />
at this end we’re held up<br />
by paperwork that doesn’t<br />
get done,<br />
<br />
But you give it a go<br />
you have to<br />
and come in every week<br />
to nurse it along.<br />
‘Has it come?’ you ask<br />
‘Have we got it yet?’<br />
‘We rang last night<br />
and it’s on its way,’ they say.<br />
‘You’ll have it tomorrow.’<br />
<br />
If you keep on<br />
and are polite<br />
one tomorrow you will,<br />
your fireplace<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">alkathene tank</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">car accessory</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">new PC</span><br />
will come,<br />
and you’ll feel briefly at one<br />
with the wider world<br />
which can get what it wants<br />
when it wants it.<br />
<br />
Or else<br />
if too long denied<br />
we give up waiting<br />
and do what we oughtn’t<br />
without Consent—<br />
like diverting a stream</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn61">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn61" name="_ftn61" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">61</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQmTR2nClFeIBb9o4R9hCbwhHcu34de1rREo6DNvkrNscql3p7rkfVfPzfNhQtY8cBF8km29Cd8isuQbaZLd1bjjbWpLnPZPBNecbL9kA0QMy7LlkZ0SfHqV0e3iDCzXW97aBf3rB6bvZ/s1600/b61.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468163392177202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgWQmTR2nClFeIBb9o4R9hCbwhHcu34de1rREo6DNvkrNscql3p7rkfVfPzfNhQtY8cBF8km29Cd8isuQbaZLd1bjjbWpLnPZPBNecbL9kA0QMy7LlkZ0SfHqV0e3iDCzXW97aBf3rB6bvZ/s400/b61.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 155px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
building a house<br />
or clearing.<br />
<br />
We call it ‘Coast Spirit’<br />
But it’s frustration.<br />
<br />
It can do a lot of harm<br />
to bush beach and river.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn62">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn62" name="_ftn62" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">62</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_tiIRO3VLGl-qRe28lINEI7jiKuYnDQdQufbba5NrFqEImwDmY6BNf3SDhqYZSIJ_K70QrOM-WQcJKRl9-yRFP7edxNUffD2vtibyNuTOnrgLX8PAz86wlBe0aY7PoGQ1jTIudPeZOsy/s1600/b62.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676468061054530146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1_tiIRO3VLGl-qRe28lINEI7jiKuYnDQdQufbba5NrFqEImwDmY6BNf3SDhqYZSIJ_K70QrOM-WQcJKRl9-yRFP7edxNUffD2vtibyNuTOnrgLX8PAz86wlBe0aY7PoGQ1jTIudPeZOsy/s400/b62.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 191px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Marg</span><br /><br />At Carter’s Beach there’s bright and busy Marg,<br />Who never shrinks from setting up an arg<br />Ument, as with the residents who, bent <br />On levelling the beach without Consent,<br />Removed the trees and flax and more <br />While knowing they were breaking the by-law.<br />But now the sea’s advanced and done yet more,<br />Is eating in and coming to their door. </b><br />
<br />
<br />
[we skip the law<br />
scorn the checks <br />
and load the balances to get our way <br />
--- so the job gets done <br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">we say </span><br />
no matter if it’s right or wrong<br />
at least the job gets done<br />
<br />
not like over the hill<br />
where they fuck about<br />
and nothing happens <br />
<br />
Think first <br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">says Marg</span><br />
you’ve made a desert<br />
to get a view but <br />
a sand-dune’s not an option<br />
<br />
it’s there <br />
like the law for a purpose <br />
you got your way <br />
and now you’re paying for it]</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn63">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn63" name="_ftn63" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">63</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0wa_OcB85UvTMtN7f6Mi-cgjNN04XnfUmdjlcx5jGEzjJR8Ms-XjYuCQkwxWyg-fCuTuTHo5TxGXsxTjoC9914xUKBTnHRIOuiaU39ybQFjUGrQfYRh1BgOPNz2nBCVgJN7M_6EcOAwC/s1600/b63.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467914983132114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiF0wa_OcB85UvTMtN7f6Mi-cgjNN04XnfUmdjlcx5jGEzjJR8Ms-XjYuCQkwxWyg-fCuTuTHo5TxGXsxTjoC9914xUKBTnHRIOuiaU39ybQFjUGrQfYRh1BgOPNz2nBCVgJN7M_6EcOAwC/s400/b63.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 207px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Marg likes fun <br />
and grows some pot <br />
in a swamp out the back<br />
to pay for it<br />
<br />
She works at the check-out <br />
and hopes to meet a man one day<br />
to settle down with<br />
<br />
She likes men <br />
but can’t find one<br />
for looking<br />
<br />
They think she’s intelligent<br />
because she talks clever<br />
<br />
but all she’s saying <br />
is that we should respect<br />
and learn to live with<br />
the land<br />
<br />
She’s joined the Conservation Group<br />
for company</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Marg’s frisky</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">she sat on her boyfriend down at the pub</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and drank whiskey</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />People like Marg but she’s not really popular because she’s a bit too abrupt and free with her <br />tongue and doesn’t stop to think that she might be giving offence there are so many ideas <br />buzzing round in her brain and she doesn’t want to miss them so it’s just as well that she <br />doesn’t ever meet up with-- </i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn64">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn64" name="_ftn64" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">64</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk5tLJJg_NjVMVnKis23TNesKO_IMRIvh3tuBPfGWiJXbX14k5V2DALDTSfNtx7D3MICuhqATw66FY5U91ZNMpVz-fWZY8SuArBufXb8IyFI5Y_47wYLcieR0oUF9DP7i6SPwzgLsY3aY/s1600/b64.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467836897602082" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk5tLJJg_NjVMVnKis23TNesKO_IMRIvh3tuBPfGWiJXbX14k5V2DALDTSfNtx7D3MICuhqATw66FY5U91ZNMpVz-fWZY8SuArBufXb8IyFI5Y_47wYLcieR0oUF9DP7i6SPwzgLsY3aY/s400/b64.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 236px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn65">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn65" name="_ftn65" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">65</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdQ6wWl9KHVJRXa39zk4S7lPPHEAo6aZHKhZsPNn0e6rm1hFqTaVC9rZs_YOqVzJteoou3OdNy1b0vceiit87MuhVEQtl6v09fy3aINw1h7GhNglY8H5aGjzFfbl30-VDv1SpfwaeO0Iu/s1600/b65.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467757370270178" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxdQ6wWl9KHVJRXa39zk4S7lPPHEAo6aZHKhZsPNn0e6rm1hFqTaVC9rZs_YOqVzJteoou3OdNy1b0vceiit87MuhVEQtl6v09fy3aINw1h7GhNglY8H5aGjzFfbl30-VDv1SpfwaeO0Iu/s400/b65.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 192px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Jeffrey</span><br /><br />And farther south, in pinnacle and rock <br />Lives Jeffrey, one who likes to scoff and mock<br />Who, lest his beach be fouled by man and pup,<br />Took steps himself, paid out, and bought it up.<br />This is, we know, a form of conservation <br />That keeps a piece of land in isolation. <br />Its safety now depends on whim and chance,<br />The owner’s mood, and that he knows his plants.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[He has to police <br />
to hurry down the track<br />
move people on<br />
<br />
stop parties <br />
do the rubbish<br />
and confront<br />
<br />
he doesn’t like the stress <br />
and sometimes makes things worse<br />
with bitterness<br />
<br />
but there are fossils to preserve<br />
orchids on the rock <br />
a little wahlenbergia <br />
and penguins<br />
<br />
He tells himself<br />
he’s strong <br />
for the environment<br />
<br />
some people think<br />
he thinks <br />
he’s god<br />
<br />
he likes things nice] </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn66">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn66" name="_ftn66" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">66</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOvWh1bTjIu4sL4CFUrwvEqJSzWKs8tfLxP3KIDZFIPAY6weKCMM6KPEmvW0NlIHmt1OXnPGIWUGqkBLcIx9_ieOcIeCbRcY4o0f0o-KMZHb2qdtdqugSuCWz4LXS570ZrgdRZ8To1y-O/s1600/b66.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467664927824946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLOvWh1bTjIu4sL4CFUrwvEqJSzWKs8tfLxP3KIDZFIPAY6weKCMM6KPEmvW0NlIHmt1OXnPGIWUGqkBLcIx9_ieOcIeCbRcY4o0f0o-KMZHb2qdtdqugSuCWz4LXS570ZrgdRZ8To1y-O/s400/b66.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 220px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s the only way he knows—<br />
to do it himself<br />
<br />
All other ways get lost<br />
in politics and plot<br />
<br />
and in his fears<br />
bred from loneliness<br />
<br />
of what people say<br />
when they’ve left him<br />
what they think<br />
<br />
so he treads on their toes<br />
and gets in their way<br />
<br />
He fears despoilers<br />
who might invade his space<br />
and cry:<br />
‘It’s for the people<br />
it must be opened up!’<br />
<br />
and start a crusade<br />
for the prestige<br />
<br />
which can make a lot of noise<br />
in a small crowd of the righteous</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Jeffrey told</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the Mayor that he hoped he’d</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">not grow old</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<i><br />which the Mayor didn’t understand but was left with a feeling that it wasn’t very nice <br />which didn’t matter as he was on his way to join his mates at a meeting about the future plans <br />for-----</i></div>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn67">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn67" name="_ftn67" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">67</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1kKO3b9jUmySn3fQ1mRWiPexe1ql9oUbkMn4z1jynJxwjukNzzQh17DlWi2tZKC4G-zeUGgcrZ2O4Et6-o-BKwVA_UBZp6iwvslNcRcOcHlOagg7Xiy65kYeSutiLYdG1mIjOuK1emTv/s1600/b67.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467585927678258" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie1kKO3b9jUmySn3fQ1mRWiPexe1ql9oUbkMn4z1jynJxwjukNzzQh17DlWi2tZKC4G-zeUGgcrZ2O4Et6-o-BKwVA_UBZp6iwvslNcRcOcHlOagg7Xiy65kYeSutiLYdG1mIjOuK1emTv/s400/b67.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn68">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn68" name="_ftn68" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">68</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAKEDi6X8lWAL8MKM3e7yzZcK-hq0CpbQ4MN4gakfBVCCbbhMaVF7IbyEqS7MNp15iRY7Bu-oe85P2_8HaeKdK93Bjfmn4eKH9pzzEj4621DRUHs_uLZCeyE6dYwcX5wn_5qY74LPR2uH/s1600/b68.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467499155088338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheAKEDi6X8lWAL8MKM3e7yzZcK-hq0CpbQ4MN4gakfBVCCbbhMaVF7IbyEqS7MNp15iRY7Bu-oe85P2_8HaeKdK93Bjfmn4eKH9pzzEj4621DRUHs_uLZCeyE6dYwcX5wn_5qY74LPR2uH/s400/b68.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 212px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Go-green</span><br /><br />There’s Go-green next, that’s digging up the Cape,<br />Does rehabilitation too, while on the make.<br />No-one cares to look behind the dust <br />To see what’s necessary and what’s just. <br />The Cape is patched and hurt and much abused;<br />It has some beauties still, and we enthuse <br />At these, but when all’s done, the last tides turned,<br />We’ll wonder what’s been lost and what’s been earned.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[It’s for our good <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">they say</span><br />
(though for their own<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">we know)</span><br />
that they mine lime<br />
and use it<br />
<br />
They make employment<br />
scatter wealth <br />
with the dust<br />
<br />
They plant the quarried places<br />
make terraces and lakes<br />
<br />
this too<br />
employs a few<br />
<br />
so we don’t note<br />
that behind the gates<br />
and noticed cautions <br />
a landscape’s being devoured<br />
<br />
It will be better <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">they say</span><br />
In its rehabilitated way] </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn69">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn69" name="_ftn69" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">69</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbqDtdxp6XS-VIfwr5hz2AsaNkh9XLmuv_emwnderTDywsqhm1gSppx-Kj4TnhrS31MvEZdfEJw5qGNgcbTff8alDJxvF1FcaUctg__qdmK9pd-DMj12huQrii-SAmXJc_7ifOLSkKO4N/s1600/b69.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467382796646146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgbqDtdxp6XS-VIfwr5hz2AsaNkh9XLmuv_emwnderTDywsqhm1gSppx-Kj4TnhrS31MvEZdfEJw5qGNgcbTff8alDJxvF1FcaUctg__qdmK9pd-DMj12huQrii-SAmXJc_7ifOLSkKO4N/s400/b69.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 182px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Go-green mines the stone <br />
<br />
Its skills are destruction<br />
its aims gain <br />
of these it makes a virtue<br />
of the dust a rain <br />
of gold to pave the streets <br />
<br />
Don’t mind the loss <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">They tell us</span><br />
Think of the gain ––<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the busy port</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">money for the town</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">the sponsorships</span><br />
You can’t live without us <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">they say</span><br />
We hold you together<br />
make luxury and need<br />
and better weather <br />
<br />
We’re your friend<br />
far more to you <br />
than habitats and hills <br />
<br />
or a view<br />
<br />
Go-green dust<br />
Is nature’s must <br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">they tell us</span></blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Les Brett</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">wore work clothes in the rain</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and they set</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn70">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn70" name="_ftn70" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">70</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM60EgOah_FqzH7DUYTYhPPXM4Mmmeef1XRrimCOtMryAObL5lGcBjHmAsNn2KYeORhVZqoPXCwBB1lNml3W0lgHIDaoxU9PtJl6Z_EATy1udMehoN-ZnAECgEXaM2nnhD27cTIp2MyAj1/s1600/b70.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467302805002994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM60EgOah_FqzH7DUYTYhPPXM4Mmmeef1XRrimCOtMryAObL5lGcBjHmAsNn2KYeORhVZqoPXCwBB1lNml3W0lgHIDaoxU9PtJl6Z_EATy1udMehoN-ZnAECgEXaM2nnhD27cTIp2MyAj1/s400/b70.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 210px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />The Seals</span><br /><br />DoC implores the seals to her aid;<br />They sport, while tourists promenade.<br />Thus, gathered harmless in one careful place<br />We shan’t exterminate th’amphibious race.<br />The seals themselves admire their humans’ feats,<br />Who rush the boardwalks, point, and crowd the seats,<br />And loudly talk (while seals affect to pose)<br />With certainty of things that no-one knows.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
DoC intends<br />
to calm the sea<br />
by making friends<br />
with amphibians<br />
<br />
with the penguins<br />
and seals<br />
who put no bounds<br />
to land or sea<br />
and make home<br />
of the littoral<br />
<br />
To see a seal<br />
on a seaweed rock<br />
(as you in your armchair at home)<br />
shows the sea is a house<br />
for intelligent beings<br />
<br />
home to populations<br />
we can live with</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn71">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn71" name="_ftn71" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">71</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KQPKMHDHG1z1nHzEwej1TB4pSJNrktlCM7bkbfY1d2MlTwbd2RdAbBr2JkWMAKVCx3By47e8AeGzqbrgmoPRd0IxVV1tXS_qPRwcSlsEvZeL5QjhcBV6GN-uj-YAq6Vv7Yeq-3ISgDI_/s1600/b71.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467193847661954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1KQPKMHDHG1z1nHzEwej1TB4pSJNrktlCM7bkbfY1d2MlTwbd2RdAbBr2JkWMAKVCx3By47e8AeGzqbrgmoPRd0IxVV1tXS_qPRwcSlsEvZeL5QjhcBV6GN-uj-YAq6Vv7Yeq-3ISgDI_/s400/b71.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 178px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s good to be<br />
at ease with the sea<br />
<br />
to ride with the dolphins<br />
sit with the seals<br />
and feed the fish<br />
<br />
quite quickly it might be<br />
that we’ll be in the sea<br />
<br />
we’re a lacustrine race<br />
and perhaps<br />
we could make home<br />
on both sides<br />
of the shore<br />
<b><br />Moral:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;"><i>Make friends with our fellow mammals</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;"><i>then when the time comes</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5.5em;"><i>they will welcome us into their habitations</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">Andy stopped</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">a seal from using the cellphone</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">he had dropped</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn72">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn72" name="_ftn72" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">72</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYPnOTsAXh-oShV7MItdnmmlAAEoA_v5BrUSsOmRBmxGAtLWiCxSh-uxMC7DLtmG5PgDsyIshromm0E43nPAU4f7iIfZcMYIN-dsVMJmXJvXxp9W95KFs_i4-Dnhf7E6vOI-oyUrfHxoh/s1600/b72.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676467106754396146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKYPnOTsAXh-oShV7MItdnmmlAAEoA_v5BrUSsOmRBmxGAtLWiCxSh-uxMC7DLtmG5PgDsyIshromm0E43nPAU4f7iIfZcMYIN-dsVMJmXJvXxp9W95KFs_i4-Dnhf7E6vOI-oyUrfHxoh/s400/b72.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn73">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn73" name="_ftn73" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">73</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFM7lHthycJ_mDDqQTmnvuzuemapX0A4Ujz-AKd_T51TShyphenhyphenYsCBqUZvOfcUWcFh_yRIboVcX5KeCYIQUy9hhYqxcGP4hwXAt0q6vU0ihKYV0hbQQF5RRaCWgJYwGcPdi7RfZ3IaN77WAH/s1600/b73.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676466999027544354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAFM7lHthycJ_mDDqQTmnvuzuemapX0A4Ujz-AKd_T51TShyphenhyphenYsCBqUZvOfcUWcFh_yRIboVcX5KeCYIQUy9hhYqxcGP4hwXAt0q6vU0ihKYV0hbQQF5RRaCWgJYwGcPdi7RfZ3IaN77WAH/s400/b73.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 181px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />DoC</span><br /><br />DoC plans to put Cape Foulwind into red<br />With Rata trees that must be purely bred,<br />With no Pohutukawa, no Pacifican nor<br />Impurity within its vision to restore <br />The Cape to its primeval verdure; then<br />Cook’s Scurvy Grass grew on the coast, when<br />Interesting animals sported on the beaches.<br />So DoC practices and so she teaches.</b><br />
<br />
<br />
[the Southern Rata’s a brighter red<br />
and starts life as a tree.<br />
<br />
It’s shaped like a flame <br />
and doesn’t need to strangle another<br />
on the way up<br />
<br />
like our southern culture<br />
which is brighter <br />
and has style<br />
<br />
has substance<br />
from its history<br />
<br />
We think the Northern Rata<br />
very Auckland] </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn74">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn74" name="_ftn74" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">74</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsCAahxVSq92493Uwwfu_FCyQB9itP9d379YUtREymqUjrkIpOBNKDnc_rfQDZbNV3de778Br3u2Huw_chcFLVb1Mz8zfh8gdSWlyl45i-lAAk5Xu0_tcLsXXlcwg10k_2lDWVlpF7RXY/s1600/b74.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676466915857977730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSsCAahxVSq92493Uwwfu_FCyQB9itP9d379YUtREymqUjrkIpOBNKDnc_rfQDZbNV3de778Br3u2Huw_chcFLVb1Mz8zfh8gdSWlyl45i-lAAk5Xu0_tcLsXXlcwg10k_2lDWVlpF7RXY/s400/b74.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 170px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
DoC has digging days<br />
and we honour them<br />
by turning up to plant <br />
the seedlings she has raised <br />
<br />
of <i>Metrosideros umbellata</i><br />
for December<br />
<br />
We could be subtle<br />
and do <i>fulgens</i><br />
for the winter<br />
<i>parkinsonii</i> for spring <br />
to make it red all round<br />
<br />
but DoC is a bureaucracy<br />
and is easily strained<br />
<br />
we mustn’t ask too much<br />
and must be grateful <br />
<br />
She’s learnt <br />
to stand<br />
against the tide<br />
and is example</blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Legend:</b><span style="padding-left: 2em;">DoC tries</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">to not let North and South</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">hybridise</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn75">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn75" name="_ftn75" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">75</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyudVjZzF-P59a_Z-93TMbb3BE6ykBrwsjm9AzqeE8hsM0PbnKbCQpBwLhaXId-CXiKqMFPBJQPQ8-wDhr6fLPdTKFDdI6B3I7LMWLD5pLk4hMD19AobjHOTn1VwBHdl1Vu5ZHX87h5I9q/s1600/b75.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676466785347598354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyudVjZzF-P59a_Z-93TMbb3BE6ykBrwsjm9AzqeE8hsM0PbnKbCQpBwLhaXId-CXiKqMFPBJQPQ8-wDhr6fLPdTKFDdI6B3I7LMWLD5pLk4hMD19AobjHOTn1VwBHdl1Vu5ZHX87h5I9q/s400/b75.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 160px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
You have to be<br />
in advance of the sea<br />
as one does with a river —<br />
to know its usual and potential strength<br />
its likely line of flow<br />
its seasons<br />
times of rest<br />
and where it next might move<br />
<br />
There are quiet times<br />
and lines of coast<br />
where the sea is at rest<br />
and nothing’s changed in an age or two<br />
where the littoral flax is succulent<br />
and kawakawa grows behind the drift<br />
and small herbs<br />
<br />
There are no material tools at hand<br />
no canons or tanks for defence<br />
<br />
It’s best to be wise<br />
as with a spouse<br />
give plenty of room and respect<br />
<br />
Our troubles come<br />
when we rob the shore<br />
or the rivers that feed it<br />
starving the sea<br />
which claims for its need<br />
<br />
The shore must have weight<br />
and substance for the grade<br />
it must be clothed<br />
for a naked tide will search for cover<br />
from those who have robbed it<br />
<br />
The shore’s an ambiguous place —<br />
sometimes it’s sea<br />
sometimes it’s land<br />
<br />
the laws of either element prevail</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn76">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/breaker-2005.html#_ftn76" name="_ftn76" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">76</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-eFMk8xtBsfnLvnzfaGSRFQvPwmsAt1lL36m_-bR2jst0ABCUPHsLl-D2sQbGaU1gmoWhtp9sOsJL-IYkwAK-kzjf_59_e1BhzzHQDvDMu99Bjo58txq_rwcCOUPXLDsraWeL6rUMxh7/s1600/b76.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676466683443865266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd-eFMk8xtBsfnLvnzfaGSRFQvPwmsAt1lL36m_-bR2jst0ABCUPHsLl-D2sQbGaU1gmoWhtp9sOsJL-IYkwAK-kzjf_59_e1BhzzHQDvDMu99Bjo58txq_rwcCOUPXLDsraWeL6rUMxh7/s400/b76.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 136px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b><br />Bridge To The Sea</b><br />
<br />
The sea is the majority<br />
there’s more<br />
<br />
it’s our heart and lung<br />
air light <br />
and blood<br />
<br />
no rebuke will do<br />
nor violence<br />
<br />
it’s we <br />
who depend<br />
and must adjust <br />
to take the first token move<br />
and make relations<br />
<br />
as one does<br />
to a cousin <br />
not seen for years<br />
<br />
there’s more in the sea<br />
than other spaces give<br />
<br />
there’s life <br />
and room to live<br />
<br />
it soon will be preferred<br />
for it’s the last clean place<br />
in its depths<br />
<br />
we must make a bridge<br />
and learn <br />
to like <br />
the food </blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWfwLtp7-LVl9ISfWhccel1Qwt7xuIg0iDomIoI4JJdruXpdOqEuVadqWmr0bR0Hosz5xQwm57oS6mD_PPR39CH7ggkoBe3ebQUdvkyD-FWnyqLCME5R_IvBFP9yIXOuIsE_6noSHXKU/s1600/bc2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579204864904721938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJWfwLtp7-LVl9ISfWhccel1Qwt7xuIg0iDomIoI4JJdruXpdOqEuVadqWmr0bR0Hosz5xQwm57oS6mD_PPR39CH7ggkoBe3ebQUdvkyD-FWnyqLCME5R_IvBFP9yIXOuIsE_6noSHXKU/s400/bc2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Published by Heteropholis Press<br />
<br />
Further copies may be obtained<br />
from: P.O. Box 367, Westport,<br />
Buller, NZ<br />
<br />
<b>ISBN 0-473-10237-4</b><br />
<br />
© L. H. Kyle, 2005</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-16787648318289224582011-03-09T08:12:00.100+13:002017-11-26T10:57:27.765+13:00Anogramma (2005)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uLAs6Q1mUGgghCr17tKJ1AlPJlLBch-y4cOIQ0SXctk440Sagi-e55TYwiXRmTN8FyHypyi1LwMTBTWWkLjp-HlNjgbBOG6g9VhZjQ0Whj33Rq-TN7Ro7-cWOS5wh7SFNgTQLO0qj-o/s1600/ac1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581518990431899426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0uLAs6Q1mUGgghCr17tKJ1AlPJlLBch-y4cOIQ0SXctk440Sagi-e55TYwiXRmTN8FyHypyi1LwMTBTWWkLjp-HlNjgbBOG6g9VhZjQ0Whj33Rq-TN7Ro7-cWOS5wh7SFNgTQLO0qj-o/s400/ac1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-nineteen.html">Anogramma</a> (2005)</span><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyJFPxFIzGUpuu5voBL6kXmKD6uYfhSSHuztTkz0CGOM_FXu4vZvWGVgCoTOKBsy8afFKssdrJU_YJw7MPeg-i5DbMf1trfS4D_Si25ZAkmX66cw3yDcyPqFaRTSO5YK5NpFTA-LgTHZO/s1600/a1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924925069648786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkyJFPxFIzGUpuu5voBL6kXmKD6uYfhSSHuztTkz0CGOM_FXu4vZvWGVgCoTOKBsy8afFKssdrJU_YJw7MPeg-i5DbMf1trfS4D_Si25ZAkmX66cw3yDcyPqFaRTSO5YK5NpFTA-LgTHZO/s400/a1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaG2Jsl1LLi_ASJxx1UR2QLuTU2UmsXvj0wWQpQ1pSZewRcfG3zbWmRtK9iS28bRgdoC_2Q1H4RRDhPw4ke9dG5yVtxtQUSRI4biPhMxN8G6Jghh-N_lMsM3yjHA6xQ3P7LgJ1FYzm_xbs/s1600/a2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924869542595010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaG2Jsl1LLi_ASJxx1UR2QLuTU2UmsXvj0wWQpQ1pSZewRcfG3zbWmRtK9iS28bRgdoC_2Q1H4RRDhPw4ke9dG5yVtxtQUSRI4biPhMxN8G6Jghh-N_lMsM3yjHA6xQ3P7LgJ1FYzm_xbs/s400/a2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />ANOGRAMMA</span></b></div>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;"><i>the Proceedings of</i></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<b><br /><i>the Christchurch Botanical Gardens<br /><br />Horticultural Apprentices'<br /><br />Mutual Improvement Society</i></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLdEgtOf2AdpCeS6sict6e9oZ7D9-csIpYDJ4Mq12BhBtyoGMSqVFB0cWNdh0okd2UeCURZyBvgXoHgW0xlnI6SmLrMv7cSAIQWScdEzawBC9Tg9J9FQzV89RMTek6s_lm9hXl9LRTjM/s1600/a3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581518751135335842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwLdEgtOf2AdpCeS6sict6e9oZ7D9-csIpYDJ4Mq12BhBtyoGMSqVFB0cWNdh0okd2UeCURZyBvgXoHgW0xlnI6SmLrMv7cSAIQWScdEzawBC9Tg9J9FQzV89RMTek6s_lm9hXl9LRTjM/s400/a3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>INTRODUCTION</b></span></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
During the 1950s, after I left school, I worked for some years as a horticultural apprentice at the Christchurch Botanical Gardens. It was my intention then to work in the field of the growing of native plants. All apprentices were required to attend monthly meetings of the Christchurch Botanical Gardens Horticultural Apprentices Mutual Improvement Society. We met on a Monday night at the curator's house, a handsome stone building on the river bank at the south-east corner of the gardens; it's now a restaurant.<br />
<br />
In March of this year (2004) there was a reunion of the apprentices of the '50s, and memories of those meetings featured in our recollections. Beforehand, intrigued at the concept of the Mutual Improvement Society, I had done some research and had discovered that it had, fifty years earlier, been a widespread means of distributing new ideas. In this coal town where I now live such groups had been used to convey Marxist philosophy.<br />
<br />
Out of this research, infused with nostalgia, grew this work. Close attention has been paid to historical and botanical accuracy, but the characters who take part in it are composite characters-none are actual-and the names they bear are names then popular.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;"><i>Leicester Kyle</i></span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1wpXWK5TgzGv-NnOWmN65FVfh_-ifIGwjKSYZzD2QqKBjkkipG1g9AsnUYuubqM2R-PrJwmYRqzCmsZ43UpAYz2FDtsBV72vZNqhMyOXpkABdKyhCDrHQoJQUvjbryEb7oEuCWZWE8ax/s1600/a4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924773425219234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhU1wpXWK5TgzGv-NnOWmN65FVfh_-ifIGwjKSYZzD2QqKBjkkipG1g9AsnUYuubqM2R-PrJwmYRqzCmsZ43UpAYz2FDtsBV72vZNqhMyOXpkABdKyhCDrHQoJQUvjbryEb7oEuCWZWE8ax/s400/a4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoSRGyc8rxg0AQqFq1S_QWjvG2ccqTiF1cu2d6X4QlHCO4bnR5Pd1tvw8dvQRcJ7LvmiHpT4v13EQRnnGAWe_RELWQCeAz_7ppuWtz6KxsXsm_r-nmP1CVyVWSlfdLeTyaM_EKoBXk7Qi/s1600/a5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924706418307586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYoSRGyc8rxg0AQqFq1S_QWjvG2ccqTiF1cu2d6X4QlHCO4bnR5Pd1tvw8dvQRcJ7LvmiHpT4v13EQRnnGAWe_RELWQCeAz_7ppuWtz6KxsXsm_r-nmP1CVyVWSlfdLeTyaM_EKoBXk7Qi/s400/a5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 215px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />A Collective Term For A<br />Natural Life</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Nothing matters<br />
nothing else at all<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">now</span><br />
but the past<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">so we meet</span><br />
after fifty years of toil soil<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and chlorophyll</span><br />
to reminisce<br />
<br />
gardeners all ––<br />
Judy Peter Robert<br />
Barry Graeme Ross Alison<br />
Lynley Doreen Donald Chris<br />
Lorelei and me<br />
In a group<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">with drinks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and finger food</span><br />
bound<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">by occupation</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and experience</span><br />
a Gathering of Gardeners?<br />
(there are Packs of seeds<br />
and Beds of bulbs)<br />
a Bouquet, perhaps?<br />
–– too floral<br />
a Graft?<br />
–– inimical<br />
a Huddle of Horticulturists?<br />
–– verbose<br />
Something oblique that packs a punch<br />
and carries meaning with it ––<br />
<br />
a Mulch?</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbiQjT2-U8uuHdk3n-vKp4yEnI98-4YImxIFuCEE5sz0C3bICNETK2VqGpI3Lu9ngCCNjHKKQAbXoe0dfA3kb7th-qPv2wD2ZHqk9P7ryGBo5jsM8y-WoNMzshMtCZZaCVAZ7XMV75MSC/s1600/a6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924635095373346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEbiQjT2-U8uuHdk3n-vKp4yEnI98-4YImxIFuCEE5sz0C3bICNETK2VqGpI3Lu9ngCCNjHKKQAbXoe0dfA3kb7th-qPv2wD2ZHqk9P7ryGBo5jsM8y-WoNMzshMtCZZaCVAZ7XMV75MSC/s400/a6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgceoKMgOkwD6URI9-_lMQkxmKsNf_w5YbFTJC9nNWFQrXUXGTjAFcQLo6sYwdbcwqPTwYrTBlo0mEKdQ4rtooV5tizJH7PU8iOEnnSOuSLP3hSzAKqbpjgim-DnIu7wvugt6brIET8byRt/s1600/a7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924565483146882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgceoKMgOkwD6URI9-_lMQkxmKsNf_w5YbFTJC9nNWFQrXUXGTjAFcQLo6sYwdbcwqPTwYrTBlo0mEKdQ4rtooV5tizJH7PU8iOEnnSOuSLP3hSzAKqbpjgim-DnIu7wvugt6brIET8byRt/s400/a7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Our</i><span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">We try to take the window seat</span><br />
<i>Assembly</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">half-hidden by the drapes,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">from here you can miss the boss’s eye</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">at question-time, reprimand, or praise</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and rest at the end</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">of a day’s hard toil at the soil.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
I can’t recall it raining<br />
but it must have on several<br />
of those Monday nights.<br />
by memory it was dusk,<br />
and you could look from the bow window<br />
over lawns and formal flowers<br />
to the museum and the avenue elms<br />
and the university.<br />
<i><br />it’s spring,<br />and the Malus floribunda’s<br />a pink pavilion by the path<br /><br />it’s summer,<br />and the tuberous begonias<br />flash electric at the wall<br /><br />autumn leaves<br />blow in dunes<br />across the beds<br /><br />and muffled students scurry by<br />on gothic winter nights</i><br />
It’s easy to dream<br />
in the window seat<br />
of a time when study’s past<br />
and journeyman days begin,<br />
while Judy or Peter or Robert<br />
or Barry Graeme Ross or Alison<br />
Lynley Doreen Donald or Chris<br />
or Lorelei<br />
address us.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HQ5-X7hZSY1B3fdBDXY54BjFdyDy5NrW8gS-rrCy8Jw9zKo35CQJzba3VzANay6coRbFuwdDR3DUXS9Jfrd7zsdVwLT77zHQII-RHlqVfmGcczWUPGtSXBSwZXLtptmb9nzQyhRoeDPv/s1600/a8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924472272035186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj3HQ5-X7hZSY1B3fdBDXY54BjFdyDy5NrW8gS-rrCy8Jw9zKo35CQJzba3VzANay6coRbFuwdDR3DUXS9Jfrd7zsdVwLT77zHQII-RHlqVfmGcczWUPGtSXBSwZXLtptmb9nzQyhRoeDPv/s400/a8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 244px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The point<br />
is to use knowledge,<br />
to order display and apply,<br />
to manage in formality.<br />
We’re all to be head gardeners,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">curators, directors, have charge</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">of domains and tropic houses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">parks, boulevards or businesses,</span><br />
potting sheds, collections, seed exchanges,<br />
and must place by rote<br />
in our young minds<br />
the whole Linnaean universe<br />
of order family genus and species;<br />
we must be able to awe with fact<br />
landscape with certainty<br />
and lead floristic fashion,<br />
to write books that remake gardens<br />
right around the land,<br />
introduce new vegetables<br />
flutter hearts with grasses<br />
preserve maintain and hybridise<br />
and be visionary,<br />
especially for the towns<br />
that hire us.<br />
<br />
Then,<br />
they will treat us with respect,<br />
employers will be loyal,<br />
clubs ask us to address them,<br />
and a tree might be planted<br />
for remembrance<br />
when we die,<br />
a new vireyan rhodo bear our name,<br />
or a park<br />
or a street<br />
or, if we are industrious,<br />
a pot-plant mix.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-k1_iKRAjHf8iQA7uJxcrytVUbAe5yAsVGutvgI2ZLT8uUayDhY0VSs-s25e0sDpW10wDqAQnooUqXLVJT4JVCwJvKklX_qXeW1chld0K08pRxw_I7c3EvHjR5R3ZyIdlrhsb29P5sXy/s1600/a9.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924399953537602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgL-k1_iKRAjHf8iQA7uJxcrytVUbAe5yAsVGutvgI2ZLT8uUayDhY0VSs-s25e0sDpW10wDqAQnooUqXLVJT4JVCwJvKklX_qXeW1chld0K08pRxw_I7c3EvHjR5R3ZyIdlrhsb29P5sXy/s400/a9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 191px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
These are formative nights:<br />
the men in ties,<br />
women scented and in dresses,<br />
anxious to serve<br />
when supper’s brought in<br />
at the end<br />
by Mrs. Thomas</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<i>the<br />Curator</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Whose husband is our boss.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">They live</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">in this house of peninsula stone,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">fronted by wisteria,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">distinguished by its site</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">in this academic corner of town,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">by its grace,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and botanic gloss.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
His power is inestimable —<br />
to change the colour of the times<br />
and their perspective<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">by planting</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and uprooting,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">by bedding choice.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">He oversees</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">tends the trees</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and diagnoses.</span><br />
He must also liase with the city<br />
and care for us.<br />
<br />
He likes his job,<br />
is competent,<br />
but sometimes has a dyspeptic look<br />
and the restlessness of someone who<br />
has too much else to do.<br />
<br />
We admire him in his eminence,<br />
his power to construct<br />
from pine and paulonia<br />
pinoak and plane<br />
avenues knolls and savannah;</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qXhwpCDm0cQOew4w4FaYwKIU5XNJgLAUFXqXYhxhA1rWrOSRpMsxubsBSRMBn_cwxvJw06e9gX2LfqrcX7csDfxMdVuikCEAMtFwMYaa3F22ky-qP6P8z1RuNC-7neWhA2mYIn8INqji/s1600/a10.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924329323192850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2qXhwpCDm0cQOew4w4FaYwKIU5XNJgLAUFXqXYhxhA1rWrOSRpMsxubsBSRMBn_cwxvJw06e9gX2LfqrcX7csDfxMdVuikCEAMtFwMYaa3F22ky-qP6P8z1RuNC-7neWhA2mYIn8INqji/s400/a10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 227px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
herbaceous borders so glorious<br />
one wants to go to sleep in them;<br />
rockeries so hospitable<br />
that their plants feel at home<br />
as if on tundra Andes or other alp;<br />
tropic houses draped in vine<br />
and orchidaceous splendour;<br />
and water gardens surreal like paintings<br />
of iris lily carp;<br />
<br />
and the natives,<br />
from the Torlesse Range the Craigiebums<br />
the Clarence and the Peninsula –<br />
leafless brooms and vegetable sheep,<br />
furry-leaved Senecios,<br />
Pen wipers Buttercups Gingidiums,<br />
leather-leaved Celmisias,<br />
and undercovers<br />
which smell of thin air<br />
with names like Chrysobactron<br />
or Latin; they don’t have common names<br />
they’re not enough seen to be known,<br />
<br />
like we who move amongst them<br />
weeding and repairing,<br />
seen as bent backs and barrows,<br />
hoes rakes<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">at hoses mowers</span><br />
clearing paths<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">spraying trenching</span><br />
and all the while learning<br />
the requirements of the species,<br />
who have preferences set,<br />
even to affection.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BeoMH67b7MxcwKPUP6_LCLX9R_dtpiYHZmtpDvX_xP2p2ORuqhE6_JIK8QC0ypXy3cAK_WLfge-2HpaK08UW7tgVQuTdRIP1lXuhay-lN7zOmJKzVbfhH_GGlWyD8CZPMxwbEiKpWaT2/s1600/a11.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924261912624930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3BeoMH67b7MxcwKPUP6_LCLX9R_dtpiYHZmtpDvX_xP2p2ORuqhE6_JIK8QC0ypXy3cAK_WLfge-2HpaK08UW7tgVQuTdRIP1lXuhay-lN7zOmJKzVbfhH_GGlWyD8CZPMxwbEiKpWaT2/s400/a11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<i>Proceedings</i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">We’re talking lightly with each other</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Begin</i><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">when he calls us to attend,</span></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and asks the secretary</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">to read the minutes.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
Chris, last month,<br />
had made coffee<br />
from Coprosma berries<br />
by cooking them<br />
and extracting the seeds.<br />
He had roasted and ground them,<br />
made a brew,<br />
and shared it round.<br />
<br />
It was a sort of coffee.<br />
A distinctive indigenous taste could be made,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">he said,</span><br />
by grinding manuka seed to mix.<br />
<br />
That’s Chris,<br />
his stylish touch<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and novelty,</span><br />
his interest in the facts we overlook,<br />
like the chemistry of leaves<br />
and mycorrhiza.<br />
He casts doubt upon the inevitable,<br />
such as sex and food,<br />
to confuse his friends<br />
and worry his mother,<br />
and then he distinctively enjoys both.<br />
Once he’s worked his life out<br />
in his mind<br />
he’ll head off down some unlikely path.<br />
<br />
The boss now gives us notice<br />
of the exams,<br />
which stand each year ahead<br />
a carrot or a guillotine.<br />
We each must sit<br />
and we each must pass.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4meaya4cMF0jZY3kjFup8mFnICEbe3wgJqbkqjXKskMF5xckn1WAVaETPNUxFphEoP9iIHqxwiFtU0hR13RxVDCMFdQKMFsvGa2MmA1F-40r5vx-fiG8H8mTsXf2h5EhRjxCZwlL5XPXQ/s1600/a12.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924186998194578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4meaya4cMF0jZY3kjFup8mFnICEbe3wgJqbkqjXKskMF5xckn1WAVaETPNUxFphEoP9iIHqxwiFtU0hR13RxVDCMFdQKMFsvGa2MmA1F-40r5vx-fiG8H8mTsXf2h5EhRjxCZwlL5XPXQ/s400/a12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The evening deepens.<br />
<i><br />(I can still see<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">on the lawn</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">in the darkness of dusk</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">the statue of the Superintendent</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">who marked out our town,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">carved these grounds,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">and even now,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">a century on,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">sets this ordered pattern of my life.)</span></i><br />
Don’s now invited to begin;<br />
he moves forward<br />
to speak from the table:</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">The<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">There was a time when people mostly ate meat, he says.</span></span><br /><i>Vegetable</i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">There were fruits,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">but they weren’t much, </span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">being small and sour.</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>There were some greens in the popular diet,<br />like fat-hen nettle cabbage beet dandelion and cress.<br /><br />The bread was bad,<br />often made from barley and beans,<br />and so people had skin diseases<br />which were called leprosy.<br /><br />Queen Elisabeth didn’t eat greens;<br />they made her gassy.<br /><br />Our vegetables entered the diet in the 17th century.<br />Some, like celery and endive, from south Europe.<br />Others, like com potatoes tomatoes<br />from the Americas.<br />They were only slowly taken into use –<br />it took twenty years<br />for the villagers of Selboume<br />to begin to use the potato.<br />As vegetables became more popular,<br />both root and green,<br />the health of the people greatly improved.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmk1sLhSMBcg9qaAT2nosb_T629P7POzZPX2wMgwbR2fHhN7FTxfcMy5dy4oT0GbdMXKAc6NW8mZ_3cHRuomj9KFui_ildr4Pse7znf7PEoeSDJT7VORElf71FNva6ngKAtE6IXsfTIacR/s1600/a13.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924110417284930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmk1sLhSMBcg9qaAT2nosb_T629P7POzZPX2wMgwbR2fHhN7FTxfcMy5dy4oT0GbdMXKAc6NW8mZ_3cHRuomj9KFui_ildr4Pse7znf7PEoeSDJT7VORElf71FNva6ngKAtE6IXsfTIacR/s400/a13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
We ask questions<br />
about the origins of others<br />
like cabbages and carrots and radishes,<br />
for we like to get to the beginnings of the craft<br />
as well as the names.<br />
<br />
Botany isn’t names, of course,<br />
but they’re the beginning.<br />
Once you’ve named a plant<br />
you’re its proprietor,<br />
as Colenso found,<br />
whose names were taken away<br />
and then returned,<br />
whose plants were his<br />
their identities fixed<br />
into his life.<br />
Even knowing the name gives rights –<br />
of approach<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">familiarity</span><br />
of affection<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">nourishment</span><br />
to grow<br />
curiosity sympathy fear anger<br />
as with a pet<br />
on silver plates and tablecloths,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">or a car.</span><br />
Take the potato at Selbourne,<br />
for twenty years outcast,<br />
lodged with aristocrats<br />
eaten with recipes and refinement<br />
and easily grown,<br />
but new,<br />
and therefore unfitted for the labourer.<br />
<br />
In due time<br />
it got itself passed<br />
hand by hand<br />
to those who needed it,</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFto5LxsDuVm-oGBBIlO73xRd_sKNI3X5KMEQfzooDBvDnekmWJlNt-w5g7tJkoqB_6iM_aeUY8mLaRB4qEs1RetjnCZa6gXRddJ_HauaMWdPMKj0XawfN8mgDhOBIfwAb9o9lS8lPTZF/s1600/a14.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680924047693551090" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKFto5LxsDuVm-oGBBIlO73xRd_sKNI3X5KMEQfzooDBvDnekmWJlNt-w5g7tJkoqB_6iM_aeUY8mLaRB4qEs1RetjnCZa6gXRddJ_HauaMWdPMKj0XawfN8mgDhOBIfwAb9o9lS8lPTZF/s400/a14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 191px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
then over the seas<br />
to this island<br />
as a small thing and purple,<br />
to take the place<br />
of the yam the fern the kumara,<br />
to be roasted baked boiled fried<br />
or made flour<br />
for breads;<br />
<br />
and now it’s tied to our lives<br />
with seasonal attentions<br />
and constant consumption.<br />
We know its inclinations,<br />
diseases water needs and soils,<br />
how best cooked served used.<br />
<br />
In all its doings<br />
gardeners are placed.<br />
We educate the plant<br />
as engineers a stream<br />
to obedience –<br />
firstly, to grow bigger;<br />
the larger size is pleasing to the eye<br />
and suggests an increase in worth.<br />
The leaves must be so placed<br />
as to suggest vitality;<br />
a fit vegetable<br />
is the most suitable,<br />
being meatier, tastier,<br />
easier to cook and less fibrous,<br />
which is all the more likely<br />
if the plant is content in its bed.<br />
Colour signifies –<br />
if green,<br />
let it be lustrous;<br />
if red,<br />
untarnished.<br />
New Zealand likes it firm and strong,<br />
America blanched and bland.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCALB2a5rMsDvNdUXbbSdVPOMQv0DyX8ND0hrLBQWk-fbl3zAUA8BkU452tXBuIW7LV5-in4HOLkKo01Z6GCVNTW9xL6xUfpEaFe7hFVmVse4c47TY5AG2vD4-Yfa6o53OuoRQ67ikxa1C/s1600/a15.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923973726925490" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCALB2a5rMsDvNdUXbbSdVPOMQv0DyX8ND0hrLBQWk-fbl3zAUA8BkU452tXBuIW7LV5-in4HOLkKo01Z6GCVNTW9xL6xUfpEaFe7hFVmVse4c47TY5AG2vD4-Yfa6o53OuoRQ67ikxa1C/s400/a15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 196px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The search for looks<br />
conflicts with taste –<br />
we remember our youth<br />
and want<br />
sweeter swedes<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">sharp-edged beans</span><br />
and radishes with pepper in them.<br />
<i><br />[Don mightn’t say all this;<br />it’s what I hear in my bias<br />to the dignity of the trade.]</i><br />
<br />
Another I have in my memory<br />
is the talk Judy gave<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;"><i>‘On The Weather’</i>.</span><br />
She gave us diagrams<br />
and pictures –<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">of how it moves</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">from West to East.</span><br />
She made the sunny day the norm,<br />
and variations from that into ‘weather’.<br />
Look to the south,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">she said,</span><br />
to the far S.W.<br />
where the change first shows<br />
as cirrus in a high blue sky,<br />
the evidence of a front.<br />
<br />
The succession,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">she said,</span><br />
of fronts and highs<br />
is our weather,<br />
and it’s what the Tasman does to the front<br />
that makes its vigour.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmBFlQEuzMXaLjngtKCmgAwDYiIF1zCVGk8IF6UcWVWfZUPvPIKc4MMk_XVekppxjWLCnkuqx_5eMlYHVyVi3SegZQJrvSOmIO1b9rUY1E72rg7-Py1wPH6S-GdBpVgKC6bYUuNf3jzu-/s1600/a16.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923903449847714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZmBFlQEuzMXaLjngtKCmgAwDYiIF1zCVGk8IF6UcWVWfZUPvPIKc4MMk_XVekppxjWLCnkuqx_5eMlYHVyVi3SegZQJrvSOmIO1b9rUY1E72rg7-Py1wPH6S-GdBpVgKC6bYUuNf3jzu-/s400/a16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 218px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Before the front is the nor-wester,<br />
which dries us,<br />
and following that’s the sou-wester<br />
that brings rain.<br />
A low may form on the front<br />
and bring a storm,<br />
or a high behind it<br />
cause a gale.<br />
<br />
There are times when this procession stalls,<br />
the weather is still and grows stale,<br />
there are floods<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">or droughts.</span><br />
Sometimes there are eddies—<br />
the parade changes route<br />
and comes upon us from the warm N.E.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the East</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">or the South</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and is cold.</span><br />
Watch for variety,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">she said,</span><br />
it is infinite.<br />
The signs are all in the sky,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">she said,</span><br />
in cloud type and movement,<br />
and she showed us some maps<br />
to illustrate routines<br />
which weather tends to have,<br />
which help prediction.<br />
<br />
She left the picture in my mind —<br />
the revolving roof above us<br />
with its environments circling,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">seasonally presenting</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">something of the same.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAT1jisTg70eHDsylnGNsAgXZcQULbP5NMFwmzcj3fBzGfGP2SGBPbOwX1fXLnSBMZGr_6SvCKvT_j-9IhRTc3bJTnekjGMr7wqt8Dr-crNzbkjz8ZVNGPorFN5yE-gz1k6NST-JEd13sD/s1600/a17.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923833276961010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAT1jisTg70eHDsylnGNsAgXZcQULbP5NMFwmzcj3fBzGfGP2SGBPbOwX1fXLnSBMZGr_6SvCKvT_j-9IhRTc3bJTnekjGMr7wqt8Dr-crNzbkjz8ZVNGPorFN5yE-gz1k6NST-JEd13sD/s400/a17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 196px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
There’s comfort in the concept –<br />
It eases anxiety,<br />
the neuroses of our age,<br />
that everything’s edging out of control:<br />
progress to regress<br />
temperate to extreme,<br />
that even the sea<br />
in its profound indifference will engulf us.<br />
<br />
The weather,<br />
says Judy,<br />
has happened before.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
-----------</blockquote>
<br />
The elements are for men,<br />
it’s we who battle them<br />
they are our wider wild,<br />
but we like Judy’s talk,<br />
the way it moves from day to day<br />
and centres upon the event.<br />
We learn a lot from it,<br />
knowledge we need,<br />
for the gardener should know<br />
about the weather –<br />
how to work with<br />
or in spite of it;<br />
we comment<br />
and pronounce upon it,<br />
basing our wisdom<br />
upon vegetable and floristic hints<br />
developing traits<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">cloud types</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">prevailing winds</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">repetitive sets</span><br />
and droughts from west of the sea.<br />
The weather is part of our basic skills<br />
with fire water and earth.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-hXZmfrkrKT4ug3DhcN327B9WW4fVdZolsoB9Hslj50W50EgHwYt_hdJ6Vyo9DoGI_5SpRzGA2awpTxXwegsQK5oYMrWKLTtuwqfYTb2Rt5H0UieWppq-zbWTpmOcahx7LHZDx3Xr3UG/s1600/a18.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923752528959698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhr-hXZmfrkrKT4ug3DhcN327B9WW4fVdZolsoB9Hslj50W50EgHwYt_hdJ6Vyo9DoGI_5SpRzGA2awpTxXwegsQK5oYMrWKLTtuwqfYTb2Rt5H0UieWppq-zbWTpmOcahx7LHZDx3Xr3UG/s400/a18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 183px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
We admire Judy’s talk.<br />
<br />
Alison surprised us<br />
when she gave her talk on soil.<br />
<br />
Soil is not an inert mass,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">she said,</span><br />
but is a compound<br />
of living organisms organic matter<br />
chemicals and the base materials<br />
from weathered rock.<br />
<br />
We hadn’t thought of it like that.<br />
<br />
She gave it in her serious way<br />
with lots of useful points,<br />
and told us of the various types<br />
of digging (which we knew),<br />
of how to bring the soil<br />
to its mealy best,<br />
of sand loam and clay,<br />
how to water<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">how to drain</span><br />
and how to sterilise;<br />
of manures,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and how to fertilise.</span><br />
There were diagrams.<br />
<br />
We didn’t know she could be like this,<br />
so competent with particulars and facts;<br />
and we respected her the more<br />
until Ross found her out,<br />
that she had taken whole pages from<br />
the book the Boss had written.<br />
<br />
It was a lazy thing to do.<br />
No-one said a thing;<br />
the facts were right<br />
no harm was done,<br />
but we wondered what the Boss had thought.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA0lDnnNUmES1D6NsDXHVyT7-XX75fxJEP_ZLQFWribT4RCSzTacsMQNMJHCvbTuF0Al3Jjfrozuo3FwHluKix-hxEKn8sJ6XUVNM374zoeMs17uMZtSW_y9VD_OPWwOUs-KdjghP8ayS/s1600/a19.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923681650709954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcA0lDnnNUmES1D6NsDXHVyT7-XX75fxJEP_ZLQFWribT4RCSzTacsMQNMJHCvbTuF0Al3Jjfrozuo3FwHluKix-hxEKn8sJ6XUVNM374zoeMs17uMZtSW_y9VD_OPWwOUs-KdjghP8ayS/s400/a19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Some of our girls<br />
work as florists<br />
and don’t have to come to this group<br />
as they might not share our future,<br />
it’s up to them.<br />
Those who do<br />
have other work —<br />
budding grafting potting<br />
and pricking out,<br />
and the rose garden.<br />
They don’t do the digging<br />
the machinery<br />
or the boiler in the morning,<br />
which has gasses<br />
that make us feel sick.<br />
<br />
I like Lorelei.<br />
She’s shorter than me<br />
and has full lips.<br />
I would like to make love to her<br />
but I don’t think I know how.<br />
Most probably I do<br />
but I’m not sure.<br />
This is how things are —<br />
we know about sporangia<br />
but not about sex,<br />
which is more work yet<br />
for the Ch.Ch. Botanical Gardens<br />
Horticultural Apprentices<br />
Mutual Improvement Society.<br />
<br />
to learn it<br />
is just one<br />
of the things<br />
I will do<br />
when I’m a<br />
journeyman<br />
<br />
The Boss puts out his specimen tray.<br />
<br />
He does this after the talk.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_IP_w96CFkH_sq8mRoW7I0z8Qi9KpZ9SFREZmDF4xv0PBTcDWYUiamdl-9prjcghdrS_URpMFhvuQlQ3hLJ77mKoYsvEVWhwrJExUIQrfVBjOa70OdodFzi0AwfKbxFccdXNh5S1XDoIp/s1600/a20.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923615596914050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi_IP_w96CFkH_sq8mRoW7I0z8Qi9KpZ9SFREZmDF4xv0PBTcDWYUiamdl-9prjcghdrS_URpMFhvuQlQ3hLJ77mKoYsvEVWhwrJExUIQrfVBjOa70OdodFzi0AwfKbxFccdXNh5S1XDoIp/s400/a20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 182px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s our testing time,<br />
so we can help the public<br />
when they stop to ask us<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">at the rock gardens</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the water gardens</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the herbaceous border</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the rose garden</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the tropical house</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the cactus house</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the alpine house</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the native section</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the primula garden</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the archery lawn</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">or at the pinetum</span><br />
the name of this or that<br />
and how to grow it.<br />
<br />
We must learn to be accurate<br />
and own authority,<br />
as I’ve said before.<br />
<br />
On the tray are:<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
two pressed ferns<br />
one blown rose<br />
one heather sprig<br />
two dry cones<br />
one oak twig<br />
three strips of bark<br />
two potted plants<br />
and an epiphyte on a<br />
cut branch</div>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
We gather round —<br />
those with more confidence<br />
in at the front,<br />
the timorous at the back.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dv3LksdO4QvDWl_90UJKRS8zIPBIJ-Unysx25SLTRHNPLKlMCWJNINo6PE0RYLmxNUxY7NpdywYuhzprXvoEelVL-JGz6K4BEDzYzMSgGkhY7D2Plx8qqsRYLy6cD7_rCgX88akyBzWc/s1600/a21.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923544977567026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0dv3LksdO4QvDWl_90UJKRS8zIPBIJ-Unysx25SLTRHNPLKlMCWJNINo6PE0RYLmxNUxY7NpdywYuhzprXvoEelVL-JGz6K4BEDzYzMSgGkhY7D2Plx8qqsRYLy6cD7_rCgX88akyBzWc/s400/a21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 203px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The rose is guessed at <i>Double Delight</i><br />
the sprig as <i>Crimson King</i>;<br />
the two dry cones as <i>couteri</i><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">and <i>cembra</i>,</span><br />
the oak twig is <i>cerris</i>,<br />
two strips of bark can’t be guessed<br />
the other’s <i>Quercus suber</i>;<br />
two potted plants are Rhodos both,<br />
one <i>mollis</i> one <i>vireya</i>.<br />
<br />
I know one of the ferns;<br />
it grows near home<br />
on a ledge of coal<br />
in a seepage;<br />
it’s a little <i>Lindsaya</i>;<br />
and the epiphyte too,<br />
from the autumn bush<br />
when my father would say<br />
‘smell that scent’<br />
and we would hunt upwind<br />
to find it –<br />
<i>Earina</i>,<br />
on the cliff<br />
by the falls.<br />
<br />
They look at me,<br />
admiringly<br />
and the Boss approves.<br />
I feel warmed.<br />
I begin to see<br />
that I’m meant for<br />
the indigenous.<br />
<br />
Lorelei says<br />
in my ear<br />
from behind:<br />
‘you’re native anyway’<br />
which I know she means as encouragement,<br />
though she doesn’t know what she means.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbL9LA1uYCJjlsabd9gDU1irDAXf9Jojt-rgyVnzGA8dW1dmSSGbmAQVDa3Hw819g1htLJhb889dPLYD02_BVtn0t-BJgs7TeTnd7IklJB-6OQbo9zWz4xD0pWRqGR4dD1jo7_598KVL9/s1600/a22.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923470662583074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgSbL9LA1uYCJjlsabd9gDU1irDAXf9Jojt-rgyVnzGA8dW1dmSSGbmAQVDa3Hw819g1htLJhb889dPLYD02_BVtn0t-BJgs7TeTnd7IklJB-6OQbo9zWz4xD0pWRqGR4dD1jo7_598KVL9/s400/a22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 202px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I see also, with<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Colenso on the East Coast,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Munro on the Nelson hills,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">Cunningham until he died of his fever,</span><br />
the particular power of knowledge<br />
and how it drives you.<br />
<br />
Robert challenges the Rose:<br />
perhaps it’s not ‘Double Delight’<br />
but a faded ‘Botanica’;<br />
we know well enough –<br />
the scent proves him wrong,<br />
and Mr. Thomas enjoys the discussion:<br />
he talks about the rose,<br />
the species the colonists brought with them<br />
to the hybrids since created.<br />
We even touch on what makes a rose,<br />
the combination of flower and leaf<br />
of scent with colour<br />
peculiar to the genus,<br />
the consequence of its three thousand years<br />
in the garden<br />
domestic.<br />
We talk of its relatives.<br />
<br />
Ross is uneasy in this aesthetic,<br />
and suggests the moral advantage<br />
of growing potatoes.<br />
He once gave a talk on the genus Solanum.<br />
It was commended by the Boss,<br />
who admires research.<br />
<br />
Ross has an historical bent,<br />
and grows on his parents’ land<br />
old fruits<br />
and vegetables like Cardoon.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGz9IJMlI-5hCJtVcLnzBrf096_NxhGl3LI6QfO5boirKh0pKaDaxnU7RidQrz84GErcSIgF4MsfTa6GoPjqNOlvRQNIFJN43Uu5zcmS5alpaI1RGkl03d6PJKq5iVf0eV5yBQeSN6HKD/s1600/a23.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923387112223554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiSGz9IJMlI-5hCJtVcLnzBrf096_NxhGl3LI6QfO5boirKh0pKaDaxnU7RidQrz84GErcSIgF4MsfTa6GoPjqNOlvRQNIFJN43Uu5zcmS5alpaI1RGkl03d6PJKq5iVf0eV5yBQeSN6HKD/s400/a23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 229px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
He has<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">yellow raspberries</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">purple gooseberries</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">black apples</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">four species of blackberry</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">a yellow currant etc.</span><br />
He likes to know where things started.<br />
He’s a nervous and sensitive lad,<br />
concerned with being clean,<br />
so we’re pleased he’s fond of Lyn<br />
who likes the less ordinary.<br />
She eats native fungi<br />
and once gave a short talk<br />
on how to cook Urtica dioecia,<br />
which she said is like spinach,<br />
makes a good soup,<br />
and binds other vegetables it’s cooked with.<br />
<br />
She served up some<br />
at a supper once<br />
with butter.<br />
<br />
I’ve not asked him<br />
if he eats meat<br />
but I’m curious.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>The</i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">It’s dark outside;</span></span><br />
<i>Philosophy</i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">the street lamps in the avenue</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">throw a little light upon</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">the Superintendent.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">The gates are shut</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">so there’s no-one in the grounds;</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">several with bicycles</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">talk at the college gate.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">At the museum a light is on.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">The grounds fade into the dark.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZU1FZhKkad-rVIa3A-qgA6YNq9w-PrwGqlMbxIgTtmeoeBOKQIGPhiGYCNj26O-cuOtnOaM-iY-zbH-AC8RCZ9Cx4zzoQIkT_B68qC1xQUCp86y_CkOoFQHPRvJlihNO0YjrPFa5_t0O/s1600/a24.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923312980827842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrZU1FZhKkad-rVIa3A-qgA6YNq9w-PrwGqlMbxIgTtmeoeBOKQIGPhiGYCNj26O-cuOtnOaM-iY-zbH-AC8RCZ9Cx4zzoQIkT_B68qC1xQUCp86y_CkOoFQHPRvJlihNO0YjrPFa5_t0O/s400/a24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 172px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>This tended world<br />could be all there is,<br />bounded on three sides as it is<br />by the river of the water of life,<br />and along the avenue<br />the wrought-iron fence<br />be patrolled by celestial guards,<br />and flaming swords if necessary.<br /><br />Within these bounds<br />might be all that is required,<br />the tree of life itself,<br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">unrecognised</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">flourishing,</span><br />and we,<br />the apprentices,<br />its unknowing guardians.<br /><br />who have,<br />in all innocence,<br />eaten of the apple,<br /><br />who shall not grow old<br />but shall in perpetuity<br />attend it,<br /><br />or else,<br />and equally perhaps,<br />the tree shall be created<br />by successful hybridisation<br />and then,<br />as with the last name of God,<br />the trump shall sound<br />the bounds be removed<br />and Eden be in actual space eternal,<br />God be in the Museum,<br />milk and honey at the Tea Kiosk,<br />and the scent of roses<br />waft with the Saints<br />forever.</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmVZ7P7OsKgNceVpQ5EviG-WEmm1J9Q7xvpSgyabkb23brp4-Mz1y4jLeSrBP3epHGeSfzQw0S3kRYNOsqLhva3d8NmktBrlo1a4TNCkLPtWFv364hR2coS4XWg4i0qA_cF0YP09hiWEq/s1600/a25.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923237833561842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNmVZ7P7OsKgNceVpQ5EviG-WEmm1J9Q7xvpSgyabkb23brp4-Mz1y4jLeSrBP3epHGeSfzQw0S3kRYNOsqLhva3d8NmktBrlo1a4TNCkLPtWFv364hR2coS4XWg4i0qA_cF0YP09hiWEq/s400/a25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 165px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
So I dream,<br />
a gentle Anglican Apocalypse.<br />
<br />
A group of gardeners<br />
is a kindly thing<br />
and we, though young,<br />
epitomise the type.<br />
<br />
Some soils make sour folk<br />
but this is benign.<br />
We at work<br />
are scattered about the gardens,<br />
and when we meet<br />
there’s a break in our solitude<br />
and pleasure in company.<br />
We share wholesome interests:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">seasons sun moon,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">flowers trees lawns,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">other gardeners,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">earth rock water.</span><br />
Amongst our number is all humanity<br />
though writ modestly:<br />
several are ambitious,<br />
none are greedy,<br />
several slack,<br />
one depressive<br />
no-one manic,<br />
and all want an ordinary life<br />
though the plant takes the preference<br />
before all else and all desires —<br />
a charming sanity.<br />
<br />
If Jesus had not been a carpenter<br />
he would have worked in soil.<br />
The feel of it,<br />
the smell of it in rain —<br />
that we return to it<br />
and from it we came,<br />
is at the root of our humanity.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiESDi5B48-QAst0w29Je4KdD__Lx-GUFVPNHCqjBiL9jTXbYv4kEnqrKvbY6RoDxIOCi70l7RGrbp4E1ZaoYSRJ9taklyZefrhbq7tkEthXVhCvz4A34kqQ0VoXtx7uyOIwRpjUxghkNq/s1600/a26.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923151763619842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiESDi5B48-QAst0w29Je4KdD__Lx-GUFVPNHCqjBiL9jTXbYv4kEnqrKvbY6RoDxIOCi70l7RGrbp4E1ZaoYSRJ9taklyZefrhbq7tkEthXVhCvz4A34kqQ0VoXtx7uyOIwRpjUxghkNq/s400/a26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 183px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Barry now produces<br />
a puzzle of his own;<br />
we gather round the table<br />
to view:<br />
<br />
He’s put out four plants in pots.<br />
He’s a tramper<br />
and collects as he goes.<br />
We guess these<br />
are gathered by him.<br />
He says they’re Celmisias<br />
but how, he asks,<br />
do we know?<br />
<br />
He asks:<br />
‘What’s a Celmisia?<br />
What marks it<br />
from any other species?<br />
Can you spell that out?’<br />
<br />
We all perk up.<br />
This is profound,<br />
like the meaning of life,<br />
but this is horticulture<br />
and the mystery of growth;<br />
we must expect it to be deep.<br />
<br />
We crowd in to peer:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">one has leaves like a sword</span><br />
another like grass,<br />
the third has spoon-shaped leaves<br />
and the last like a dagger<br />
small and flat against the soil<br />
<br />
Mr. Thomas tells us:<br />
(we sit at his feet) –</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYu6f0qJmb54DsbZG5qK_NCqc8EN8ZNzj4rItfmiHSOXek-itDTu2ROoQ8f-6lA-36MCJx2YFb1QyY8IyUl8ttG6haB4RBLSFO3Rprxj7X3HEbDGh3Xgd5-Ne4jMDNoti7i5rtV8tyYLZ/s1600/a27.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923081072423410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHYu6f0qJmb54DsbZG5qK_NCqc8EN8ZNzj4rItfmiHSOXek-itDTu2ROoQ8f-6lA-36MCJx2YFb1QyY8IyUl8ttG6haB4RBLSFO3Rprxj7X3HEbDGh3Xgd5-Ne4jMDNoti7i5rtV8tyYLZ/s400/a27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 231px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Genera have common traits,<br />
as there are to plants of a region –<br />
South African plants have a look, he says,<br />
and Australian.<br />
We have few deciduous plants<br />
and few annuals;<br />
a lot of our alpines felt themselves<br />
for protection<br />
and grow leathery.<br />
The Celmisia does both.<br />
<br />
What does Cheeseman say –<br />
(there’s always a ‘Flora’ handy)<br />
<i><span style="font-size: 85%;">“perennial herbs or subshrubs of diverse habit; leaves<br />densely tufted or imbricate along branches; usually to-<br />mentose, at least on lower surface, petioled or lamina<br />passing almost directly into a persistent sheath’.</span></i><br />
He writes of a complex range of forms;<br />
of three rather well-marked groups;<br />
<br />
but over-all,<br />
apart from several species at the edge of the genus,<br />
there are these shared traits:<br />
1. they’re perennial.<br />
2. they’re daisies.<br />
3. they’re herbs or sub-shrubs.<br />
(These three characteristics eliminate much of the rest of our alpine flora from consideration, e.g.<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Gentians</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Orchids</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Cresses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Grasses</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">Buttercups.)</span><br />
4. they’re woolly underleaf<br />
5. the leaves in most species are leathery, rather rough, and with parallel venation.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCwVA2fO3F8SIeWCMIqTXmV7ifyeOvqu2lvQsatxpQLTzYyXI9YNM0ieDMZEqQ_iWYVi-IHs3N5q1qIiRkmeq7L3rARIVSZGnsiwHiG6NvQmH9bN0gm1-QdZOB-mJLnSnY1QoD2X1qq24R/s1600/a28.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680923009569357186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCwVA2fO3F8SIeWCMIqTXmV7ifyeOvqu2lvQsatxpQLTzYyXI9YNM0ieDMZEqQ_iWYVi-IHs3N5q1qIiRkmeq7L3rARIVSZGnsiwHiG6NvQmH9bN0gm1-QdZOB-mJLnSnY1QoD2X1qq24R/s400/a28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 221px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
On top of this,<br />
make your own experience.<br />
Know the Celmisia,<br />
take your ‘Flora’ with you,<br />
and establish identification<br />
with every variant plant;<br />
rehearse it in your mind<br />
until your knowledge becomes instinctive<br />
and you can say,<br />
as you pass by,<br />
‘That’s a Celmisia’<br />
whether it be in the grass on the scree the rocks or meadow,<br />
and it’s monroi or parva or graminifolia etc.<br />
<br />
We murmur our thanks<br />
and withdraw,<br />
to make sure he stops.<br />
Barry’s pleased;<br />
he’s had a satisfying response.<br />
<br />
Mrs. Thomas brings in the supper.<br />
It’s on a trolley made of two aluminium hoops<br />
and two formica trays.<br />
‘Here’s some griddle scones’ she says,<br />
and Allison asks<br />
‘What’s a griddle scone?’<br />
‘That’, says Mrs. Thomas, pointing,<br />
which is as good an answer<br />
as one often gets<br />
to the identity of things.<br />
<br />
I think,<br />
as I consider my position<br />
in this little elite<br />
in the kingdom of the greens:<br />
even now we’re being groomed —<br />
to eat scones in a carpeted room<br />
and talk with a cup of tea,<br />
as gardeners must,<br />
to further the trade,<br />
like farmers and hunters.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeva5_qg6cDoGvGKcjPp7t9OaWpmPz5fDQ93J4PMf3bQeuFWMmQ-FPf40hAR_ZDZL8C8UdLprJ46SlUtl4lY2mWaBltXTtjcN-9CL5Tc8397rxt47w8mEy43aBXkezsCg8AyvczuSTAIB/s1600/a29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922934254956562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTeva5_qg6cDoGvGKcjPp7t9OaWpmPz5fDQ93J4PMf3bQeuFWMmQ-FPf40hAR_ZDZL8C8UdLprJ46SlUtl4lY2mWaBltXTtjcN-9CL5Tc8397rxt47w8mEy43aBXkezsCg8AyvczuSTAIB/s400/a29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 213px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I’m surprised that I’m me<br />
and not one of the others here,<br />
that I’m here.<br />
I wonder why this is,<br />
and how the others think<br />
<br />
Next month Allison speaks<br />
on grafting roses;<br />
she’s good at it,<br />
and demonstrates to visiting groups.<br />
Next after that<br />
I give the talk,<br />
on the orchids of New Zealand.<br />
I feel anxious.<br />
<br />
For something<br />
for us<br />
to do<br />
during supper<br />
I put out my fern,<br />
found in the tussock near Kennedy’s Bush,<br />
in a pot,<br />
on the table,<br />
while everyone’s at food.<br />
<br />
As they turn,<br />
with their tea and scone,<br />
it’s there before them,<br />
a distraction<br />
and convenient.<br />
<br />
What is it?<br />
they ask,<br />
(it’s a very small thing)<br />
‘I’ll get my Dobbie’, says the Boss,<br />
‘here, p.206 —</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRu0H3HiyDWoKApJC0Cqa4kKcSys-UgfnjLR_MRGO4GOlmUUkFUrlG88Cd2lyhPDYYug5dnCeeEch3Tdeweqgg6wey9mCfaLp6F1qHjcu-vbmNnLvEMY6T1BBSHDTV573u_YRW5gBU-XG/s1600/a30.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922856032070338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixRu0H3HiyDWoKApJC0Cqa4kKcSys-UgfnjLR_MRGO4GOlmUUkFUrlG88Cd2lyhPDYYug5dnCeeEch3Tdeweqgg6wey9mCfaLp6F1qHjcu-vbmNnLvEMY6T1BBSHDTV573u_YRW5gBU-XG/s400/a30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 194px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 6em;">Anogramma;</span><br />A small genus of terrestrial ferns,<br />widely distributed.<br />The number of species is usually given as seven<br />but the individuals vary greatly<br />with the stage of development,<br />and the distinctions are not convincing.’</i><br />
This is A. leptophylla,<br />
our only Anogramma,<br />
an annual<br />
and worldwide.<br />
<br />
This is its usual size,<br />
small<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and insignificant.</span><br />
If the purpose of a plant<br />
is to gain attention<br />
you might wonder why it exists.’<br />
<br />
Perhaps,<br />
I think,<br />
the purpose of anything living<br />
is to live,<br />
but I’m not sure.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-1rey2uTuk71UmWBUql5R8XoAzogYSq9gjK6hkV_AVRzRHQig5uL8KNqv5aC5KRCLirtK5tf8N0BwY5_Bot79v50bl_6MCHU0BPXsVWwS1X1n8RwaMyfQkvYlUzWX356LHSfuzF-fX9J/s1600/a31.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922779602283426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-1rey2uTuk71UmWBUql5R8XoAzogYSq9gjK6hkV_AVRzRHQig5uL8KNqv5aC5KRCLirtK5tf8N0BwY5_Bot79v50bl_6MCHU0BPXsVWwS1X1n8RwaMyfQkvYlUzWX356LHSfuzF-fX9J/s400/a31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 249px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAi_nvMcQLG8io-aDhvot9gk0GqRL5C18iuQYRE_yIkDz6f3Ey4GaipKCZfQ-72D1qZFVxjouPiSGAAVSlTvE8_Ovd2vAtjloN1vdCvWj74XlueZqWINMy2V6f1zSaMkiKRt2rh0lYLw_/s1600/a32.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922698286038706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAi_nvMcQLG8io-aDhvot9gk0GqRL5C18iuQYRE_yIkDz6f3Ey4GaipKCZfQ-72D1qZFVxjouPiSGAAVSlTvE8_Ovd2vAtjloN1vdCvWj74XlueZqWINMy2V6f1zSaMkiKRt2rh0lYLw_/s400/a32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 245px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">A GOSSIP WITH MY<br />BROTHERS AND SISTERS</span><br />At Supper</b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWMPOy2uOhXLqbl6SDiHPVOIUFx1uTfZwKW9oDr4T7gOxnUjwdeNKIMxQt8irDOlN3IJPKfi1Jh7w6i69mNMVzQekM3nxoD8BLRG_80cFd-LicRkd1frCO3nW2IkxO8pBUJyEMmcj3g_S/s1600/a33.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922625559904466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJWMPOy2uOhXLqbl6SDiHPVOIUFx1uTfZwKW9oDr4T7gOxnUjwdeNKIMxQt8irDOlN3IJPKfi1Jh7w6i69mNMVzQekM3nxoD8BLRG_80cFd-LicRkd1frCO3nW2IkxO8pBUJyEMmcj3g_S/s400/a33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>why bother with a thing like this<br />why should I spend my time learning this?<br />a rose yes, or a new chrysanthemum<br />but this — you can’t pot it<br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">or bed it</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">it doesn’t show</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">and it isn’t food</span><br />– go on with you<br />you need to know<br />– why do I need to know<br />you tell me<br />– Rick hasn’t come tonight<br />– he doesn’t think he needs to<br />he says it’s a waste of time<br />he can do better things<br />– yeah, with Judy<br />and you know what with<br />– come on Graeme<br />she’ll hear<br />– come on Lyn<br />you know what Rick’s like<br />– no I don’t, actually<br />– has everyone seen that new rose by the sundial?<br />Peace it’s called, isn’t it?<br />– I don’t think much of it<br />I think it’s cabbagey<br />– but the buds,<br />they’re terrific<br />– it doesn’t even smell<br />– have you seen the weeping broom in the native<br />section<br />it’s out now<br />– where do you get them?<br />– up the Clarence<br />they don’t live long<br />– there you are again<br />what’s the use of a tree like that<br />you’re better off with something that has a life</b></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkR23sFCHO_4qLx4Qh0p-U9NrfNk1FxBz_fMuGZVGOxv2bVNKvWmp0umXAdPFNLC70zTEhwv3o1jmQWVzekxtBHVLkVDGtQiiXauCNaIZLWbx0P7mJYOOL6ozFbduiqcmuG1b8x4ErOL6N/s1600/a34.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922553449422290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkR23sFCHO_4qLx4Qh0p-U9NrfNk1FxBz_fMuGZVGOxv2bVNKvWmp0umXAdPFNLC70zTEhwv3o1jmQWVzekxtBHVLkVDGtQiiXauCNaIZLWbx0P7mJYOOL6ozFbduiqcmuG1b8x4ErOL6N/s400/a34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>– have you heard about the fernery?<br />someone didn’t switch it on the other night<br />when there was a nor-wester<br />and all the leptopteris burnt up<br />– what’s a leptopteris?<br />– who was on duty?<br />– Rick<br />they say the Boss is pretty mad with him<br />that’s why he’s not here<br />– who are they?<br />– you know — the staff<br />– what’s the use of a fernery anyway<br />people don’t go to see it<br />– what do you know?<br />you’re never round that way<br />– what’s the use of a botanic garden?<br />– <i>now there’s a good question</i>, says the Boss,<br /><i>anyone game to answer?</i><br />– I’m going vegetarian<br />– why are you doing that?<br />– so I can grow my own food<br />– you could run a pig or a duck<br />– I couldn’t eat my animals<br />– you don’t have to be fond of them<br />– I always get fond of the things I look after<br />– don’t you look after your vegetables?<br />– <i>no-one’s answered my question</i>, says the Boss<br />– what was it?<br />– what’s the use of a botanic garden<br />– it’s like a museum, but for plants<br />so people can know what plants there are<br />and what they look like<br />– museums are for dead things<br />– well then, it’s a vegetable zoo<br />– it’s educational<br />that’s why it’s opposite the university</b></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nI5IFtMMMEKewYP5EPjaXLOO9Rpz1JFuxH0AyE50JSs4lktk-4Rir-42TmgY11XTZjsxmynh9GVb6iH_1muA3w5vl6jaGdiFm1sAl3fFZMf_17Rykx_t5G8XfzOFBjyyVz2tAwPw8ObR/s1600/a35.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922470669257106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2nI5IFtMMMEKewYP5EPjaXLOO9Rpz1JFuxH0AyE50JSs4lktk-4Rir-42TmgY11XTZjsxmynh9GVb6iH_1muA3w5vl6jaGdiFm1sAl3fFZMf_17Rykx_t5G8XfzOFBjyyVz2tAwPw8ObR/s400/a35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b><br />– <i>getting closer</i>, says the Boss<br />– have you heard that Nayland’s closing down?<br />– they’re not closing down<br />they’re for sale<br />they’re not closing down<br />they’re shifting out to Tai Tap<br />– what will they do with the trees?<br />– they’ve been planning it for years<br />– it’ll be hard for the staff<br />– they won’t need so many<br />they won’t be selling on site any more<br />– anyone read that article in ‘The Gardener’<br />on Maori gardening?<br />– didn’t know they had any<br />– what did they grow?<br />– kumaras and stuff<br />– what sort of stuff?<br />– yams and taro and gourds and fem<br />– the fern would have grown anyway<br />– they say their gardens looked quite neat<br />things in rows<br />the gourds grew over the whares<br />– <i>sounds interesting Don</i>, says the Boss,<br /><i>why don’t you give a talk about it<br />in a month or two?<br />who’s coming with me on Saturday?</i><br />– where are you going, Mr. Thomas?<br />– <i>up one of the peaks near the Bealey<br />we’ll have to leave early</i><br />– what are you looking for?<br />– <i>there’s a Myosotis and a couple of Gentians,<br />and I want some more Leucogenes<br />who’s coming?<br />all the men <br />what about the girls –<br />it’s a long climb but not a tough one<br />Judy Lynley<br />what about you Doreen – good<br />we’ll sort out the cars later</i></b></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
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<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAl7wrDe3tb_yTRTi67Z0zH6GqZrIUJ21g1t0JI0y40nS1zsxg1dIWbOgswCuCCtCTcd8d5iqCweAvASqhSb5EWRfHlsxes0-y7YC4xkF7UznCniEzNkS8WiEoutcxVtqMSAP9ODkf8Wv/s1600/a36.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922391799331890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOAl7wrDe3tb_yTRTi67Z0zH6GqZrIUJ21g1t0JI0y40nS1zsxg1dIWbOgswCuCCtCTcd8d5iqCweAvASqhSb5EWRfHlsxes0-y7YC4xkF7UznCniEzNkS8WiEoutcxVtqMSAP9ODkf8Wv/s400/a36.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 235px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b><br />– Before we go, Mr. Thomas,<br />could I ask one question —<br />the Madrone<br />by the footbridge —<br />how old is it?<br />– <i>about 50 years, I think</i><br />Where does it come from?<br />– <i>from the western USA</i><br />Is it any use?<br />– <i>you can make a jam from the berries<br />does it have to be useful<br />why do you ask?</i><br />– it’s such a good-looking tree<br />– <i>good. Research it<br />find out what you can<br />and give us a brief on it next month<br />after the main talk.</i></b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Barry often does this<br />
just as we’re closing down.<br />
He’s shy,<br />
and it takes him all the evening<br />
to nerve himself up<br />
to ask.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheX_OrX-MLkysITrYl7p8fxPWKoekzf1kJjBVQFTNTTS0PhCPYi75iTcu7BLd0jv2No2llib_TII5HgLrRKAEbf2s_uHq0W43ipPDi-0pqkkvs0Ly1ZhFgh3_qfkd37zVg_Ex-VL6u7I49/s1600/a37.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922324602738098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheX_OrX-MLkysITrYl7p8fxPWKoekzf1kJjBVQFTNTTS0PhCPYi75iTcu7BLd0jv2No2llib_TII5HgLrRKAEbf2s_uHq0W43ipPDi-0pqkkvs0Ly1ZhFgh3_qfkd37zVg_Ex-VL6u7I49/s400/a37.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGB2SOSwVrpn54nVqdSH1fAZbisy89VsS7hv2Mw86OSuyA-ycYEWGWouofhyphenhyphen-MSbLndbhkG9RxbSIAL2Bu4f7FjwIIs3xx3fmBkA241DVk-r9c33T9ha-kLKsdjVuCubFxH6cDquJL61Sh/s1600/a38.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922256391829810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGB2SOSwVrpn54nVqdSH1fAZbisy89VsS7hv2Mw86OSuyA-ycYEWGWouofhyphenhyphen-MSbLndbhkG9RxbSIAL2Bu4f7FjwIIs3xx3fmBkA241DVk-r9c33T9ha-kLKsdjVuCubFxH6cDquJL61Sh/s400/a38.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 232px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">THE<br />WAY HOME</span></b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfc17nduorXRrUNBFP3SMsfYzdzpA0o7b7cCimkiN95Y93wHEBoMG9lvEVewk-aUqRkqC5bSRWW0k3PCTAdfjBgDRw6jhtUt1tlAMm7oxljeGBBJ3IVpgpi6oZ6agNIpTPVq99I_9GMhCW/s1600/a39.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922183751875730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfc17nduorXRrUNBFP3SMsfYzdzpA0o7b7cCimkiN95Y93wHEBoMG9lvEVewk-aUqRkqC5bSRWW0k3PCTAdfjBgDRw6jhtUt1tlAMm7oxljeGBBJ3IVpgpi6oZ6agNIpTPVq99I_9GMhCW/s400/a39.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 179px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I go by the western gate.<br />
<br />
There’s a dew,<br />
and the air holds the scents<br />
of grass leaf and flower.<br />
<br />
I could ride,<br />
but I push the bike<br />
for the pleasure of the walk<br />
alone<br />
in my workplace<br />
in the dark,<br />
and to think,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">undisturbed</span><br />
of Lorelei,<br />
whom when I said goodbye at the door<br />
had held my hand for an instant,<br />
and kissed me.<br />
<br />
At last,<br />
I think,<br />
I’m a man,<br />
I’ve someone for the permanent life.<br />
<br />
On along the gravel path<br />
along the river bank,<br />
<br />
the <i>Malus florabunda</i> on the left<br />
with its slight hawthorne scent,<br />
<br />
the <i>Clerodendron trichotomum</i>,<br />
of cream-white flowers<br />
and sea-green fruit;<br />
it smells of warm places.<br />
<br />
<i>Heliotrope</i><br />
in a drier bed;<br />
it smells of chocolate rain,<br />
<br />
and the great <i>Madrone</i>,<br />
my shelter at work.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-enKkv7ijZV8_r9O6DBhW9cYGdtWMyuHQySa8VDFFYpQMFUljdbtgOFCEeylJ8p9aw_LyK3PY19WwD10qHsOCOguXs1l63SnExOnSNxquhe3VqQ7sK4r9pHLM5om7yzsZ-LeOIH1mtYf/s1600/a40.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922101677684754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEig-enKkv7ijZV8_r9O6DBhW9cYGdtWMyuHQySa8VDFFYpQMFUljdbtgOFCEeylJ8p9aw_LyK3PY19WwD10qHsOCOguXs1l63SnExOnSNxquhe3VqQ7sK4r9pHLM5om7yzsZ-LeOIH1mtYf/s400/a40.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 192px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I’m farther now<br />
from city lights.<br />
The hospital’s behind me,<br />
through the trees on the other side,<br />
and there’s a slight hum of traffic<br />
from the avenue,<br />
but I don’t mind the dark,<br />
it’s my home<br />
and I’m familiar,<br />
<br />
with <i>Rhododendron bibiani</i>,<br />
the first to flower here,<br />
<br />
the hazel bush<br />
that sometimes bears,<br />
<br />
and the Erica walk<br />
by the rockery.<br />
<br />
Here I near the centre of my being,<br />
where the garden,<br />
no more a pattern of beds and lawns,<br />
turns intricate<br />
with the small things<br />
that make our world<br />
and bind it to the whole,<br />
<br />
iris anemone narcissus<br />
gentian<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">daisy</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">violet</span><br />
cyclamen and cistus,<br />
small species culled<br />
from wood<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and wild places</span><br />
which I myself must visit<br />
when I’ve taxonomic skill,<br />
and money.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yYfLUbxOPvXMT4azUAHNcALHE_cUYCct7jJCiiEm-6BPDUgqlxFGehuHZw_vjedoomTZLLND8hIELtiDtarCeY69-f5IN3MZQxxkVnGAhwUSxe-VaS-gorXbchKXhcTrNSpyY7pMva04/s1600/a41.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680922027232507138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7yYfLUbxOPvXMT4azUAHNcALHE_cUYCct7jJCiiEm-6BPDUgqlxFGehuHZw_vjedoomTZLLND8hIELtiDtarCeY69-f5IN3MZQxxkVnGAhwUSxe-VaS-gorXbchKXhcTrNSpyY7pMva04/s400/a41.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 179px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Here the path twists<br />
as it wanders through the rocks<br />
and there’s a step or two<br />
by the pond.<br />
<br />
I cross Lime Walk;<br />
the river’s at one end of it<br />
the glasshouse at the other;<br />
I feel gravel underfoot<br />
as I enter the Natives,<br />
in an alpine garden sunken<br />
and sheltered by its shrubs.<br />
There’s a slight pea smell<br />
from the broom.<br />
<br />
This is my charge,<br />
where I work.<br />
All other parts are nothing<br />
to this.<br />
Here the plot of the world can be read,<br />
its story told<br />
by names I revere —<br />
Munro<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Enys<span style="padding-left: 1em;">Colenso,</span></span><br />
with whom I’ll go<br />
when I’ve skill<span style="padding-left: 1em;">and money.</span><br />
On the isthmus between two ponds<br />
there’s a tree,<br />
a Macrocarpa;<br />
a seat makes a skirt round its trunk<br />
and I sit for a time.<br />
There’s no hurry.<br />
My parents will have gone to bed<br />
and I’ve a key.<br />
<br />
I’m beginning to know myself.<br />
It’s time to think.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QB1bkCIRJrG0iAGI058Daiw0WFKi-brxfmK45ENa6YW-dPIxErXwobtuwlFUJdgIQZTbHOiDjuaC26lt9qNqZeiEhhHzQbA5rvNzk2iM7tk38stZrj7BJSm5T5PKcGpyt5xIFWyP20FE/s1600/a42.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921954052032306" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5QB1bkCIRJrG0iAGI058Daiw0WFKi-brxfmK45ENa6YW-dPIxErXwobtuwlFUJdgIQZTbHOiDjuaC26lt9qNqZeiEhhHzQbA5rvNzk2iM7tk38stZrj7BJSm5T5PKcGpyt5xIFWyP20FE/s400/a42.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 190px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Lorelei’s mine;<br />
something will happen now,<br />
and something must be done.<br />
We must decide<br />
what to do<br />
with the time<br />
which lies before us<br />
in decades,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">or even more.</span><br />
It must be housed<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and supplied with philosophy.</span><br />
The scope of it thrills me,<br />
and though I’m in the dark<br />
I see my prospect<br />
has a rising sun.<br />
<br />
The gate’s near.<br />
I take the path that skirts the ponds<br />
of nympha iris gunnera<br />
primula,<br />
past the paulownias<br />
on to the bridge.<br />
The others will be home by now,<br />
no-one’s far to go.<br />
The city’s not a big one<br />
but I,<br />
with all my years ahead,<br />
see no limits.<br />
<br />
To calm myself<br />
and quiet my mind<br />
and pass the pedalling time,<br />
I start to plan my talk.<br />
<br />
It will be on Anogramma,<br />
the little fern that has no use<br />
but takes itself<br />
to everywhere<br />
we go.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bwQKe-x8720KUINVeZ-s66K-betGd1XmTH_Os2C9oZ4ce73-M5PrS5e2h8fubrAq1EfhlV87UYQkDuz4z0iz5SC5yHyySV7ejQZW1ocB8iq2X9WW379N_b76aZI2s9EepP56doyXEvzF/s1600/a43.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921872961430338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0bwQKe-x8720KUINVeZ-s66K-betGd1XmTH_Os2C9oZ4ce73-M5PrS5e2h8fubrAq1EfhlV87UYQkDuz4z0iz5SC5yHyySV7ejQZW1ocB8iq2X9WW379N_b76aZI2s9EepP56doyXEvzF/s400/a43.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqUNM1zTlSF9efDLbtZ7pxXoli9AFlBn1MesVxkLlFazGN-D6FoFBEH4pQd96t80qBKv_PMIL-Nv0bJuzvQzGd5CZ_sVwbzk11t_cPVumYV3XGz05el83N5XZu6gzweqLvenMeBQ2jOXD/s1600/a44.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921796675340210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNqUNM1zTlSF9efDLbtZ7pxXoli9AFlBn1MesVxkLlFazGN-D6FoFBEH4pQd96t80qBKv_PMIL-Nv0bJuzvQzGd5CZ_sVwbzk11t_cPVumYV3XGz05el83N5XZu6gzweqLvenMeBQ2jOXD/s400/a44.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 243px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">MY BROTHERS<br />AND SISTERS</span></b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUISv11wBI5Xqo-beDbiBu4f0mzlTuaBqpCFQu0BEVbfV2XYSSVImowt3XQKEvVWLMNiD-PFFUIedoJ_BJ3IosJKRixaXZayTszk7EdtYegFmFc4hRoCcyP36fptz7rwE9gkdd5Oihcigs/s1600/a45.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921723043993410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUISv11wBI5Xqo-beDbiBu4f0mzlTuaBqpCFQu0BEVbfV2XYSSVImowt3XQKEvVWLMNiD-PFFUIedoJ_BJ3IosJKRixaXZayTszk7EdtYegFmFc4hRoCcyP36fptz7rwE9gkdd5Oihcigs/s400/a45.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Ross</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Cyathodes juniperinus</i></span><br />
Ross is quiet.<br />
<br />
His girl-friend<br />
(at Baylis’s Nursery)<br />
complains he won’t argue,<br />
that he’s always in the same moderate mood.<br />
<br />
There’s a short-life look to him<br />
as if he doesn’t expect to go on.<br />
he doesn’t prepare<br />
nor think ahead,<br />
and when you ask him his plans<br />
he’s surprised<br />
that the future<br />
should matter.<br />
<br />
He passes this as wisdom,<br />
that you take what comes,<br />
but you soon get the feeling<br />
that there’s not much there to take.<br />
<br />
Sometimes he says<br />
that he’s not very well,<br />
but he’s steady enough<br />
and grows herbs.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn45">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn45" name="_ftn45" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">45</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslIXmX84RLi0w61IzY1JJLtKDrDf1zUfX2fE3L5ofxwBeE0XLGS1mDgQ4l6wRz-zi0cJ0lZ1KWTaBE4hLMh8B4RNzHhIaJwd9rZ8C5DgeHl4yesuyX248B-esq5BlvbiZnUv9IvrFdHhv/s1600/a46.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921655296784242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhslIXmX84RLi0w61IzY1JJLtKDrDf1zUfX2fE3L5ofxwBeE0XLGS1mDgQ4l6wRz-zi0cJ0lZ1KWTaBE4hLMh8B4RNzHhIaJwd9rZ8C5DgeHl4yesuyX248B-esq5BlvbiZnUv9IvrFdHhv/s400/a46.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Graeme</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Lepidothamnus laxifolius</i></span><br />
All of us respect the church<br />
(No-one’s said they don’t)<br />
but Graeme goes to one.<br />
<br />
He reads the bible at lunch,<br />
would like us to<br />
and to pray<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">be virtuous</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">honest</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">and work hard.</span><br />
which are good things,<br />
but we don’t like being made.<br />
<br />
He’s not one to imagine much,<br />
he’s straight down the line<br />
and square<br />
so he can’t<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">understand us</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">when we evade.</span><br />
We wonder what’s going on inside<br />
and think it’s to do with sex.<br />
We’re patient:<br />
Though he’s black and white just now<br />
in due course he’ll go grey.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn46">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn46" name="_ftn46" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">46</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQzZsKmJtAertaFvethQ6tm9cSm2s4MpZoCiAmgkVoqopYVeDvCK7WjIW2ysO9tDcUkyE5JPG6uD5pLhj-EmuW3n7r3vzl1jCgvrIE0MA_m2hlC81Yf30vQN9jZBgyoeqgSJhxRptlYnG/s1600/a47.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921588411792594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTQzZsKmJtAertaFvethQ6tm9cSm2s4MpZoCiAmgkVoqopYVeDvCK7WjIW2ysO9tDcUkyE5JPG6uD5pLhj-EmuW3n7r3vzl1jCgvrIE0MA_m2hlC81Yf30vQN9jZBgyoeqgSJhxRptlYnG/s400/a47.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Barry</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Sophora prostrata</i></span><br />
A flatness in his speech<br />
makes him seem dull,<br />
but he has ambitions to reform society<br />
through the force of enlightened philosophy.<br />
<br />
He’s our senior,<br />
and is soon to marry<br />
a girl he’s kept in privacy.<br />
<br />
He likes nursery work;<br />
plants are to sell –<br />
pricked out in trays,<br />
nursed and fed in pots,<br />
staked and washed,<br />
carted about on the backs of utes<br />
to shops.<br />
<br />
Seasons are to exploit,<br />
to prepare for<br />
and make use of,<br />
to sell in.<br />
<br />
In the back yard is the vege patch,<br />
near the back door the herbs,<br />
and the front lawns<br />
of every house<br />
should be edged<br />
by floral bedding.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn47">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn47" name="_ftn47" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">47</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIz2zgGFHZqSv7uVRurGKJYPrxsx9PgjDtXr6Qwjw7FJApRMLUtFut_m0RvJgmjRkzZ3417lzfWWTKiESjbsLXRqb_U26XHH-kqTT16kaV3V4Aez7BgWNBMeop4Jm4rsoaFwQSiyzrs1r/s1600/a48.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921504678545378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLIz2zgGFHZqSv7uVRurGKJYPrxsx9PgjDtXr6Qwjw7FJApRMLUtFut_m0RvJgmjRkzZ3417lzfWWTKiESjbsLXRqb_U26XHH-kqTT16kaV3V4Aez7BgWNBMeop4Jm4rsoaFwQSiyzrs1r/s400/a48.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 293px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Robert</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Coprosma rhamnoides</i></span><br />
Most of us are tired by the end of the week<br />
but Robert isn’t;<br />
he’s always off to a party<br />
and wanting us to go.<br />
<br />
It’s all he talks about next week,<br />
of girls and cars and crowds<br />
and you wonder if he works,<br />
but he knows his job<br />
and studies it.<br />
<br />
He’s red scotch and proud<br />
so he doesn’t study the natives;<br />
as long as he’s with the traditional stuff –<br />
herbaceous things and bedding plants –<br />
he’s fine.<br />
<br />
He’s thin<br />
with knobbly arms and legs<br />
but when he’s on the town he’s great –<br />
shoes and shirts –<br />
he’s style.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn48">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn48" name="_ftn48" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">48</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TDkhK7A1BzZK3gEO8_HWZmmpWKZpzlEpTSGf8qWXjxpZ3BNC_0MjIDVZaRA9QmJts_EGc7LWeqHa9bNrXw5HLBICablLBVLLMJZQjKJoe-_GPIpPMFPIs0pILqmrAip7DMTfHTE9l78W/s1600/a49.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921427205801682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8TDkhK7A1BzZK3gEO8_HWZmmpWKZpzlEpTSGf8qWXjxpZ3BNC_0MjIDVZaRA9QmJts_EGc7LWeqHa9bNrXw5HLBICablLBVLLMJZQjKJoe-_GPIpPMFPIs0pILqmrAip7DMTfHTE9l78W/s400/a49.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 235px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Peter</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Olearia virgata</i></span><br />
We see him getting on well.<br />
He has his UE<br />
and is on the way with his NDH<br />
though there’s trouble,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">he says,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">with the fertilisers –</span><br />
the mixes are hard to remember,<br />
which you must do<br />
else you burn the displays,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">like Gloxinias.</span><br />
He’s tall broad and fair<br />
and has an easy charm,<br />
sincere,<br />
that doesn’t like to hurt.<br />
We don’t grudge him,<br />
nor envy.<br />
<br />
He’s engaged to Liz<br />
at Linwood,<br />
where they meet<br />
in what is aptly called<br />
the propagating house.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn49">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn49" name="_ftn49" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">49</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sSCgxElf3c5Th9i1_eVjPh6G5f7oIfMh9PenbMM_OkvPbEA7kxzTy3wxYkCpEnn1yX45D3j7j3irhYz7-0LcyGkdgOiwgZcIrEy8KWDQlCVDB3tcqbH1Wgj2XKLDcgCvPz8_JH2AsRno/s1600/a50.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921350820001394" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh9sSCgxElf3c5Th9i1_eVjPh6G5f7oIfMh9PenbMM_OkvPbEA7kxzTy3wxYkCpEnn1yX45D3j7j3irhYz7-0LcyGkdgOiwgZcIrEy8KWDQlCVDB3tcqbH1Wgj2XKLDcgCvPz8_JH2AsRno/s400/a50.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 241px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Judy</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Gentiana cerina</i></span><br />
She’s older than some of us,<br />
yet she’s an orphan.<br />
<br />
Her parents died in a crash last year<br />
and she has the house at St. Albans;<br />
money too.<br />
<br />
She lives quietly –<br />
it suits her, she says,<br />
to work the day<br />
then home to her cats<br />
and a quiet night.<br />
<br />
She likes her house<br />
and likes her cats;<br />
she likes her work<br />
in the potting shed;<br />
she smokes a lot<br />
and is coughing more these days.<br />
<br />
We think she has a man<br />
but doesn’t tell.<br />
Most of what she pots<br />
does well.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn50">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn50" name="_ftn50" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">50</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWECDV-rYzHHmLjup0sxzz_Dw-TRifrUn5dEowGB_Yp2oXD_Q69TkhrX6d8Ha3KZhKMse6Zb9UE3h4QtDen6nrKUrfp4yMQCRyxhWvSg1aCOMi7qH649qAem-SYCoQpqu1M22hQ27pPGL/s1600/a51.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921264707340626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWECDV-rYzHHmLjup0sxzz_Dw-TRifrUn5dEowGB_Yp2oXD_Q69TkhrX6d8Ha3KZhKMse6Zb9UE3h4QtDen6nrKUrfp4yMQCRyxhWvSg1aCOMi7qH649qAem-SYCoQpqu1M22hQ27pPGL/s400/a51.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 198px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Alison</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Forstera bidwillii</i></span><br />
is round and bright<br />
the sort of girl you meet in a lift,<br />
always going on up.<br />
<br />
Her world is better,<br />
always getting better;<br />
her sun is in the east<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">rising</span><br />
and will not be in the west<br />
until the end.<br />
<br />
It’s how she sees —<br />
it’s in her head<br />
that life is a staircase<br />
with the best at the top;<br />
she always climbs,<br />
never descends,<br />
and each day anticipates<br />
the step;<br />
<br />
darkness<br />
is so she might rest for the day,<br />
rain<br />
is to grow for the sun.<br />
<br />
The cactus house<br />
is part of her charge.<br />
<br />
She can tell a <i>Euphorbia</i><br />
when she sees one.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn51">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn51" name="_ftn51" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">51</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwaJRLtWYvtxFEGk5fMN0ta78fb-9Wrq2n7WiZhWybrZOj0Lw7_8G2BiRiwh3KxoDFpu29Q_v91rlEDG2akHvvPbIJg8FpzHwfYOs1WBFyj9H5_yz1U4jSF12gYO56oqrAsX5rd4PLWhc/s1600/a52.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680921189418955042" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSwaJRLtWYvtxFEGk5fMN0ta78fb-9Wrq2n7WiZhWybrZOj0Lw7_8G2BiRiwh3KxoDFpu29Q_v91rlEDG2akHvvPbIJg8FpzHwfYOs1WBFyj9H5_yz1U4jSF12gYO56oqrAsX5rd4PLWhc/s400/a52.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 251px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Lynley</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Gahnia setifolia</i></span><br />
Flower fruit and foliage<br />
are at one in the vase<br />
when managed by her in arrangement,<br />
and seem always to have been so<br />
to have grown for display.<br />
<br />
Lyn is the florist<br />
who embellishes the city when it meets,<br />
does standing vases at the Council<br />
decorates at civic dinners<br />
and halls at formal occasions.<br />
<br />
All the garden’s her resource:<br />
hot-house exotica and the bizarre,<br />
beds for cut flowers,<br />
the roses,<br />
and the displays.<br />
<br />
She’s gifted,<br />
and she studies as well.<br />
<br />
She seems set,<br />
but you never know with talent —<br />
she could go.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn52">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn52" name="_ftn52" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">52</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvNHxAiGDboeeTuvyG2Ja0lRvGTTD15UTSSMgtp7GnpO64yEkV8krIhtP9X2WgmKM-531nB-zKeclRFoLqmrxRZxDx6Uc30qtLl-e5R2Ytn8uEClQ47eLXVIOtYNBw1bnmVGEzWwjbgpY/s1600/a53.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680920878804091202" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvNHxAiGDboeeTuvyG2Ja0lRvGTTD15UTSSMgtp7GnpO64yEkV8krIhtP9X2WgmKM-531nB-zKeclRFoLqmrxRZxDx6Uc30qtLl-e5R2Ytn8uEClQ47eLXVIOtYNBw1bnmVGEzWwjbgpY/s400/a53.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 218px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Doreen</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Pteris tremula</i></span><br />
Her training’s near done,<br />
she’s considering things.<br />
<br />
It’s in her<br />
to advance.<br />
Her practical ways<br />
and intelligence<br />
are admired,<br />
and good passes in exams.<br />
<br />
She does the seeds<br />
and she knows people.<br />
<br />
She’s been around forever,<br />
people think,<br />
and she acts to it<br />
with wisdom<br />
and the assumption of a past.<br />
<br />
Her glasses make her come up close<br />
to peer,<br />
but she’s not<br />
as old<br />
as she acts,<br />
<br />
nor so severe.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn53">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn53" name="_ftn53" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">53</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCDn1DdzMxrGA4nOVtMpKNlHS5mO-K_AvAGOVph8FZ_x4R7C2MRqbw3MPkbqQLYDg1Go6UXKxKn3dHwUTQVxIOcbzcpYgWARuL_mbSDyOj7AL0oeM1YqqYHCWzDTGH2KmTPQmB2ISzrbr/s1600/a54.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680920786661754434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCDn1DdzMxrGA4nOVtMpKNlHS5mO-K_AvAGOVph8FZ_x4R7C2MRqbw3MPkbqQLYDg1Go6UXKxKn3dHwUTQVxIOcbzcpYgWARuL_mbSDyOj7AL0oeM1YqqYHCWzDTGH2KmTPQmB2ISzrbr/s400/a54.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 223px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Donald</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Carmichaelia stevensonii</i></span><br />
Theory engages him<br />
as much as the now,<br />
and already<br />
at twenty<br />
he’s a library we envy —<br />
<i>Gardening in the Temperate World<br />Principles of Soil</i><br />
and things like that.<br />
<br />
He’s a stocky lad and ruddy<br />
curly haired<br />
and looks like a farmer<br />
who’s not very clever.<br />
He’s near the end of his time.<br />
<br />
We like him<br />
because he’s straight and true<br />
and always does his job,<br />
but you have to watch out —<br />
he doesn’t like to be teased,<br />
nor offended.<br />
<br />
He likes Lorelei,<br />
but I think<br />
he should look for someone<br />
his own age.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn54">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn54" name="_ftn54" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">54</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCNqkJGR6pZGBMoucQMjK5DPBEe5Z_TSB4rU7JY7IjN7OX2ACWho7XlLD0XFL8B-y-Z-1NNJg01CRG_eNtZsowTj4RIlYLy3n3YpYWL-JnTOe53r9c6pJ8G_Vx5J7RpmgLcRF7Sru9ic9/s1600/a55.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680920705031542194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhKCNqkJGR6pZGBMoucQMjK5DPBEe5Z_TSB4rU7JY7IjN7OX2ACWho7XlLD0XFL8B-y-Z-1NNJg01CRG_eNtZsowTj4RIlYLy3n3YpYWL-JnTOe53r9c6pJ8G_Vx5J7RpmgLcRF7Sru9ic9/s400/a55.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 206px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Chris</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Pittosporum obcordatum</i></span><br />
His mother’s a Jellie from Ikamatua<br />
his father an Ell from Tai Tap,<br />
which is nothing to boast of<br />
but does define<br />
and give him a place,<br />
<br />
which is something.<br />
<br />
He says his parents are slipping,<br />
fading out<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">melting</span><br />
in their troubles,<br />
though it might be in his mind.<br />
<br />
He thinks of things<br />
that are out of our range<br />
and ahead of his time<br />
in consequence,<br />
for distraction,<br />
so that his world doesn’t weaken<br />
and there’s something strong in it.<br />
<br />
This separates him;<br />
he sits apart at lunch<br />
and reads,<br />
and doesn’t come in at breaks.<br />
<br />
He’s very good at grafting –<br />
one fruit on another;<br />
he likes the idea of changing things.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn55">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn55" name="_ftn55" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">55</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqfxxRveIiiX1KNEF7815YA5V8sh5GznV91rT279W-M_VVAhguuh5qSuaBgE3RjPMibb79Rgc5Qf4zBOYx08w8og7L9y8p3Q68Hz05fTdBykTNLSGK0kpX6pk5Rz4A6Q4O27sbbO9Y7-T/s1600/a56.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916677783195666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjqfxxRveIiiX1KNEF7815YA5V8sh5GznV91rT279W-M_VVAhguuh5qSuaBgE3RjPMibb79Rgc5Qf4zBOYx08w8og7L9y8p3Q68Hz05fTdBykTNLSGK0kpX6pk5Rz4A6Q4O27sbbO9Y7-T/s400/a56.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 208px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Lorelei</b><br />
<span style="font-size: 85%;"><i>Herpolirion novae-zealandiae</i></span><br />
Her favourite saying<br />
(for self-assertion) is<br />
‘I’m not just a pretty face’,<br />
to which I say<br />
‘You could at least be that’,<br />
for familiarity,<br />
a right to tease,<br />
that we’ve gone way past compliment.<br />
<br />
I can think of nothing greater<br />
than my love for her;<br />
she’s my future,<br />
my whole ambition;<br />
her country clothes<br />
(she’s from Cust)<br />
are my ideal of fashion;<br />
her rural slang<br />
is innocence and charm,<br />
her taste of film<br />
is my discrimination.<br />
<br />
We’re so at ease together that<br />
the world spins slow with us,<br />
its wounds are dressed<br />
its gardens graced.<br />
<br />
Even its lights depend on us,<br />
its rising;<br />
we’re spirit and fertility<br />
sea and tide.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn56">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn56" name="_ftn56" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">56</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqltkaodb57gCEdE7Mj2-kzDAzQ1chSG6_GO3I7xympNjt1eiv2Ju5NQ9jMW_komF4C7AuEXFmsslPPPg1sQE2NtEGyVioxA9m8ng1F9RTrqDnXlRq8gNvNOhJXBMltQa4TROfQcoCvM8Y/s1600/a57.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916587613129586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqltkaodb57gCEdE7Mj2-kzDAzQ1chSG6_GO3I7xympNjt1eiv2Ju5NQ9jMW_komF4C7AuEXFmsslPPPg1sQE2NtEGyVioxA9m8ng1F9RTrqDnXlRq8gNvNOhJXBMltQa4TROfQcoCvM8Y/s400/a57.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 367px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn57">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn57" name="_ftn57" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">57</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixRPETSdlLojXH5Ir66Af19xcEdSq6p7BhULhiLzIhTN0eTKSGdEVhInEHy7_BUOfbnEpb7tYkiOalezTDwKiXykFxkieCyUsxRdQZm5T_bqTiN8URUPrxrdDk0Yf-Bn_yzNoBhaXTd0q/s1600/a58.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916503347258530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjixRPETSdlLojXH5Ir66Af19xcEdSq6p7BhULhiLzIhTN0eTKSGdEVhInEHy7_BUOfbnEpb7tYkiOalezTDwKiXykFxkieCyUsxRdQZm5T_bqTiN8URUPrxrdDk0Yf-Bn_yzNoBhaXTd0q/s400/a58.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;">MYOSOTIS<br />MACRANTHA</span><br /><br /><i>An Elegy At Cora Lyn</i></b></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn58">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn58" name="_ftn58" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">58</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrTvNljWGCFX3B-ffcd0XEvNTwwWNLdSGwraTiwQZfHL60ZnUrMJsxPzA_6CNFL7jNQShLwd-Qb8RswkNhQ9NE7to58GTMgSCfxHg1a2qofOwL6P_MW1EJZTsIrmDzjA2ni-B9ZhTlETH/s1600/a59.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916436124047426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEitrTvNljWGCFX3B-ffcd0XEvNTwwWNLdSGwraTiwQZfHL60ZnUrMJsxPzA_6CNFL7jNQShLwd-Qb8RswkNhQ9NE7to58GTMgSCfxHg1a2qofOwL6P_MW1EJZTsIrmDzjA2ni-B9ZhTlETH/s400/a59.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 209px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
We didn’t go by car<br />
but by the Coast train,<br />
at 2.0<br />
for the Bealey.<br />
<br />
We won’t sleep,<br />
for there’s a moon,<br />
and when we get to the edge of the plain<br />
we stand on the tray at the end of the train<br />
to watch,<br />
Chris and Don and Pete and me.<br />
None of the others have come,<br />
and the Boss takes a snooze<br />
in his seat.<br />
<br />
It’s a pale light and sepia,<br />
like an old film.<br />
There’s a trace of snow<br />
on the Torlesse range<br />
but the mountains,<br />
pale in the moon,<br />
have hardly any shadows<br />
and no depth.<br />
The gorge below us<br />
is faint in the dusk<br />
like an old memory<br />
that could vanish in a blink,<br />
cliff and stream, braid and stones,<br />
flat and track.<br />
<br />
We’re there at half past four,<br />
and walk through the matagouri<br />
to a grassy flat,<br />
where we sit<br />
until the light comes up<br />
and we can see<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">where we are</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">with the river.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn59">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn59" name="_ftn59" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">59</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGp1WuQeTlxx4lQlwDFAAv-Lc89Lyj5jvHrv6ph6HEwdKWc5A3aVbQJEJoDSo7xZ8hgq5eXNOzGyUFAaFI62ezn_OJ1DzU-OGk1Ep0cGZmzxjOOSBf-1UxpfVVX8X8e1LWRxrk9pEYTXBK/s1600/a60.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916129387660946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGp1WuQeTlxx4lQlwDFAAv-Lc89Lyj5jvHrv6ph6HEwdKWc5A3aVbQJEJoDSo7xZ8hgq5eXNOzGyUFAaFI62ezn_OJ1DzU-OGk1Ep0cGZmzxjOOSBf-1UxpfVVX8X8e1LWRxrk9pEYTXBK/s400/a60.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 182px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s sparking moon-made lights.<br />
It’s low,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">says the Boss;</span><br />
we can cross where we are<br />
to the black range<br />
on the other side<br />
with the blacker bush upon it<br />
to the crags at the top,<br />
which are luminous against the stars,<br />
by reflection.<br />
<br />
We’re dull before the dawn<br />
and are disinclined,<br />
so the Boss lights a fire<br />
to make some tea,<br />
and puts out a snack;<br />
he does this<br />
when we’re in the field.<br />
<br />
There’s no track.<br />
We have to make our way<br />
up that forested face<br />
to the cliffs at the top,<br />
where the iridescent myosotis grows<br />
in wet places<br />
on the rocks,<br />
and we with wet feet<br />
from the crossing,<br />
<br />
which we shrink from –<br />
cold feet<br />
in the cold dawn<br />
which is grey now.<br />
<br />
It’ll be warm on the tops<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">in the sun.</span><br />
It’s summer<br />
and the Rata’s out;<br />
the birds will be about,<br />
and the flowers –<br />
Celmisias and Ranunculus,<br />
Gentians Orchids and Ourisias,<br />
and Leucogenes on the rocks<br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">in the sun.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn60">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn60" name="_ftn60" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">60</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvobsnuV56O5MiRF9gG3yQdez4Hvr0Qo55qfEnbHPhl4aqj7-k7vXdjbIEeL-YNyIo83f7ZpQag1YBcAkYGAG_e4LrcD6jfBg8lDaTY6OT0QKIq-SmbPSnJ_PBfikXpIMgMJJHHpWGVpE0/s1600/a61.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680916056230767586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvobsnuV56O5MiRF9gG3yQdez4Hvr0Qo55qfEnbHPhl4aqj7-k7vXdjbIEeL-YNyIo83f7ZpQag1YBcAkYGAG_e4LrcD6jfBg8lDaTY6OT0QKIq-SmbPSnJ_PBfikXpIMgMJJHHpWGVpE0/s400/a61.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 209px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>The exhilaration<br />of enduring to the top;<br />then the drama of emergence<br />out of the beech<br />out onto decorated meadows.<br /><br />Firstly there’s light ahead,<br />through the trunks,<br />(a public light<br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">against the privacy</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">of the bush)</span><br />then snow-grass with thin scrub;<br />you push through that,<br />higher still,<br />through Celmisia Ranunculus Aciphylla<br />and then to the meadow<br />and the flowers<br />dawing at our feet,<br />an alpine firmament<br />in thin cold air;<br />it has the youth of an antique mosaic<br />unlikely,<br />like Bach in a desert.<br /><br />Their beauty is of contrast –<br />the pure against immensity<br />the frail against chaos,<br />and ingenuity –<br />to flourish and scatter across<br />these aether-islands atolls and cloud-peninsulas.</i><br />
We love them,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">clean-washed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">bleached</span><br />
flannel and satin petals,<br />
their down-wind scents,<br />
the forms they take<br />
from cliff to tarn.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn61">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/anogramma-2005.html#_ftn61" name="_ftn61" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">61</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNiHteWniAUqVbvgWmzX2fymZmsiQ72y_sApZdn2gAl_c-Eb9tuBF5GR2oQWMegLHUPJcropUSV1IqVqF8-DGHclHYg0pbW27qOwGM5PZ3xX_YLXXOU7oVlIMsmSP0LpW0o4gcRvE3yJz/s1600/a62.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5680915968390567298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgwNiHteWniAUqVbvgWmzX2fymZmsiQ72y_sApZdn2gAl_c-Eb9tuBF5GR2oQWMegLHUPJcropUSV1IqVqF8-DGHclHYg0pbW27qOwGM5PZ3xX_YLXXOU7oVlIMsmSP0LpW0o4gcRvE3yJz/s400/a62.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 198px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
We come,<br />
a swarm of Lowland bees;<br />
we seek the Myosotis<br />
for the alpines<br />
in the shadehouse.<br />
We know it grows here,<br />
it’s one of the sites;<br />
there’s a fear we might miss,<br />
in spite of our skill.<br />
<i><br />(I see it already in my mind,<br />a soft herb<br />on a damp cliff.)</i><br />
Who knows what else is here,<br />
something curious<br />
something rare,<br />
in this crowded congregation<br />
of separated worlds.<br />
<br />
Hope lures us,<br />
and the wonder of the rare;<br />
small triumphs maybe,<br />
but it’s sweet to find an admirable thing.<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">a green Lyperanthus</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">a pink Caladenia</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">a blue Thelymitra</span></i><br />
Light grows,<br />
and now the sun’s on the tops.<br />
<br />
There’s a stir of scented air<br />
from up-river.<br />
<br />
We drain our mugs,<br />
secure our packs.<br />
<br />
They say there’s a yellow Celmisia there,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">says the Boss.</span><br />
Let’s go before the sandflies wake,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">says Pete</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmx5pqLDxgQMp3i-Q58HZoWY54B2ZhN9WG7ZfqScGIExsSWqvNFvKjiZyk6IAYKRf1Tti4FWUbzvOgjcuIxoJ4tjfxzGhBlwGcHUmghsd7LWXpqIquTOoSmRprnC35iviqvhC6qXkgOw/s1600/a1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581518904786143426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglmx5pqLDxgQMp3i-Q58HZoWY54B2ZhN9WG7ZfqScGIExsSWqvNFvKjiZyk6IAYKRf1Tti4FWUbzvOgjcuIxoJ4tjfxzGhBlwGcHUmghsd7LWXpqIquTOoSmRprnC35iviqvhC6qXkgOw/s400/a1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 301px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>ISBN 0-476-01604-5</b><br />
<br />
Published in 2005 by Heteropholis Press<br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">P.O.Box 367</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Westport, N.Z.</span><br />
<i>Botanical illustrations from: 'N.Z. Nature Studies'<br />Wm. Martin 1947<br /><br />Map of the Botanical Gardens by Edgar Taylor<br />The Ch.Ch Reserves Dept., 1958</i></blockquote>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ldfFpSyiZ7ns_oOSbe078OcQbQvabm_qSKwAo_XSAiXH7mqTicYi3LSHR1PjAJhGS25cFwYyqE4_m_DVwNrd7Zr5TgyffHiJmgR8IB6EdDRu8kIo-V_m6jkCkQhwuD8-suQNZ7v-ugw/s1600/ac2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581518660178175298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6ldfFpSyiZ7ns_oOSbe078OcQbQvabm_qSKwAo_XSAiXH7mqTicYi3LSHR1PjAJhGS25cFwYyqE4_m_DVwNrd7Zr5TgyffHiJmgR8IB6EdDRu8kIo-V_m6jkCkQhwuD8-suQNZ7v-ugw/s400/ac2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle, August 2005</b></div>
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Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-34462694843058974442011-03-08T08:35:00.006+13:002017-11-26T10:57:54.087+13:00Miller Creek (2004)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhVUSAenCZmQGrMV6iPmpADqN_hFsOXCk3DPlW4nldSrO4AmwljrAkT9LWHlB25mLm962uSmGRRm79SzUIYVqNWUZbmYEkMcZqD4JInOuYyhaegYxj0_7ZfU8u197qyKbCAV6vg0CP9g/s1600/mcc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580728456646147234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkhVUSAenCZmQGrMV6iPmpADqN_hFsOXCk3DPlW4nldSrO4AmwljrAkT9LWHlB25mLm962uSmGRRm79SzUIYVqNWUZbmYEkMcZqD4JInOuYyhaegYxj0_7ZfU8u197qyKbCAV6vg0CP9g/s400/mcc1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-eighteen.html">Miller Creek</a> (2004)</span></div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwJxCNBsZpyZeiqHQlZorzpyi_XiTrAO_pjtCVqIxZJtUAJj3GeCqSGTO1NQakcIaB_jTqUNAPKjYdw9boBO6JpeTAqgo7PABNjqtjHboEzDojjl-Hjq5lo0ELmOvm8wjeOJd_3cgqVQ/s1600/mc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206082720931986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJwJxCNBsZpyZeiqHQlZorzpyi_XiTrAO_pjtCVqIxZJtUAJj3GeCqSGTO1NQakcIaB_jTqUNAPKjYdw9boBO6JpeTAqgo7PABNjqtjHboEzDojjl-Hjq5lo0ELmOvm8wjeOJd_3cgqVQ/s400/mc1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 286px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<div align="right">
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<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Miller<br />Creek</span><br />by<br />Leicester Kyle<br /><br /><br />sketches by Joel Bolton</b></div>
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</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrEwzyMgzb_hXwePDjKGxnVQcry82lYvDbdMEyK8r5tcmIMvkIghuftjo5rS5yjrYuSRa6XoIL4uG21YO5u12Wv-WdKLy6wqZGEo-uQNBUR5nc0V3Dn9SXB53yOcj4s-0_OA7cHtYXFs/s1600/mc2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206003622595474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlrEwzyMgzb_hXwePDjKGxnVQcry82lYvDbdMEyK8r5tcmIMvkIghuftjo5rS5yjrYuSRa6XoIL4uG21YO5u12Wv-WdKLy6wqZGEo-uQNBUR5nc0V3Dn9SXB53yOcj4s-0_OA7cHtYXFs/s400/mc2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 283px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><b>Preface</b></span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
On the Buller Coal Plateaux mining, both underground and open cast, has disturbed large upland territories, and has released into the waterways chemicals and minerals which would otherwise stay locked in the rock.<br />
<br />
Most of the creeks and larger rivers that have the Plateaux for catchment, are badly damaged by these poisons, some to the point of being unable to hold any life.<br />
<br />
Given time, and good management, some of these creeks are able to self-heal to some degree. This is the story of one of these waterways, Miller Creek, which flows from out of the Old Dip mine, through Millerton, at the Plateaux’s northern edge.<br />
<div align="right">
<br />
Leicester Kyle,<br />
<br />
Millerton, Buller. 2004.</div>
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<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKs_bP0-_c6pQkXesO8UVGZVSiNL8rTmdayucB3ggNcTSVDqe1xq3OTKogIm-AH_2c0ji_qQQjvpr5mmiT3-A0ZWaTgBeHdT8J3OAOGTf9XMAbu1L8cKeKp3AuqrlP-Eqz9JAPZEKTI9o/s1600/mc3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205932288372098" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKs_bP0-_c6pQkXesO8UVGZVSiNL8rTmdayucB3ggNcTSVDqe1xq3OTKogIm-AH_2c0ji_qQQjvpr5mmiT3-A0ZWaTgBeHdT8J3OAOGTf9XMAbu1L8cKeKp3AuqrlP-Eqz9JAPZEKTI9o/s400/mc3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 282px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>Road and River</i></span></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
We drive on by<br />
and don’t stop to consider<br />
the situation:<br />
<br />
does the road cross over<br />
or does the water flow under?<br />
<br />
The one sees ahead<br />
the other looks up.<br />
<br />
Both have courses<br />
and both have flow,<br />
<br />
and each has a glimpse<br />
and thinks nothing of<br />
the other.<br />
<br />
The road does a work<br />
of passage and supply,<br />
the creek has the job<br />
of drainage to do,<br />
and has served<br />
for ages,<br />
has made a bed of its own,<br />
a source and a mouth.<br />
<br />
It shouldn’t need again<br />
to be made or mended;<br />
it’s best left alone<br />
to look after itself;<br />
<br />
if provoked<br />
it will run wild.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0aCGjwrP3mOGGGi1AFdarGekeXZFcgFs13xoayhIGkg3jdQuoYlAKZZ9GkPuORYuyBzDgDHM_-hKG6E99JGcmwwvzNV3M9QtIUZADpCzOGefEL_AlgdUyRrsJGXErus6P_wwoARy4bE/s1600/mc4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205860924769746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz0aCGjwrP3mOGGGi1AFdarGekeXZFcgFs13xoayhIGkg3jdQuoYlAKZZ9GkPuORYuyBzDgDHM_-hKG6E99JGcmwwvzNV3M9QtIUZADpCzOGefEL_AlgdUyRrsJGXErus6P_wwoARy4bE/s400/mc4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
When I came to move into my newly-bought house it was an autumn morning.<br />
<br />
There was mist, a mild sun behind it, and a drift of slight rain.<br />
<br />
Then the day cleared, and quite suddenly the moors were there,<br />
<br />
Rising from behind the house in ridge rock and valley<br />
<br />
To a red-edged escarpment at the top, and everywhere a luxuriance of growth:<br />
<br />
Rata yellow pine and rimu in the valleys, with here and there a patch of beech,<br />
<br />
And out on the moors (that many think so barren) a great wealth of species, and always something new.<br />
<br />
To the west the sea, and we at the top of the cliff.<br />
<br />
To the north a long bright coast, the Tasman Peaks behind it.<br />
<br />
There was a sound of water everywhere, and after I had settled in I went to look for the stream,<br />
<br />
Which I found at the bottom of the garden, in a gorge that the trees meet over.<br />
<br />
On the brink there’s a rough path; it cuts down a cliff to the glen,<br />
<br />
In which I now grow ferns, and rare plants from the moors.<br />
<br />
The bush is of kamahi and toro, with rata in rocky banks at the water’s edge.<br />
<br />
There’s neopanax, totara, filmy ferns and moss.<br />
<br />
Deep leaf debris lies in drifts.</blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfngMSzlya6FsL2mBjjciOH4gx-ODcrhdq-999SRyQ7E-kKIAGLZxag63aO9GjDnn-GyF2yGC6JUoY0utJd-uOiJ8Jubb6i38H9SJXUISKSUQj1Jq1dh0cW2AMfHv0bMOEfb05QUygmnE/s1600/mc5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205787769363074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfngMSzlya6FsL2mBjjciOH4gx-ODcrhdq-999SRyQ7E-kKIAGLZxag63aO9GjDnn-GyF2yGC6JUoY0utJd-uOiJ8Jubb6i38H9SJXUISKSUQj1Jq1dh0cW2AMfHv0bMOEfb05QUygmnE/s400/mc5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Here the river enters in a natural flume, spilling out in a fall,<br />
<br />
To flow past relics of an industrial past — dressed stone banks, a fallen bridge, a concrete ruin,<br />
<br />
On a smooth sandstone bed.<br />
<br />
The strata tilt down to the south, biting the creek to the opposite bank<br />
<br />
And leaving me a narrow ledge by which I can go upstream,<br />
<br />
Above the pool, to prospect.<br />
<br />
There are always birds — tuis, bell-birds, fantails, finches, and kereru;<br />
<br />
A kea will fly over now and then, a kiwi snuffle through, a fern-bird shake a bush to tease the dog,<br />
<br />
And there are sparrows blackbirds waxeyes.<br />
<br />
All these come and go, but from the creek I’m inseparable — I wake to it, sleep and write with it, and worry when it roars,<br />
<br />
Though it’s not an unruly water.<br />
<br />
The sound of it is through my house, in every shed and garden,<br />
<br />
It’s in my soul is part of me we hardly sleep apart.<br />
<br />
As some have traffic, others sea, a teacher — children playing,<br />
<br />
So this is the manuscript of my life I can’t long live without.<br />
<br />
In my mind it’s a brightness, dappled light, sun on wet rock, leaves, clear thought and purpose and a washing away.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br />•</b></div>
<br />
By living here I purify.<br />
<br />
Should the creek be muddied I’d despair,<br />
<br />
Now it’s clean, so clean that if it were still it could not be seen.<br />
<br />
<br />
A thin moss begins at the water; above that there’s a blue-green grass.<br />
<br />
Where there’s ground, coprosmas grow, kamahi pungas and toro.<br />
<br />
Here and there a grass-tree weeps but nothing touches the water.<br />
<br />
The bush moved here when the mine closed down and the houses were taken away;<br />
<br />
Now it’s all getting back to what it was.<br />
<br />
Animals stay out of sight — stick-insects wetas worms and snails, transparent slugs and spiders.<br />
<br />
I’ve seen a bat in a light at dusk, and there are rats,<br />
<br />
No sandflies though because of the stream, for nothing touches the water.<br />
<br />
We learn from living things, uncomfortably;<br />
<br />
Perhaps that’s why we fell burn and hunt, to evade the lesson,<br />
<br />
For in the shape of a leaf, of a scent, the notes of a bird, the flight of a moth<br />
<br />
We define ourselves against the rest of the world and that against us,<br />
<br />
That we too have shape,</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDnp4RqJWvK0MX4RsjZDs_1bWRp8eBhL1cD9dLHk-X_NeWcR7H15Ef0GxPlv7Oxa84xNhrxfcHOiQyKdNexv-iIWx0ttNZj9KXCAifdUQDkq9Cmq3d7vtVsryzUFK8bRLRyQIz-0uvDo/s1600/mc6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205693209801698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheDnp4RqJWvK0MX4RsjZDs_1bWRp8eBhL1cD9dLHk-X_NeWcR7H15Ef0GxPlv7Oxa84xNhrxfcHOiQyKdNexv-iIWx0ttNZj9KXCAifdUQDkq9Cmq3d7vtVsryzUFK8bRLRyQIz-0uvDo/s400/mc6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
And we make sound, progress, grow conscious.<br />
<br />
Not knowing this, we colour the trees with sentiment and are ignorant,<br />
<br />
Are helpless too, with no place of our own to grow in.<br />
<br />
There are seasonal things in the bush — there are orchids: corybas, greenhoods, and caladenias in crowds.<br />
<br />
In the autumn toadstools come — pink yellow green blue and red, some rarely, in dark places.<br />
<br />
There’s much of Millerton now hidden in the bush, an invisible city;<br />
<br />
As it once was milled and built from the bush, so the trees are now growing to cover its past.<br />
<br />
In floods a relic comes washing down the creek: a brick or two, a post of yellow pine, some artefact of iron made for a forgotten end;<br />
<br />
And there’s more of the past upstream —<br />
<br />
A deserted house with its back to the water,<br />
<br />
A hanging rail, a post or two, some sockets in the sandstone bed.<br />
<br />
The railway to the Old Dip mine once paralleled the stream, and sometimes crossed it,<br />
<br />
And there were other bridges:<br />
<br />
To the surgery on the southern bank and Granny Methven’s store,<br />
<br />
Then on the north, the Post. <br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br />•</b></div>
<br />
From here on Miller Creek’s untroubled by the town.<br />
<br />
There’s the swimming hole, unused in these de-populated times,<br />
<br />
And a small bridge for a grassy road that goes to a holiday house,<br />
<br />
And to the steps to the ruins.<br />
<br />
Its passage through the Basin is swift on a clean bed.<br />
<br />
There’s more rimu in the bush on the banks, some lancewoods,<br />
<br />
And a manuka bog with sphagnum where the creek runs close to the lake,<br />
<br />
A brightly lighted silent space, and still.<br />
<br />
It may be a while before you note that the river banks grow little.<br />
<br />
At their tops there’s all you might expect, but where the water touches the green<br />
<br />
There’s one moss at the water’s edge, one grass, and further in one or two ferns,<br />
<br />
But not the usual vibrancy nor elemental joy where earth and water meet.<br />
<br />
Nor is there life in the creek, no koura nor eels nor native trout nor any other fish.<br />
<br />
This lovely bright water is dead.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgkRKn3ouig7i0DEiBrlNJkJ_eWg06-JiM7fXJDC8-GUHsP-UXoOcGdZh7iQo2EMjn1eQfQGKjX_1IhJlKDsjSZbkcRwxTawHBrTUV1SWUzHxM_a6J080xgRabwSmAAURKCgfSgA3pG4/s1600/mc7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205616330197858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVgkRKn3ouig7i0DEiBrlNJkJ_eWg06-JiM7fXJDC8-GUHsP-UXoOcGdZh7iQo2EMjn1eQfQGKjX_1IhJlKDsjSZbkcRwxTawHBrTUV1SWUzHxM_a6J080xgRabwSmAAURKCgfSgA3pG4/s400/mc7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Here, at the back of the Basin, Miller Creek becomes an alpine stream;<br />
<br />
Its gradient sharply increases, it’s a cataract on the moors.<br />
<br />
You imagine yourself in the alps, amongst catastrophe:<br />
<br />
Great blocks of rock have slid from the top and split and wait to tumble further.<br />
<br />
Some carry turf as vegetable hats.<br />
<br />
Through these the creek leaps in such a rapid fall <br />
<br />
That wherever you stand at the edge to look it’s lost to sight.<br />
<br />
A fair way up this ravine, not much below the topmost fall<br />
<br />
Some ratas cover a tunnel<br />
<br />
Which is blocked by timber and rock, but a strong stream finds its way out.<br />
<br />
It’s a powerful place, overhung by precipice and the failure of human endeavour.<br />
<br />
There are some rusted rails about, some sleepers and old iron.<br />
<br />
Rail once spanned the gorge to a mine on the other side,<br />
<br />
But there has been a great collapse into the creek, raising it and heightening its fall.<br />
<br />
With a steady head and careful grip you can clamber the opposite face, by cliff and crack,<br />
<br />
Noting the plants on this exposed and broken rock — dracophyllums, snowberries, and ferns in the crevasses.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br />•</b></div>
<br />
You can cut back, once at the top, to a point above the fall,<br />
<br />
Where the stream flows in a simple bed, its banks tree-edged, tranquil and ready to please.<br />
<br />
There are gentians here, celmisias on the flats, white epacris, rushes, and manuka.<br />
<br />
At the upper end there’s the gorge again, bush and boulders,<br />
<br />
To mark the plateau’s outer edge, the escarpment.<br />
<br />
The way in, if you can find it, is a flat run of old rail,<br />
<br />
But this faint track soon peters out in scrub slip-scars and shattered cliff.<br />
<br />
By then you’re confined by the gorge, and clamber upstream within the available space.<br />
<br />
The scrub is still kamahi, with toro quintinia broadleaf beech and coprosma of several sorts.<br />
<br />
There are dwarf dracophyllums, and a small manuka that grows as a mat on sand-banks by the stream.<br />
<br />
There is gahnia, flax and sphagnum, smashed sleepers and worn rails.<br />
<br />
The rocks are immense with chasms between,<br />
<br />
The cliffs overhang and look perilous.<br />
<br />
But there’s nothing to stop you until the end, at a precipice of coal.<br />
<br />
Miller Creek flows quickly out from a tunnel at the foot of this face,<br />
<br />
Out from its blackness, down a couple of steps, and into the ravine. </blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhSUs__-DoWk88aaz-nGxZ3iXlCX4lZW79PN7JaUt1rAO0lyOYkCKFUkJLW9bMoouWqmsFcUZgopyfMbO0AICJq2KZkCJcRMYcInM8gStQSC6TGQHBGlN-4Yiqz0NDbbMbYBkGbtVSvI/s1600/mc8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205531928002962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguhSUs__-DoWk88aaz-nGxZ3iXlCX4lZW79PN7JaUt1rAO0lyOYkCKFUkJLW9bMoouWqmsFcUZgopyfMbO0AICJq2KZkCJcRMYcInM8gStQSC6TGQHBGlN-4Yiqz0NDbbMbYBkGbtVSvI/s400/mc8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 284px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
There are sand-drifts burnt stone and mine props.<br />
<br />
Above, at the top of the cliff, two arid valleys hang,<br />
<br />
Their catchments captured by the mines below.<br />
<br />
The angular overhangs overshadow.<br />
<br />
Seepages drip in the wind from the tunnel mouth.<br />
<br />
There’s a smell of soot, and you think of gas.<br />
<br />
Here is human failure, desolate in the wild.<br />
<br />
A tunnel once given to coal is now to a stream that it’s taken and killed.<br />
<br />
Though as it flows it’s brightened by life, this water itself gives none.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzeUl-h_ddA3a48H1rWdje0lanFACsQRDvZTuJbnVS64sYqNJH-LJ76K24yyRs0vlcgOi9a6XJE_eCvSImnPR2lHOVramItgXzolhPW9IcDU2XVa2uM6RAV6sM7d1mLnpXIzkoAsX8ms/s1600/mc9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205446190455442" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEzeUl-h_ddA3a48H1rWdje0lanFACsQRDvZTuJbnVS64sYqNJH-LJ76K24yyRs0vlcgOi9a6XJE_eCvSImnPR2lHOVramItgXzolhPW9IcDU2XVa2uM6RAV6sM7d1mLnpXIzkoAsX8ms/s400/mc9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 282px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>Spring</i></span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Spring is the longest season. It begins in August with the first touch of growth, the flowering of the coprosmas, and a noticeable warming of the sun, and it lasts until November.<br />
<br />
Usually, these four months are long wet dark and cold. It is the wettest time of the year; there can be 500mm or more of rain in any one month, and fog can persist for days. Fine days are fairly frequent, but dark ones much more so.<br />
<br />
It is in spring that we have most of our storms, of hail sleet and thunder, in alarming squalls which roar blackly out of the fog and threaten destruction. The house leaks, windows ooze, water lies or runs wherever it can, and mould does well. If you’re disposed to any sort of illness, now’s the time you have it, especially those of a neurotic kind.<br />
<br />
Generally in Buller our rain falls at night, but in this season that rule is ignored and it rains whenever it can; There’s no such thing as a dry cloud. October is the climax, the month of wildness, and quite suddenly, at its end, the weather eases, sometimes abruptly into comparative drought. Most usually the unsettled conditions drag on into December, warming and drying appreciably but still decidedly wet, and intent on delivering our annual average of three metres of rain.<br />
<br />
Now and then, to everyone’s joy, summer comes early, and November ushers it in from the very first week. Lawns can be mown, firewood dries, the garden can be planted again. You meet people in the street, and news starts to flow.<br />
<br />
Through it all the bush has grown. The greenhoods have flowers, and the caladenias, clematis, the scented bush daisy, and the strange tropical-looking Parkinson’s rata. Birds nest, and the lesser animals have somehow survived. The Millerton snail, which has been restless for the last month or two, settles down, stops crossing the road, and isn’t seen for another year. Our world, now we can see it, is just as it should be, and grows on into summer as it has year after year.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMO2W42zaYMtNDPWRoP88i_xWdU8B1f2Bu366JwPMr_Rk-a9ceSD7Jn7hMm4N0JiawHyF-ZyWcV5hrURmE0pk6LjcxKHy8vsvy-w1Tffic9OYaURjauQPTVbt2Xg9YlB9Eqe41nmbLsbU/s1600/mc10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205357839353426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhMO2W42zaYMtNDPWRoP88i_xWdU8B1f2Bu366JwPMr_Rk-a9ceSD7Jn7hMm4N0JiawHyF-ZyWcV5hrURmE0pk6LjcxKHy8vsvy-w1Tffic9OYaURjauQPTVbt2Xg9YlB9Eqe41nmbLsbU/s400/mc10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 283px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>Summer</i></span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Summer never lasts long enough. Down at the coast it does, and by the time it dies people long for cooler weather. Up here it can be relied upon to start by the middle of January, with temperatures over 20deg. four or five times in the season. Now and then it starts at the beginning of November, and this gives us four good months for seasonal work and recreation.<br />
<br />
It is a comfortable time of the year, sunny with plenty of good night rains, and the bush grows tremendously, especially the pungas, which get battered about in the winter, and try to make good in this temperate weather.<br />
<br />
Rainless spells rarely last for more than three weeks, and true droughts are very rare. Even one fine week is enough to dry the bush and raise a fear of fire, especially from the Burning Mine which is over the hill to the east, whose fire can be blown into the rushes and scrub by a dry wind, and from there spread further.<br />
<br />
From late on a fine morning a sea breeze cools the day, and also might raise cloud on the tops with a shower or two, and mist at night. These can come quickly.<br />
<br />
The season is used for work on the house — painting, waterproofing, and repairs, and on the grounds. The vegetable garden prospers from January on, being dry enough to work then and more insect-free. Fruit rarely sets on the trees because of the wet spring.<br />
<br />
And the birds are about, especially when the rata flowers: the tuis return and sing in the tree-tops when the wind blows, fern-birds come into the town, young weka look for a place to live. Pigeons arrive when the broom flowers, and bell-birds are always with us.<br />
<br />
We have the two species of summer rata — the southern and the northern, and at the end of the season the climbing white rata blooms. Around the very beginning of the year, in more open places and under manuka, the glorious blue sun-orchid blooms, and in march the hanging winika , and the easter orchid to add its scent to those others of the bush. Montbretia, belladonna, and the tiger lily bring the summer near its end.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br />•</b><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>Autumn</i></span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Autumn drifts in imperceptibly, and leaves in the same style. There are bumps in its length; near the beginning there may be spells of still golden days, and there is the odd cold snap, most usual near Easter. Recoveries that follow these are never to the former state of warmth.<br />
<br />
March is inclined to be mild and dry, and is fruitful, for the blackberries ripen (both the cutleaf and the common), the toro berries are purple for the pigeons, and the coprosmas are bright orange. At the side of the roads the kaffir lilies flower.<br />
<br />
April is more significant: the poplars that have colonised the disappeared roads turn yellow, then slide into gold in May. There is often bitter weather near Easter, with a good deal of rain, and the toadstools appear with the wet—red mostly, but also green yellow and brown. A large edible brown mushroom grows in the grass verges near the poplars. There’s a black toadstool too, and another white and ragged like a carnation.<br />
<br />
The first half of May belongs to Autumn, the latter half to Winter, with hail and sleet, and snow in the ranges. In early June there may be a brief recovery, for the ground hasn’t yet got thoroughly chilled, nor the house. The first half of June can be quite benign, but then the cold sets in. As a reminder of past comfort and a hint of the future, the shining rata begins to flower.<br />
<br />
In fine weather, Autumn brings its own peace; the sky is distant, horizons have light behind them, and there are scents from the south as night closes in, with a whiff of Antarctica.<br />
<br />
It is a directive time of the year, with power, and unless we do as it says—gather in and prepare to close against the hostile months ahead—we will pay for our negligence.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/miller-creek-2004.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUp4QIlu8Rd62j09cDaoEd7Cg8H29wkSm6gs7YclqFReU5DQ6ga_LVN95nEP0epDE5jBHcYouVSHS347WrLTGmwnvgJsrFSQBarWe5EZ3YfDSZehszzD4K6itnCtxpK6cLhGcNaCZ3sI/s1600/mc11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579205265843914818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhLUp4QIlu8Rd62j09cDaoEd7Cg8H29wkSm6gs7YclqFReU5DQ6ga_LVN95nEP0epDE5jBHcYouVSHS347WrLTGmwnvgJsrFSQBarWe5EZ3YfDSZehszzD4K6itnCtxpK6cLhGcNaCZ3sI/s400/mc11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 283px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
<b><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>Winter</i></span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Winter comes slowly. There’s a cold snap at the end of May, when the winter rata flowers; it’s often stormy and with sleet, but the ground’s still warm, and the house. June is quite sunny until half way through, then the season starts to grip, our whole world is saturated, the hard frosts begin.<br />
<br />
Or might do so. In some winters the weather is so unsettled there are only the lightest of frosts, and air movement at night from the high plateau to the coast allows freezing in the hollows only.<br />
<br />
Now and then, however, this temperate pattern fails, the air stills, clouds evaporate, and the weather doesn’t move for a week or two. Icicles hang on the mossy banks and grow metres long. The frost accumulates until it’s like snow, and the road grows dangerous. In the hollows, where the cold air ponds, the soil freezes so deeply that trees die — rimu and kamahi in particular, but manuka too.<br />
<br />
In such conditions it’s hard to run a house; the water stops running and the house is chilled in every part.<br />
<br />
Snowfalls are rare, but snow is usually seen in a winter, driving in a southerly from over the hills, or in the hail. It’s often close, and when it comes floats in whisps across the moor, curling in the wind, and lies in thin white patches where it’s open in the bush. Higher on the plateau it quite frequently lies.<br />
<br />
July is winter’s depth; the clothes the curtains and everything else in the house is cold and damp. Quite soon, in August, some signs of spring begin to show: birds busy themselves, ground orchids start to shoot, and the pungas unfurl new fronds. It rains all the time, and seems even colder. Strength to endure falters.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtl9olnBvJ4lJmpf4HOhjMmTlKq82jgWXIo7_vTrjaKF3G97I3bKE0u6SSymhsbBjq8AjMHsVSNTudjOcnepv2GmJoVezHusT8NRSTRQDqgLmDTLuDjhY8whuoN6FZA1vDVuuFhfsfx4I/s1600/mcc2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580728265186935522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtl9olnBvJ4lJmpf4HOhjMmTlKq82jgWXIo7_vTrjaKF3G97I3bKE0u6SSymhsbBjq8AjMHsVSNTudjOcnepv2GmJoVezHusT8NRSTRQDqgLmDTLuDjhY8whuoN6FZA1vDVuuFhfsfx4I/s400/mcc2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Published by Heteropholis Press<br />
<br />
Further copies may be obtained from:<br />
P.O. Box 367, Westport, Buller, New Zealand.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle, 2004</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-17279765325689551292011-03-07T08:08:00.023+13:002017-11-26T10:58:07.514+13:00Living at a Bad Address (2004)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLdVBlcWhGflAMsCLp8qVGruF_OG-1h-mBlVsIpXrYYvJsmDNtwhDZRXihXfTNwT5XjosVFWyeoQ_iqk4m4hSbM_gEZegcSEY-7X4hteZQy4bZZ1RmUU7LYEWa8b3EYSP3VBBMNA-eAhw/s1600/lc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206511309232946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLdVBlcWhGflAMsCLp8qVGruF_OG-1h-mBlVsIpXrYYvJsmDNtwhDZRXihXfTNwT5XjosVFWyeoQ_iqk4m4hSbM_gEZegcSEY-7X4hteZQy4bZZ1RmUU7LYEWa8b3EYSP3VBBMNA-eAhw/s400/lc1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-seventeen.html">Living at a Bad Address</a> (2004)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVa7yIYHeRACCangdNUgjccbq56AZImRWhpEjQ2xo75HQ79_KPgjOH_zDabJiuilRc9FkzAB_4SQdSBAw3QrfqsqABZlIYp41Yv-MagTufjHBs_LEQo8l4dN4GenddOXqLN7CWjVg2StI/s1600/l1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206350526534738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVa7yIYHeRACCangdNUgjccbq56AZImRWhpEjQ2xo75HQ79_KPgjOH_zDabJiuilRc9FkzAB_4SQdSBAw3QrfqsqABZlIYp41Yv-MagTufjHBs_LEQo8l4dN4GenddOXqLN7CWjVg2StI/s400/l1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i>LIVING AT A BAD ADDRESS</i></span><br /><br />A Christmas Book</b></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 13em;">From</span><br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 17em;"><i>Leicester Kyle</i></span><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Here are a few of my favourite poems from 2004. I don't think any of them have been published; they're not the sort of poems that suit literary journals and are, most of them, written from out of my own experiences and for my own purposes. I hope you enjoy them.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqiXCwDE7h9AI1QH5J899EnTeGxQUBVw8ow_x3we7WZcD1yjc9_fnQf6kDgPNtzEx5VEpld1w2DpR7gBkoo-jBn2woHK1BDW5k_F2b1W6EKjWlCAZ3ije1yH0k0gIxDaKv2HJ6dzuqmAE/s1600/l2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620493713260587522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFqiXCwDE7h9AI1QH5J899EnTeGxQUBVw8ow_x3we7WZcD1yjc9_fnQf6kDgPNtzEx5VEpld1w2DpR7gBkoo-jBn2woHK1BDW5k_F2b1W6EKjWlCAZ3ije1yH0k0gIxDaKv2HJ6dzuqmAE/s400/l2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">ON THE EPISTLE</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
This is a passage from a sermon by Meister Eckhardt, who preached it somewhere around 1320. It is so imaginative, accurate, and so nearly impudent that it captivates me, and I arranged (and slightly edited) it into this poem.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWmtsNg2rE7OjFkmU-0xubuujNV7IxrsyCNYuAB7o_9mNKsjBHtLXfKcmfAHcB3MLKFtzQQaRkriP-1rnTJ9LTzGildjlOX3zm8lghPDS1RAgB4KFUzKl0afIHMadrX4zqNd6sq1S13Ly/s1600/l3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934840962931938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbWmtsNg2rE7OjFkmU-0xubuujNV7IxrsyCNYuAB7o_9mNKsjBHtLXfKcmfAHcB3MLKFtzQQaRkriP-1rnTJ9LTzGildjlOX3zm8lghPDS1RAgB4KFUzKl0afIHMadrX4zqNd6sq1S13Ly/s400/l3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>On the Epistle According To the<br />Dominican Mass<br /><br />(<i>Deus pacis dilectionis erit vobiscum</i>)</b><br />
<br />
Princes<br />
who desire<br />
to reserve accommodation at inns<br />
<br />
are accustomed<br />
to send messengers on ahead<br />
to make the reservations<br />
<br />
These greet the innkeepers<br />
extol their masters<br />
and give assurance <br />
<br />
so that their masters<br />
may be honourably<br />
received<br />
<br />
<br />
This is to be seen<br />
in the Advent<br />
of the Word:<br />
<br />
The Angel<br />
came to Mary<br />
and said:<br />
<br />
<i>Hail,<br />thou that art full of grace,<br />the lord be with thee</i><br />
<br />
and so received<br />
the best accommodation<br />
in the world.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz411-r4c4Nvu2f8Pt2UT28sbhqGf0-rQ1yb5ZbJNa6IWj0of1ymW86o3wqeegQtU5q9jy6VRdkli5OLeRicCWQEdP1_KJitum2vf4DKAyyNuUQsa3rm3AGnjA4odU-LCuuxDqu6QQf7A0/s1600/l4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934712319507746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz411-r4c4Nvu2f8Pt2UT28sbhqGf0-rQ1yb5ZbJNa6IWj0of1ymW86o3wqeegQtU5q9jy6VRdkli5OLeRicCWQEdP1_KJitum2vf4DKAyyNuUQsa3rm3AGnjA4odU-LCuuxDqu6QQf7A0/s400/l4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">MY FATEFUL HOUSE</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Calliope</span> is the goddess (or 'muse') of epic poetry , and it might seem a coincidence that this house I bought turned out to be in a street named after her. It's no coincidence that I like being in it.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTAveHGweaGsjzErN9jOdvGkE4oJcrB1v9Vi_xjdmyNmSlSq9Bp1ZytCMn4a-adZMPu2nLn69nb_nDbebQAagIubVORfzG2Lbyilu5-58O1gosNRcVOXwAQ_VzF0YPc_sZG64Fbj_UWpX/s1600/l5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934648826108786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTAveHGweaGsjzErN9jOdvGkE4oJcrB1v9Vi_xjdmyNmSlSq9Bp1ZytCMn4a-adZMPu2nLn69nb_nDbebQAagIubVORfzG2Lbyilu5-58O1gosNRcVOXwAQ_VzF0YPc_sZG64Fbj_UWpX/s400/l5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>My Fateful House</b><br />
<br />
They sold it as in Gallipoli St<br />
but it’s Calliope<br />
which they couldn’t say<br />
nor spell<br />
<br />
so I’m a poet now<br />
and not a veteran<br />
<br />
My life’s gone out of knowing<br />
<br />
I thought I knew the necessary<br />
and was to age<br />
as is the custom<br />
out of sight<br />
<br />
but now I have to write<br />
and look to see<br />
<br />
for I know<br />
but a scrap<br />
a page or two<br />
from the book<br />
<br />
and have seen no more<br />
than the kitchen yard<br />
where roses bloom<br />
at the gate</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQ6Hp1s9YPrt8IkCjDFuX-yDZ2T0-jjmrp_xe0IFv0_U7I_dJy8v9rA_T0pDGImctpBuAITl491kzAUbaRx7T7lB1iPG1G5q6UyimB6r5Km7IC0749QVdNCKxBHqEwpovOE-6BH96v4js/s1600/l6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934588777497938" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQ6Hp1s9YPrt8IkCjDFuX-yDZ2T0-jjmrp_xe0IFv0_U7I_dJy8v9rA_T0pDGImctpBuAITl491kzAUbaRx7T7lB1iPG1G5q6UyimB6r5Km7IC0749QVdNCKxBHqEwpovOE-6BH96v4js/s400/l6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">THE TOWN</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Millerton became a bad address when the mine closed down in the 1960s; many of the houses were removed. Those left, including the pubs and the school, became inhabited by hippies. It is much quieter now. About thirty houses remain, hidden in the gathering bush, and there's a population of about forty people.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XRzJzkm5nWVesWZoUY1-kG3xrbxpoe5__tXZmC-uKK9UGZ-wacnybg8Qsg4uxEB8WbBV73cuXWti9ugbbfkV7uXRjQZs0NpwMwaYjw1YzLRVZIm_ewOUpHfHpx7Fge6_De98rzuutmUd/s1600/l7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934531359721858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1XRzJzkm5nWVesWZoUY1-kG3xrbxpoe5__tXZmC-uKK9UGZ-wacnybg8Qsg4uxEB8WbBV73cuXWti9ugbbfkV7uXRjQZs0NpwMwaYjw1YzLRVZIm_ewOUpHfHpx7Fge6_De98rzuutmUd/s400/l7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>The Town</b><br />
<br />
This town has infirmities<br />
<br />
She’s old<br />
and she’s poor<br />
<br />
She hasn’t the will for treatment<br />
nor the wealth<br />
<br />
She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her<br />
she doesn’t like the pain<br />
so she palliates<br />
and hides in the bush<br />
<br />
Her past is not a proud one<br />
and she’s never been a looker<br />
but she’s lived<br />
and still lives<br />
at one hundred and ten<br />
gazing out dreamily over the sea<br />
<br />
Her past she’s hidden in the trees<br />
in case there’s something to hide<br />
<br />
It’s a tale of small heroics<br />
and she’s unconfident<br />
<br />
If you find her<br />
you might not like what you see<br />
for age is only noticed<br />
when it’s painted.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXg9DC9OzwbMVCkB_tXX6JXdVM9zAM2RuVYLY9TogEbqS5col7WuNPp8geWdr9GkJwzQ02wF09aFS7IcFCOXVh5amzi4tw3pytKLmC59FzGwLthD3v9UOrTLqUe3FCgifJVUx8d7SA_zu/s1600/l8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934465579707922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEihXg9DC9OzwbMVCkB_tXX6JXdVM9zAM2RuVYLY9TogEbqS5col7WuNPp8geWdr9GkJwzQ02wF09aFS7IcFCOXVh5amzi4tw3pytKLmC59FzGwLthD3v9UOrTLqUe3FCgifJVUx8d7SA_zu/s400/l8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">AT SEVENTY</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
I'm anticipating, as I'm not seventy yet, but this little poem is making the point that growing older is not necessarily disappointing or unpleasant.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQhEiKv6nv6RPdeP44gSdAzNUIZR5kIHeg6PHkbXq02D4yn17zpfPDlfSW8c4Nm3UeVHKb3ndU7QoBh8NNQ2qsDi-k1kyDFwyGwaCJTbqux0ZZQJU-hQBjeiNxDS_10T9AvAMcY6L-nmB/s1600/l9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934411970200914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsQhEiKv6nv6RPdeP44gSdAzNUIZR5kIHeg6PHkbXq02D4yn17zpfPDlfSW8c4Nm3UeVHKb3ndU7QoBh8NNQ2qsDi-k1kyDFwyGwaCJTbqux0ZZQJU-hQBjeiNxDS_10T9AvAMcY6L-nmB/s400/l9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>At Seventy</b><br />
<br />
They didn’t say<br />
it would be like this —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1em;">that winter would be beautiful.</span><br />
They spoke a lot of labour,<br />
and the cold,<br />
of the loneliness<br />
of the old.<br />
<br />
They didn’t remember the company,<br />
and the clarity<br />
of the light;<br />
<br />
the days are long,<br />
but the sun still rises,<br />
and there’s fuel <br />
for the fire at night.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipH_VLd0oGO9iqLnj9rXGCKvLk5WPqN6qPg7fWLCzbRYhfJ2yleWoKKQNoHQtrMwsfSE78_GPUBEJWjrw48hVJgzAkTaIBsF61duGYQqBfq5Ekgw6Zk8V2sbBP257LYnSeN7A2cZ43cLj/s1600/l10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934341004127986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiipH_VLd0oGO9iqLnj9rXGCKvLk5WPqN6qPg7fWLCzbRYhfJ2yleWoKKQNoHQtrMwsfSE78_GPUBEJWjrw48hVJgzAkTaIBsF61duGYQqBfq5Ekgw6Zk8V2sbBP257LYnSeN7A2cZ43cLj/s400/l10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">SYLLABLES</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
My dog Red, a Millerton mongrel, has been my close companion of the last four years. He knows me so well that we tell each other a great deal with not a word said.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGf9ZD2PDDLX1y9l-wG3R5dJ0tY6DdA3_7FHIalHxgVDVMmdkzPfjZqKyuwgx-sm0vWxrB8frGhLdjJathsuq6B_7MI53fvHbhirh6882ZP6Qceyw-q5ScYXsAoR4owL1oMGl0m36iFbg/s1600/l11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934284148290450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOGf9ZD2PDDLX1y9l-wG3R5dJ0tY6DdA3_7FHIalHxgVDVMmdkzPfjZqKyuwgx-sm0vWxrB8frGhLdjJathsuq6B_7MI53fvHbhirh6882ZP6Qceyw-q5ScYXsAoR4owL1oMGl0m36iFbg/s400/l11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Syllables</b><br />
<br />
Words of one<br />
as children use<br />
on wet days<br />
<br />
words of two<br />
by adolescents<br />
for anger<br />
<br />
words of three<br />
by adults<br />
to cogitate<br />
<br />
or longer still<br />
in rhetoric<br />
<br />
or dense<br />
in philosophy<br />
<br />
but wordless<br />
by my dog<br />
whose speaking eyes<br />
and touching tongue tell all<br />
in conversation</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTuNvi8kbsh-284dBk7XoqfQi51JlsdyqD4UNXxHh1Hckg6acJjsz2UMjM8uktoQrx7vdOKsre20S6N5H1PyEvjtRzLv-YziY4ceG5ymb7AisilXCPBvBWtTGw-3i9tU8Lgj2Dn4V-HgX/s1600/l12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934213935531122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRTuNvi8kbsh-284dBk7XoqfQi51JlsdyqD4UNXxHh1Hckg6acJjsz2UMjM8uktoQrx7vdOKsre20S6N5H1PyEvjtRzLv-YziY4ceG5ymb7AisilXCPBvBWtTGw-3i9tU8Lgj2Dn4V-HgX/s400/l12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">SNOW AFTER RAIN</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
During this last August the weather gave us a tough time; for most of the month we lived defensively, battered and close to zero. Then, on the morning of the last Sunday, we woke to a light fall of snow. Everything changed.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWK0us1x1I1Z5lBVFu_I-oM3a0hFooAJsDrwlccGxW3RRd5oUGUjxYnnDE2yA8o99lUiu3L6VS17S5HjlfydAq3wMXvk-SwIzeK06tCrI-ziS1Ydc2u_pCFu-A4LlCPIJWBj-poFSHNZb/s1600/l13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934152296172722" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaWK0us1x1I1Z5lBVFu_I-oM3a0hFooAJsDrwlccGxW3RRd5oUGUjxYnnDE2yA8o99lUiu3L6VS17S5HjlfydAq3wMXvk-SwIzeK06tCrI-ziS1Ydc2u_pCFu-A4LlCPIJWBj-poFSHNZb/s400/l13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Snow After Rain</b><br />
<br />
The storms are a weight<br />
<br />
they press from the side<br />
and crush from above<br />
with hail and gale<br />
<br />
intent<br />
like enemy<br />
to shatter and remove<br />
<br />
they spring<br />
by surprise<br />
at night<br />
<br />
they mount<br />
one storm on another<br />
<br />
and crescendo<br />
at 2.0<br />
to awake<br />
<br />
the lightning threatens instruments<br />
the torrents take the road<br />
there's no sleep<br />
nor peace<br />
<br />
until today<br />
when there was snow<br />
then sun upon the snow<br />
<br />
clear skies and a drying world<br />
<br />
and still<br />
at the last<br />
as if this is the end of it</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOf963_Z0vRcIA49KKCDoQwEMebRJmV9ei_ATxCzhEbdWPzowgOR5wKjFoPXxBR6kNAgZJdqNfy0p57CfYJ7V2yn63JaFrZIDD-kNAlxk7vbHDEE_uoUajI3Mq0_BRT-Ny604PwMo530Vh/s1600/l14.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934080702411890" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOf963_Z0vRcIA49KKCDoQwEMebRJmV9ei_ATxCzhEbdWPzowgOR5wKjFoPXxBR6kNAgZJdqNfy0p57CfYJ7V2yn63JaFrZIDD-kNAlxk7vbHDEE_uoUajI3Mq0_BRT-Ny604PwMo530Vh/s400/l14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">PROMENA</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Every now and then a word is dragged out of the word bank (where it's been in storage for a time) and put to a more public use. Earlier this year, in the course of Solid Energy's application for a resource consent, this word <span style="font-weight: bold;">PROMENA</span> was pushed into my notice. I was interested enough to turn to the dictionary and, from it, to assemble this.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixk5tyuxfP3l2xGIWVROklMcjmapQA0MfspGThYzUiHOTzNMnSiuO-CSGtSf6dRTi9I2_IluIzAvkw5M1c8Us_HpvT9_vYQeGVuDaL8HZH91WCA5TgsuvS0ICMOfdN9-eiJuis3_03egvd/s1600/l15.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621934007504998338" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixk5tyuxfP3l2xGIWVROklMcjmapQA0MfspGThYzUiHOTzNMnSiuO-CSGtSf6dRTi9I2_IluIzAvkw5M1c8Us_HpvT9_vYQeGVuDaL8HZH91WCA5TgsuvS0ICMOfdN9-eiJuis3_03egvd/s400/l15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Promena</b><br />
<br />
pro<br />
before -, in front of -<br />
<br />
mena, menae —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;"><i>small sea fish</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b><i>Promena</i></b></span><br />
<i>small things before<br /><br />the lesser<br />at the front<br />for courtesy<br /><br />‘without whose help’<br />‘special thanks’<br />‘I particularly’<br /><br />Errata<br />Prefaces<br />Notes etc.<br /><br />to clear<br />the way<br />of prey<br /><br />for the big fish</i><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;"><b><i>Promena</i></b></span><br />
1 sing. pres. imp. act:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">(you) GO!</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">in Latin</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQaiRJOjfQ8MYp67IM38ft7m1Df8OIk0gmW9i126riF16VtknQ0CEXcy3LARwmBoj_QqnFZ45A5cU__nmDwQ6_gI_WIoAt-YxtaITFwWjw2bqASJ5-IffeUgp4cYXyTGpJUEArePWStl6/s1600/l16.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933946016301266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYQaiRJOjfQ8MYp67IM38ft7m1Df8OIk0gmW9i126riF16VtknQ0CEXcy3LARwmBoj_QqnFZ45A5cU__nmDwQ6_gI_WIoAt-YxtaITFwWjw2bqASJ5-IffeUgp4cYXyTGpJUEArePWStl6/s400/l16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">LETTERS FROM HOME</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Using e-mail has made me look more closely at the nature of correspondence. E-mail leaves out a lot of the more subtle aspects of communication, particularly nuances, while letters can convey too much. From out of these thoughts this diversion emerged.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQdQhuAm6-kczsHc-7B06cq96YaEMul2YnKW7gr7qT5cQaY453iGMHFJyX6_eM8vSxC-1j7O3tzCzRPSku_D9BAbMNGqcdtaaKvTQiy6sk0sD-6r83Umd2QNhK9P5Re1Gv_ALEysDqMmY/s1600/l17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933882641873026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmQdQhuAm6-kczsHc-7B06cq96YaEMul2YnKW7gr7qT5cQaY453iGMHFJyX6_eM8vSxC-1j7O3tzCzRPSku_D9BAbMNGqcdtaaKvTQiy6sk0sD-6r83Umd2QNhK9P5Re1Gv_ALEysDqMmY/s400/l17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />Letters From Home</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>1.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Jim drove through the video shop — in one window, out the other. You have to take a stand, he says. We expect he’ll go to counselling.</span><br />
<b>2.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">They put Is on to lithium, and her hair’s falling out. She says she had too much of it but it’s getting into everything. We think it’s psychiatric but the doctor says keep out of the sun.</span><br />
<b>3.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Cess woke up in the blackberry again. This time he’s got a bruise on the knee and doesn’t know where it’s come from.</span><br />
<b>4.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">It’s rained a lot and flooded the sceptic tank. Nev’s tried to pump it out but it gets blocked. Gloria says it’ll dry up soon but that’s only hope.</span><br />
<b>5.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">The money’s holding out alright. Cess is on the benefit now and that covers the food. Roxy makes a bit from her panel-beating, and Uncle Sim’s board’s a help. We’re not paying the rates.</span><br />
<b>6.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">You can have some if you want it, and we go without.</span><br />
<b>7.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">We think of you, but not too much in case we worry. Isn’t home good enough? It’s time you got stuck in and got your teeth into something. Other people do.</span><br />
<b>8.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Jennifer pushed Mario down the stairs round the back. He lay there all night and wouldn’t go to the doctor. Netty had to clean up the blood.</span><br />
<b>9.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Joe’s skin has mostly gone; we think it was viburnum.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM-8yHukPp2uWXPWgwovgfYM7xIkBVpwpCycQqDcNDNIuXOw-zi4QUi_nAahsWMY9Ujz5edjV97QmqdrDcXB5NObE-TNKyqEXOflzadIF7c2FHfiesPAVjUb9OxzM7jzAbEi1QKUNoPMf/s1600/l18.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933807390234578" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEM-8yHukPp2uWXPWgwovgfYM7xIkBVpwpCycQqDcNDNIuXOw-zi4QUi_nAahsWMY9Ujz5edjV97QmqdrDcXB5NObE-TNKyqEXOflzadIF7c2FHfiesPAVjUb9OxzM7jzAbEi1QKUNoPMf/s400/l18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 251px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>10.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">When are you going to go up north? Town’s alright, but you don’t do much. Aunty May keeps ringing up asking. It’s family. We ought to be able to say.</span><br />
<b>11.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Grandad’s eating funny things, grey mushrooms nettles and stuff. He says they’re good for you, but no-one can tell the difference.</span><br />
<b>12.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Helen came round the other day and told us what to do. Bart said ‘Yes, Prime Minister’.</span><br />
<b>13.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">The dog bit a market survey person at the door. She wanted to know what we watched. Julian said ‘The Weather’, but she didn’t have a chance to ask which one.</span><br />
<b>14.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Grandad says you’re not making use of your time. You’ve got to come back, get a job, and raise enough to pay it.</span><br />
<b>15.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">There’s no use denying.</span><br />
<b>16.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">That’s the way of things, isn’t it. No matter what they do, it’s always the same.</span><br />
<b>17.</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Your cousin Jim’s helping with the wash now he’s lost his job at the bank; he says it’s the least he can do, and we think the same, considering.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bkM17CeSj7xtsqjBBvca0vw6daXdFJK5MY9CxPZkKDeBo5UJEt8GQg2Unq0Ztu1GwDqsDMycZah0BobIMRPrH7ibE19tuRFslvV24OH2IhjZUl_KXgxecpLmHMMQj_oFDl-nVQ2833uh/s1600/l19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933733604315474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6bkM17CeSj7xtsqjBBvca0vw6daXdFJK5MY9CxPZkKDeBo5UJEt8GQg2Unq0Ztu1GwDqsDMycZah0BobIMRPrH7ibE19tuRFslvV24OH2IhjZUl_KXgxecpLmHMMQj_oFDl-nVQ2833uh/s400/l19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 279px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">A COLLECTIVE TERM<br />FOR A NATURAL LIFE</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
At the end of March I attended a reunion at the Ch.Ch. Botanical Gardens. It was a gathering of the apprentices who were there in the 1950s. It was a delightful experience (though for me overshadowed by Anna's death) and this poem came from my attempts to find a collective name for the group.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYB-7tf82E6zE12-RCUqGZeGK8x97zyhVYJx8f_HgAdiAPw4NJ9B0vCQFMzVcy-AWrYwZ5WVTwNHL_LLbhnLQP5JD3a5apqc0mNj5Q8MJEc9Ubk-QgwiHFKRGzqBncmn8CHiF8LBK59_1B/s1600/l20.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933662624969170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYB-7tf82E6zE12-RCUqGZeGK8x97zyhVYJx8f_HgAdiAPw4NJ9B0vCQFMzVcy-AWrYwZ5WVTwNHL_LLbhnLQP5JD3a5apqc0mNj5Q8MJEc9Ubk-QgwiHFKRGzqBncmn8CHiF8LBK59_1B/s400/l20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>A Collective Term For A<br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">Natural Life</span></b><br />
<br />
Nothing matters<br />
nothing else at all<br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">now</span><br />
but the past<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">so we meet</span><br />
after fifty years of toil soil<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and chlorophyll</span><br />
to reminisce<br />
<br />
gardeners all ––<br />
Judy Peter Robert<br />
Barry Graeme Ross Alison<br />
Lynley Doreen Donald Chris<br />
Lorelei and me<br />
In a group<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">with drinks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">and finger food</span><br />
bound<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">by occupation</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">and experience</span><br />
a Gathering of Gardeners?<br />
(there are Packs of seeds<br />
and Beds of bulbs)<br />
a Bouquet, perhaps?<br />
---<span style="font-style: italic;">too floral</span><br />
a Graft?<br />
---<span style="font-style: italic;">inimical</span><br />
a Huddle of Horticulturists?<br />
---<span style="font-style: italic;">verbose</span><br />
<br />
Something oblique that packs a punch<br />
and carries meaning with it —<br />
<br />
a Mulch?</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGv8LNmxHK5s55HrGH6_fy-iQos4z-W7c7Or-C8Q_2F23cx-72x5rCr7ZfrAe2N77z7uQKENaaVlWwUvA54iXQNABtYo5K7n46y5lgH48EMPo5MbMQVqcnOxkbQEN7fpB1nK0zaFQ6FYYo/s1600/l21.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933585717014146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGv8LNmxHK5s55HrGH6_fy-iQos4z-W7c7Or-C8Q_2F23cx-72x5rCr7ZfrAe2N77z7uQKENaaVlWwUvA54iXQNABtYo5K7n46y5lgH48EMPo5MbMQVqcnOxkbQEN7fpB1nK0zaFQ6FYYo/s400/l21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 250px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">WAITING FOR<br />THE C.E.O.</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Earlier in the year Solid Energy wanted a publicity photo of me with its C.E.O. Don Elder, and I was asked to meet him after a staff meeting. A delay meant that I had to wait outside with his miners and mine-workers, many of whom regard me as a radical greeney trouble-maker.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqIiJM-Z1h8AIalpoF8jhZulNvaW1Cbz-yNeLCA4oNM1SO537dnZQICEGr1gZi6hw64lUbK8nm6p4dk8exYMwn_0z2lJTSh76Yj7yB-wCp7Kggqp7wQxPw7xTu1mL7k33EZMvp7IH7w0X/s1600/l22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933506706604066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOqIiJM-Z1h8AIalpoF8jhZulNvaW1Cbz-yNeLCA4oNM1SO537dnZQICEGr1gZi6hw64lUbK8nm6p4dk8exYMwn_0z2lJTSh76Yj7yB-wCp7Kggqp7wQxPw7xTu1mL7k33EZMvp7IH7w0X/s400/l22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 250px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><br />Waiting For The C.E.O.</b><br />
<br />
He’s been delayed —<br />
there’s trouble down south;<br />
at Spring Creek there are questions,<br />
so we wait,<br />
I in my truck,<br />
the miners at the car park over the road<br />
where they lounge in their overalls<br />
against the bonnets of their utes,<br />
trying to make point to this pointless time,<br />
talking small to pass it.<br />
<br />
They’re here for his presentation:<br />
‘Earning Our Right to Mine’.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-style: italic;">‘Mining is a temporary use of the land,<br />but a permanent use of non-renewable resources’</span>.<br />
they’re to be told,<br />
before they excavate.<br />
<br />
I’m here to be photographed with him,<br />
I, who have written to the paper,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">the government,</span><br />
protested in the streets,<br />
who have threatened their jobs,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">they say;</span><br />
I’m to be photographed with their boss.<br />
<br />
We’re both uneasy,<br />
I at their resentment,<br />
they at my threat,<br />
but in this we are one:<br />
there’s the road between us<br />
and we long to move on,<br />
each to our work:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">theirs at the mine,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">mine at the inexpressible.</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnpJnjE2bYevimG8VbipME5QcaQ_qq4qzmFTqdA9cy9_xEB5V6ZwyugCemFVdWtbYLNEY0NRRpeYxjJBwUu8JIpqn_OEVxdv9N3PwNlp4BeO-P2j7Vt9bwV1R-uC2qv9uMa7wVuiIC9SQ/s1600/l23.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933437495733650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEnpJnjE2bYevimG8VbipME5QcaQ_qq4qzmFTqdA9cy9_xEB5V6ZwyugCemFVdWtbYLNEY0NRRpeYxjJBwUu8JIpqn_OEVxdv9N3PwNlp4BeO-P2j7Vt9bwV1R-uC2qv9uMa7wVuiIC9SQ/s400/l23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">CHANGING PLANES</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
This incident happened on my way back from Anna's funeral, early in March. I was at Wellington, filing onto the plane to Nelson, and I stepped aside to check on her cat, whom I was bringing home with me. At that moment the incident seemed quite normal, and it wasn't until I was seated in the plane that I realised it.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45UCtrHV-vm_tllUCxfFE_NYiOOq0x2zB87VqzaEdzctByLtezl2BQSyV18u1vXU9Q4I44-noHB8p8t2BgjtiQ0zJJKMb7ScCXSZFejL16NpwMhDt1NM5VNZhzD4PzPxNiBgTzhHlxXUP/s1600/l24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933370525961026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj45UCtrHV-vm_tllUCxfFE_NYiOOq0x2zB87VqzaEdzctByLtezl2BQSyV18u1vXU9Q4I44-noHB8p8t2BgjtiQ0zJJKMb7ScCXSZFejL16NpwMhDt1NM5VNZhzD4PzPxNiBgTzhHlxXUP/s400/l24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Changing Planes</b><br />
<br />
We wait in the annex<br />
for the small plane to leave<br />
<br />
the flight will be short<br />
<br />
I read <br />
for distraction<br />
from the grief of the day<br />
until the call comes to board<br />
<br />
we walk in single file<br />
curving round the tail wing<br />
and then the baggage cart<br />
<br />
Mine is there<br />
and the cat<br />
hers which I'm taking home<br />
<br />
I stop to give it comfort<br />
<br />
The intercom in the cabin speaks<br />
of airport trivia<br />
in a tinny voice<br />
<br />
and then her voice<br />
her restless soul in a living voice<br />
two words of thanks<br />
from my care<br />
resonant from death<br />
through this instrument of advice<br />
<br />
She comes to mind —<br />
her long cool self<br />
her grace and wit<br />
her savage end</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPO5DrVeyoScbI9rmTCUCXw_Wv6ttT6AB-FjznMh0b6W-ckXolpdQdEw5pni9sdoIArzU1423a7XSBucTNob-Y8K7n1loWazW0SFkKEjOt7Uf91UFE1ONLeyWMTUS7F5R8f3AZPIKMSN72/s1600/l25.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933309024816418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPO5DrVeyoScbI9rmTCUCXw_Wv6ttT6AB-FjznMh0b6W-ckXolpdQdEw5pni9sdoIArzU1423a7XSBucTNob-Y8K7n1loWazW0SFkKEjOt7Uf91UFE1ONLeyWMTUS7F5R8f3AZPIKMSN72/s400/l25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
and as I board<br />
I doubt the flight —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">what from</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">where to in purpose?</span><br />
can such an end<br />
be ended?<br />
<br />
She's taken lead<br />
she whom I made<br />
confined me in alien space<br />
fixed by my love<br />
cowed by her violence<br />
<br />
The world is overwhelmed<br />
axis and angle turned about<br />
<br />
I'm her father no more<br />
but her survivor</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-B4GGtciIYDYb5TKXr1MvTjkfBbynDtY1OGu3Rocm5mxePcLTL7LI35oFTf3fuTlMqjIK0OopemvH6-JckNaWl7NhbEcxMWMWJGNAGloxI9V1L_AfCKqpZHBrVA7u2WFEa7Niir0Dz46M/s1600/l26.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933231359614290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-B4GGtciIYDYb5TKXr1MvTjkfBbynDtY1OGu3Rocm5mxePcLTL7LI35oFTf3fuTlMqjIK0OopemvH6-JckNaWl7NhbEcxMWMWJGNAGloxI9V1L_AfCKqpZHBrVA7u2WFEa7Niir0Dz46M/s400/l26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">AT A DoC DINNER</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
During the winter Carol and I were invited to a dinner in Westport, presented to farewell the senior DoC officer, who was leaving Buller. At its end, when thanks were given, the hunters were thanked for supplying the meat; this struck me as something I would not hear anywhere else.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGI8Z6Fydj1TP2qb_XBmEEa99d2HV2WnafzmupRLFreMUTMigfSIMOMszX_jFIzEqGYZFo3ROvJq_CNQjsDkDqph8pN_-GQpOsSx-Hg04nq2Sg5gAfNYvdJBwPKWnqRjaC5fD-nVRky6Fh/s1600/l27.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933165789671266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGI8Z6Fydj1TP2qb_XBmEEa99d2HV2WnafzmupRLFreMUTMigfSIMOMszX_jFIzEqGYZFo3ROvJq_CNQjsDkDqph8pN_-GQpOsSx-Hg04nq2Sg5gAfNYvdJBwPKWnqRjaC5fD-nVRky6Fh/s400/l27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>At A DoC Dinner</b><br />
<br />
and<br />
thanks to the Hunters<br />
<br />
You took the trouble<br />
to stalk for a day<br />
in the Blackburn<br />
(where Sticherus carpets<br />
the forest floor)<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the pork</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the roast</span><br />
<br />
Three days<br />
you spent<br />
three days in the rain<br />
on the Thousand Acre Plateau<br />
(where the Gentians bloom<br />
at this time of the year)<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the goat</span><br />
for the kebabs<br />
<br />
And the day<br />
you went<br />
in time for the dawn<br />
on Mt. William<br />
hopping the rocks<br />
(and the Chionochloa<br />
that grows there)<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the hare</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the casserole</span><br />
<br />
Two days<br />
you tramped<br />
two days in the frost<br />
up the Four Mile<br />
(where the Winter Rata’s red now)<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the deer</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for the pie</span></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvT3mqUevCPPXyRCfbOLfhuwlKOnTtFmFaiSzG5ATumxX2N5Rjip389ikAJMc6sANM1xKGg2JNAjzdLVZWQTMN8KtY9NyVgprVKvMS1OvIebgMsZHBfNbwVhM0WeHZOo9zD5JHFJed6SY9/s1600/l28.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933102354427074" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvT3mqUevCPPXyRCfbOLfhuwlKOnTtFmFaiSzG5ATumxX2N5Rjip389ikAJMc6sANM1xKGg2JNAjzdLVZWQTMN8KtY9NyVgprVKvMS1OvIebgMsZHBfNbwVhM0WeHZOo9zD5JHFJed6SY9/s400/l28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
Your labour’s long<br />
your skills are great<br />
<br />
For these<br />
and your provisions<br />
we thank you<br />
<br />
It is your giving<br />
and our receiving</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHwOSKA929XGaOx5Xc_Mfqmeu9C9JWbrS-na29MaVbcFZVhMcHmLZYFyOzFg5tOqmf6rvLnOC57TfWJEmwpwhvSnrRIQmXUfubE6QaE1imPkU2Rkc8uSoqtDByQq2Mixv-Jlf0fuNPXZB/s1600/l29.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621933036301912274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijHwOSKA929XGaOx5Xc_Mfqmeu9C9JWbrS-na29MaVbcFZVhMcHmLZYFyOzFg5tOqmf6rvLnOC57TfWJEmwpwhvSnrRIQmXUfubE6QaE1imPkU2Rkc8uSoqtDByQq2Mixv-Jlf0fuNPXZB/s400/l29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">SELLING DORIS</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
After yet another guest fell off my lavatory steps, I decided it was time to obtain an indoor flush toilet. If this was to be done without indebtedness, I had to sell something, so I decided to sell a painting. It was sold for $25,000, which also greatly lessened my mortgage.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hj3K1r7aQIaQFWnES_gsaA1qXTWsER6BqwlIbkSvZCwS6vdimUGwgchYprVu45dXnfRrU26o4AUU4K1IupyRMMElrUoQf6kITL1GHeYyTXANahbwqAl40ZkU9v_ItyhMAh4BWTGW_fxr/s1600/l30.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932974137210786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9hj3K1r7aQIaQFWnES_gsaA1qXTWsER6BqwlIbkSvZCwS6vdimUGwgchYprVu45dXnfRrU26o4AUU4K1IupyRMMElrUoQf6kITL1GHeYyTXANahbwqAl40ZkU9v_ItyhMAh4BWTGW_fxr/s400/l30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Selling Doris</b><br />
<br />
Once mid-day's past<br />
it's late afternoon,<br />
in Christchurch<br />
on a day like this,<br />
of cold and mist.<br />
<br />
I'm sad.<br />
I'm selling Doris,<br />
mine since '72,<br />
<br />
one more parting<br />
in a year of loss,<br />
and the gallery's keen:<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">Doris Lusk</span> (1916-1990)<br />
<i>Golden Hill, near Kurow<br />oil on Hardboard<br />600 x 825 mm<br />signed and dated lower right<br />inscribed verso — top right:<br />GOLDEN HILL, NEAR KUROW<br />Doris Lusk, Feb-March 1972<br />(Black Marker: Artist's Hand)</i></blockquote>
<br />
I'm selling for gain,<br />
to pay the mortgage<br />
and for an indoor loo,<br />
<br />
unworthy,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">perhaps,</span><br />
but required,<br />
<br />
I get comfort in my wilderness,<br />
someone else gets art.<br />
<br />
I'm sorry,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Doris,</span><br />
I love you,<br />
and you'll understand —<br />
<br />
you grew old.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2nhyphenhyphentLcj0ihLVR7KqXgAvMmW7UXBWiTCwIwVF0xcXM4smcObearxnpS3NP_okquo0Z3l3Ubv7s8cVfyDOkKqoqyWlFlvV3iSbN_RlxxN0cP2lnNnl4nJi7x0DIjUkw4NguRfmobBP_X7/s1600/l31.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932898002783058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD2nhyphenhyphentLcj0ihLVR7KqXgAvMmW7UXBWiTCwIwVF0xcXM4smcObearxnpS3NP_okquo0Z3l3Ubv7s8cVfyDOkKqoqyWlFlvV3iSbN_RlxxN0cP2lnNnl4nJi7x0DIjUkw4NguRfmobBP_X7/s400/l31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">HEAD DEATH<br />CYCLED ALONG</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
A poem I was reading — by the American poet Louis Zukofsky — so took my imagination that this play grew out of it. What it means doesn't much matter; it's written for the sound of the words.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPDjvJaNSPHJVP9qLOpHCzLGYd1UXWH51JeDm_a5XeLLyno73zAcbUkzL1JWbomXB053cu1kgokvWcKmxJW0PPUoQZBN-hFLedQEk2WQH-_cCf7lvWS1Ln7KY6rysdBqCI0i9RrMyk4yG/s1600/l32.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932821850223026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEPDjvJaNSPHJVP9qLOpHCzLGYd1UXWH51JeDm_a5XeLLyno73zAcbUkzL1JWbomXB053cu1kgokvWcKmxJW0PPUoQZBN-hFLedQEk2WQH-_cCf7lvWS1Ln7KY6rysdBqCI0i9RrMyk4yG/s400/l32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>Head Death Cycled Along</b><br />
<br />
one of those times<br />
nothing after it<br />
can be<br />
<br />
it never is<br />
though this is different<br />
like if Beethoven had —<br />
<br />
been whistling Mozart when —<br />
<br />
this is crux<br />
with life-change in it<br />
nonchalant<br />
on a cycle<br />
<br />
death and romance<br />
was was whistling when<br />
<br />
along came terror</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ4h_zzQjk_fFUww17P-h9xUWzr6oWqRBRkoq90L1HzpiHD7eOD0ui44B-e1tT5xU7EFlwmveejTUxFE9i5_dj_Y_jIJ4vEPg4_qlmfLnn223rtd6qyQRYsDK4Z52ZBm9X46a1ux9vBbQ/s1600/l33.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932751372205906" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfQ4h_zzQjk_fFUww17P-h9xUWzr6oWqRBRkoq90L1HzpiHD7eOD0ui44B-e1tT5xU7EFlwmveejTUxFE9i5_dj_Y_jIJ4vEPg4_qlmfLnn223rtd6qyQRYsDK4Z52ZBm9X46a1ux9vBbQ/s400/l33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">AND LIKE THE<br />STARS</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
The glow-worms on the cliffs by my creek provoke comparison with the night sky; viewing them one night caused this run-away sequence of thoughts.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcvxqZnStUdXrXtdPUrS3dyMvnOKfK1V2hcGn4-p59sFuVAOYMQMEkqcdP_wV5QttTVKP0AthVlahIanuC3NWZk3GZVXkrMTPeRbPG87fIbjoQK27uqYd0juVFiWWdtoG6HozIrMZsKg3/s1600/l34.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932519635616802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGcvxqZnStUdXrXtdPUrS3dyMvnOKfK1V2hcGn4-p59sFuVAOYMQMEkqcdP_wV5QttTVKP0AthVlahIanuC3NWZk3GZVXkrMTPeRbPG87fIbjoQK27uqYd0juVFiWWdtoG6HozIrMZsKg3/s400/l34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>And Like The Stars</b><br />
<br />
They’re out<br />
<br />
It’s a good season<br />
<br />
There’s more this year<br />
and they’re fat<br />
<br />
You can tell by their light —<br />
it’s warm<br />
<br />
not like the glow-worms<br />
in the creek below<br />
which are neon in their firmament<br />
<br />
You wonder where they breed —<br />
in this galaxy<br />
or somewhere prepared<br />
out of space<br />
<br />
Imagine it —<br />
a nursery<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for meteors moons and asteroids</span><br />
a preparatory place<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for planets</span><br />
a park perhaps<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">for stars</span><br />
and a sweet broad champagne <br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;">fenced</span><br />
for copulating comets<br />
<br />
Think of it</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSVXktf38Mw7F7NYe7u5jkrM-4qhWddm6sbjMoCn9N-ZBWuoh_stVNa7bpkvNpnVldoQ0z2K3NwillXKCUpa6YOlGLk0S6ikKcHlxmNtkmYZNVkgyTQKt7v5-vilEsqrJPiSPhlpX8bwa/s1600/l35.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932453391716978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEibSVXktf38Mw7F7NYe7u5jkrM-4qhWddm6sbjMoCn9N-ZBWuoh_stVNa7bpkvNpnVldoQ0z2K3NwillXKCUpa6YOlGLk0S6ikKcHlxmNtkmYZNVkgyTQKt7v5-vilEsqrJPiSPhlpX8bwa/s400/l35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">HE WENT THERE<br />YAWNING</span></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
This is about a misadventure that put me into the local paper. It happened on a bright afternoon. I was bored, so I decided to cross the creek and fell a few of my poplar trees for firewood. A three hour power cut was the result.</blockquote>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/living-at-bad-address-2004.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjEUWkO62aJHYdQgtOsf8biW-i7yFY6NL1fdOZXztpFu2sNZwKFAyt0kp9btH3V4ttic9uObi6mmq3vjz9qt7LJw7JvYS6YCQqAXGcxP7EO67LxXYDBjSC8zMRjVd6D5Dp0dTBojJ5Wdr/s1600/l36.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5621932380296250994" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXjEUWkO62aJHYdQgtOsf8biW-i7yFY6NL1fdOZXztpFu2sNZwKFAyt0kp9btH3V4ttic9uObi6mmq3vjz9qt7LJw7JvYS6YCQqAXGcxP7EO67LxXYDBjSC8zMRjVd6D5Dp0dTBojJ5Wdr/s400/l36.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
He went there yawning<br />
<br />
It was a sunny day<br />
but empty<br />
<br />
I am a man<br />
he thought<br />
I do big things<br />
<br />
So he took his saw<br />
and went across the river<br />
to the trees<br />
<br />
to fell a tree<br />
<br />
for firing<br />
for the winter<br />
<br />
He had wedges and ropes<br />
and the axe as well<br />
but the tree fell in the wind<br />
<br />
It rolled as it fell<br />
from top to top<br />
and pivoted<br />
to the wires<br />
<br />
with smoke<br />
and a hoot —<br />
the predatory breath<br />
of death<br />
<br />
He was ashamed<br />
<br />
He wanted to hide<br />
then thought to himself —<br />
<br />
It’s a foolish mistake<br />
but a big one<br />
<br />
Someone came running</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQj9rjPGTZ0Aeh0jb1P1f3s3veiM8BWrCV66IicagnogYONfRsJzWAMVhzwuJ4DOxgWD8emDE5S8PSZWI5hIkHadZaqsVz9QlIQlKGuc-F8Sjleg8h_NoXm9TQlQi8_d1RSqoUwc4W04/s1600/lc2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206432056971682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyQj9rjPGTZ0Aeh0jb1P1f3s3veiM8BWrCV66IicagnogYONfRsJzWAMVhzwuJ4DOxgWD8emDE5S8PSZWI5hIkHadZaqsVz9QlIQlKGuc-F8Sjleg8h_NoXm9TQlQi8_d1RSqoUwc4W04/s400/lc2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
© L. Kyle 2004<br />
<br />
Further copies of this booklet may be obtained from: L. Kyle<br />
<span style="padding-left: 22em;">P.O. Box 367</span><br />
Westport, Buller.<br />
<a href="mailto:lkyle@netaccess.co.nz">lkyle@netaccess.co.nz</a></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-10751182870977847072011-03-06T09:15:00.018+13:002017-11-26T10:58:38.295+13:00Panic Poems (2003)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVav7gDiJ12QCbaok6gpyprGoZVCgBABtVqHOteeW9mrPwGedCrvdGJiI2FxbwtqdM5YaLNNLMeWgw58v7DBwbZZp5Uxw8IMPxYqQrBXG1VN4crj07HRTMpmFYcVJWxqIDnTfzXebbfHE/s1600/pc1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579207036478254402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVav7gDiJ12QCbaok6gpyprGoZVCgBABtVqHOteeW9mrPwGedCrvdGJiI2FxbwtqdM5YaLNNLMeWgw58v7DBwbZZp5Uxw8IMPxYqQrBXG1VN4crj07HRTMpmFYcVJWxqIDnTfzXebbfHE/s400/pc1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-sixteen.html">Panic Poems</a> (2003)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbilGCyIv9ukq3KK1gm7-p81N_aCjsa6ddA6ndpei8FhC7VNokcVB1RnUDogH1baYbo834gMHNTgW-RlagUZO1YzWzBxzybp3-TW4HYkmIAidG6dJY3A9hfUeZn3RFIQd4Oy_Iy7KT8mc/s1600/p1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206879183639458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbilGCyIv9ukq3KK1gm7-p81N_aCjsa6ddA6ndpei8FhC7VNokcVB1RnUDogH1baYbo834gMHNTgW-RlagUZO1YzWzBxzybp3-TW4HYkmIAidG6dJY3A9hfUeZn3RFIQd4Oy_Iy7KT8mc/s400/p1.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />A Christmas Book</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTQPDp0cCtNw6pG6FKfUYQsG6jrPkpxRfDldSNNz3ZBJcO5ZfpD5CMmV6sNQS5N3-ReNjNothBxvpGgKd2YflBq2plclnYWULKOHmf0GQVSqPbsZWVGe7pJwClbohXKOEgVfvBkfYoFk/s1600/p2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206801629310978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDTQPDp0cCtNw6pG6FKfUYQsG6jrPkpxRfDldSNNz3ZBJcO5ZfpD5CMmV6sNQS5N3-ReNjNothBxvpGgKd2YflBq2plclnYWULKOHmf0GQVSqPbsZWVGe7pJwClbohXKOEgVfvBkfYoFk/s400/p2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Panic Poems</span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Most of my neighbours have come here for freedom and peace. No human community, however, can fully permit either of these qualities, and limits access to them. Even here, in such a remote community as this, we have to adjust to the proximity of other peoples' dogs, machinery , use of water, fire, noise, and all this amidst our own struggles for survival against the eccentricities of an infringing wilderness.<br />
<br />
These poems arose from my own adjustments to life in a very small isolated community, in which I've now lived for six years. In spite of these trials recorded here, I wouldn't leave it for anything.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Leicester Kyle,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">Millerton.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckgTgwQY3sYd4tRejllU3OgRIq_RdOS6C3yAvsH5SKN0mWQckJZR89T6Z34zIQ-8O9cfo5DtiUvc7IWUvccgParJt8e0EcKdg-Zv1bk9OQr8c9PnpIaWMgwtbA6DyMtFWej6EP7y1pFs1/s1600/p3a.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620500340023473778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhckgTgwQY3sYd4tRejllU3OgRIq_RdOS6C3yAvsH5SKN0mWQckJZR89T6Z34zIQ-8O9cfo5DtiUvc7IWUvccgParJt8e0EcKdg-Zv1bk9OQr8c9PnpIaWMgwtbA6DyMtFWej6EP7y1pFs1/s400/p3a.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 278px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">1.</span><br />
<br />
There’s no use explaining<br />
<br />
As Yeats said:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">To have too many reasons</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">is to be not quite well-born</span><br />
And there’s the sharper point —<br />
that to explain myself<br />
is to bore<br />
<br />
I’ll live on amiably<br />
me and my dog<br />
<br />
shall mow the lawns<br />
as proof of life<br />
paint the house<br />
for responsibility<br />
grow a bit of pot<br />
to be one of the boys<br />
<br />
get some mail<br />
have a visitor or two<br />
for the connection<br />
<br />
lest it be thought<br />
that my existence<br />
is not as others are<br />
<br />
my generation<br />
spontaneous</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />You must have antecedents and connections, be traceable, else they’ll think you’re out of Auckland, which is almost as unpleasant as the old belief that life bred spontaneously from dung-heaps. Aucklanders know neither fire nor weather, and are useless for anything but driving on motorways and making a certain type of money.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyY-LmVdDL9IqFIaQ57ThYl5ecYXdRZPU4ZEyZtoyT8ozjvBRrxij68MtUIUmIBmE6TWiuBZZ4pYV56Ngvaql8I1uY5tEjHK6LqykANJ1kNXchG4TaXi3IrdOwMgrEQya3KQHlZcOYRyIb/s1600/p4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620501955463767730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyY-LmVdDL9IqFIaQ57ThYl5ecYXdRZPU4ZEyZtoyT8ozjvBRrxij68MtUIUmIBmE6TWiuBZZ4pYV56Ngvaql8I1uY5tEjHK6LqykANJ1kNXchG4TaXi3IrdOwMgrEQya3KQHlZcOYRyIb/s400/p4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">2.</span><br />
<br />
That I am not too well<br />
must be pretended<br />
and be seen<br />
<br />
To be fit at my age<br />
is to boast<br />
<br />
My liver must be spongiform<br />
memory lost in the shorter term<br />
there must be aches and pains<br />
from nights spent drunk in<br />
in the blackberry<br />
<br />
Halt and weary I must be<br />
as I answer the knock<br />
at the door<br />
<br />
lest I condemn my neighbours<br />
<br />
It must be clear<br />
to all who call<br />
that I who live here<br />
am of the earth<br />
we live in</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />When you are an older-type person you must appear to show your age, else those who are younger, and who for reason of self-indulgence are not so fit, will take your exuberance as a staged and personal reflection upon them.<br /><br />I, to avoid such suspicion, frequently and tactfully insinuate both the shortness of my days and of my breath, and hint at maladies more threatening than my neighbours’.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVQ6RDcHTHdVcjFJELnm-HZmfWf-X-6oMr1IIzBfd_klMdxKqMM20gZY3dJb6IVlvclruOel7umb5crElTEEi0-ZnTCgJUAqOXzhv0A24ARRPSIFY_B6IfVgZGXwSADxdPX5sbv19D0OI/s1600/p5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620501894402007474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJVQ6RDcHTHdVcjFJELnm-HZmfWf-X-6oMr1IIzBfd_klMdxKqMM20gZY3dJb6IVlvclruOel7umb5crElTEEi0-ZnTCgJUAqOXzhv0A24ARRPSIFY_B6IfVgZGXwSADxdPX5sbv19D0OI/s400/p5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">3.</span><br />
<br />
At the end of every day<br />
I kneel beside my bed<br />
and pray<br />
<br />
Not for any thing<br />
not grace nor gift<br />
<br />
but that there be no<br />
empty space<br />
and eternity be peopled<br />
invisibly<br />
<br />
who need not be addressed<br />
and are anonymous<br />
<br />
who have no need of me<br />
<br />
but are there<br />
at that last lonely choice<br />
<br />
that there be company<br />
indigenous<br />
and for me</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />There is an ironic reasonableness in the concept of angels. Somewhere, in the whole vastness of space, and in the infinite complexity of space-time continua, the is a community of beings who will accept me.<br /><br />They needn’t love me like me nor know me, but at least they will let me join, with no suspicion that I be from Auckland.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5NJ8ANmzdgp-ybxQeEtgi8gY-lx3naKF5M1l3CYr02bqoLjvmTLFZrixteqorsHIzhsUxUzTfu0oF46qVgCKZDj8851J1bB0XQkGAyCl1WKG4EpyAL7TNmKKG5D2wRCM-4C-7gYJh2su/s1600/p6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620501824190894498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhI5NJ8ANmzdgp-ybxQeEtgi8gY-lx3naKF5M1l3CYr02bqoLjvmTLFZrixteqorsHIzhsUxUzTfu0oF46qVgCKZDj8851J1bB0XQkGAyCl1WKG4EpyAL7TNmKKG5D2wRCM-4C-7gYJh2su/s400/p6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 272px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">4.</span><br />
<br />
The sore rewards of insight<br />
<br />
In which I waver<br />
as if there is a need for pain<br />
a pleasure in it<br />
<br />
That they won’t ring<br />
<br />
Though I am my own man<br />
and adult<br />
on my own feet and no<br />
dependent<br />
<br />
I tell myself again and again —<br />
it’s my life<br />
I’ve made it<br />
and they are adult too<br />
in theirs<br />
<br />
But I’m drawn<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">by the sweet scent of victimhood</span><br />
Need of return<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for those nurturing years</span></blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />The thought that one might have lived in vain is a hard one; that the children don’t need you, that your friends are more inclined to forget you, and that you’ve only your feet to stand on, is unwelcome.<br /><br />It’s no use complaining — WINZ might hear of it and give you a job, even if you’re on Super.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSF78ufz3XnrB4UZa1yEnpfpXz7ml_RoLHr7uc1ystkRD5DBt3eYQVkAn9Z4nHdIBop9unt5ppvKL9G9j8D64L8WireRMkOgNozV9_7vBL8Rs8taFIawNVRQWl6ptcnPf8r1k0ci_ZAov/s1600/p7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620501745138011874" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRSF78ufz3XnrB4UZa1yEnpfpXz7ml_RoLHr7uc1ystkRD5DBt3eYQVkAn9Z4nHdIBop9unt5ppvKL9G9j8D64L8WireRMkOgNozV9_7vBL8Rs8taFIawNVRQWl6ptcnPf8r1k0ci_ZAov/s400/p7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">5.</span><br />
<br />
A ditch on one side<br />
a bog on the other —<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">It’s a narrow path that takes me</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">through a dark place</span></i><br />
I’ve spent too much on food<br />
and don’t know what to do<br />
<br />
From fear of running out<br />
and in case of guests<br />
<br />
There’s nowhere to store<br />
some’s in the garage<br />
and I can’t eat more<br />
of<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">sweet</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">cake</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">made</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">meats</span><br />
chocolate has limits<br />
and spirits<br />
<br />
though they tempt with comfort<br />
when the telephone doesn’t ring for days<br />
and no-one comes to the door<br />
<br />
I must eat plain<br />
I say to myself<br />
<br />
I must live that too<br />
me and my dog</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />If you choose to live on the top of a hill, only those who can climb will call,<br /><br />except for the meter-reader, one or two who are lost, a curious friend, and those who want a loan of your trailer .<br /><br />You need to look after yourself: buy another fridge for comfort food and put it in the garage. Equip the home with nicely-judged prosthetic devices like SKY, a cookery book, and effective cleaning devices.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAr9bfrMoEf_C3rjIxo0XD4EWnTqaNd920pABHdQ5Aue5L3jwdKT1voFpXJzLB84fThoQYaLNHfHL759AoMeGzYkya89WdQxbIvQ1tf7D-XGnN8ImNc6v2GyY6Up1C4X8oRn-BMbk3BPA/s1600/p8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620503938578875154" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqAr9bfrMoEf_C3rjIxo0XD4EWnTqaNd920pABHdQ5Aue5L3jwdKT1voFpXJzLB84fThoQYaLNHfHL759AoMeGzYkya89WdQxbIvQ1tf7D-XGnN8ImNc6v2GyY6Up1C4X8oRn-BMbk3BPA/s400/p8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 265px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">6.</span><br />
<br />
Similarly<br />
it must not be<br />
that I take a woman<br />
<br />
I will be heroic<br />
live and die lonely<br />
and not be two again<br />
<br />
I want to be my own<br />
though the physical is lovely<br />
and its want tedious<br />
<br />
With women I am kind<br />
in a conquering way<br />
to signal the familiar<br />
<br />
lest I be despised by my neighbours<br />
suspected of that fearful flaw<br />
that puts a man<br />
outside</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />To have the neighbours’ trust you must have a partner of the opposite sex, or - at the very least - give an impression that you could have one if you tried. A fact-based bias against the opposite sex will work only for a time.<br /><br />If you haven’t, no-one will come; there’ll be nothing to talk about and they’ll misunderstand you when there’s trouble.<br /><br />Even at the surgery, dentist and doctor will be indefinite, and if you push too far your name will vanish from significant data-bases.<br /><br />This you might think advantageous but, once again, will cause trouble when there’s trouble.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VPmLPx4sXweBTEZkdo7W2i-HIPNynmT4FXaH1xrLq7lYAM5KTB7bxFNTbQnY3JQYBPAXjdpr6aWPDPtkp2k9jQyILkN3eGpngmPanDO4f_W5Pe1XgyNuYwetAAldTcKXlTJsy8Gp5FMW/s1600/p9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620499679005550002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj9VPmLPx4sXweBTEZkdo7W2i-HIPNynmT4FXaH1xrLq7lYAM5KTB7bxFNTbQnY3JQYBPAXjdpr6aWPDPtkp2k9jQyILkN3eGpngmPanDO4f_W5Pe1XgyNuYwetAAldTcKXlTJsy8Gp5FMW/s400/p9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 272px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">7.</span><br />
<br />
<i>Tapping out in galactic code</i> —<br />
<br />
I’m prisoner at 404<br />
being fattened for food<br />
by a dog named Dirk<br />
<br />
though in truth<br />
like poetry<br />
I’m counterfeit<br />
<br />
and make things that are not<br />
as though they are</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Imagination has greater claim to my commitment than has fact, as poetry holds more life than science.<br /><br />My invented world is warm, its language harmonious with songs that must be sung.<br /><br />The truth is cold and makes me ill.<br /><br />The dog’s name is Red.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtowxkFq0-98b4whrdEngu6PjuAsl-nABMiK_Kjk4OCiAvl-kxgl92OxzBQiYzCCh4gw3i2N6QkiQmXfj-4-ioVr0HyHNL5yfH7yoyqQ4PQXlBzJNMSAnQIe1n8JW7IMVPyDXtq8Ne3Wo/s1600/p10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620499609660981810" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMtowxkFq0-98b4whrdEngu6PjuAsl-nABMiK_Kjk4OCiAvl-kxgl92OxzBQiYzCCh4gw3i2N6QkiQmXfj-4-ioVr0HyHNL5yfH7yoyqQ4PQXlBzJNMSAnQIe1n8JW7IMVPyDXtq8Ne3Wo/s400/p10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">8.</span><br />
<br />
No<br />
it’s not said free —<br />
Judges are the fruit of sterling silver<br />
<br />
which has no sense<br />
but lingers from a sleepy state<br />
which took me while I wondered<br />
what to do<br />
<br />
to tell them I’d be over the hill<br />
or not<br />
<br />
If I do I’m ‘at it again’<br />
<br />
If I don’t<br />
I’m out of touch<br />
in accident<br />
<br />
A dilemma<br />
for an isolated state<br />
solved as well in sleep<br />
by revelation dream by automatic writing<br />
as by thought</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />It’s no use being public, for everyone else here is where I was at 40, and mine is an end-life crisis.<br /><br />I’ve moved on out of all that and don’t want to go round again; I’m impatient, and want to be alone to think.<br /><br />But if I’m too private, where is help when I need it? No-one will know my need.<br /><br />If I drive off the road, who will see the marks?<br /><br />There’s no help in logic.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkcE8PfKunPLsugr_m1utHapaBdAS19Jjzdk04Akq9xghxMXHb43MX0PiIjoQGeXNnkUad6P6IiGPD4ii1S0kXsDVm0IFB9adZ6HIgg53xZalwF2m-jhlunCTMh_auA5ckkuWhJQLzOx-/s1600/p11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620499527509461138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEkcE8PfKunPLsugr_m1utHapaBdAS19Jjzdk04Akq9xghxMXHb43MX0PiIjoQGeXNnkUad6P6IiGPD4ii1S0kXsDVm0IFB9adZ6HIgg53xZalwF2m-jhlunCTMh_auA5ckkuWhJQLzOx-/s400/p11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">9.</span><br />
<br />
But I would like to stop —<br />
to lock the door<br />
cut the phone<br />
slash the net<br />
and not go down for the mail<br />
<br />
to be at peace in my bed<br />
alone in my house<br />
for a while<br />
<br />
with a choice to not know<br />
what anyone else in the world<br />
is doing<br />
<br />
It would be a cleansing rite<br />
restorative<br />
<br />
There’s too much happening<br />
a crowded house<br />
too many<br />
<br />
It’s the last days it’s like<br />
the Apocalypse</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />There must be revelation too.<br /><br />Apocalypses don’t stand alone; they require divination, so there’s cause for holocaust and purpose to judgement,<br /><br />So when all this fuss is done something better will be left, which is what I’m waiting for, why I pay the rates and keep the house in order.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFV4m2MD5Cq6FrlYJ72HLxWi2Fhyiy8Pdeo8BVFy7N02X4y3KPCD3Q6L2FcyijZyTL6SnLr1NNZ1sZ-OL7md9-hT-51YZ_2ZQ61Llf5MC8HAozq8JknY9RcCLKjSdr1vqKFz5nSJ1wjiW/s1600/p12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620499300244756354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvFV4m2MD5Cq6FrlYJ72HLxWi2Fhyiy8Pdeo8BVFy7N02X4y3KPCD3Q6L2FcyijZyTL6SnLr1NNZ1sZ-OL7md9-hT-51YZ_2ZQ61Llf5MC8HAozq8JknY9RcCLKjSdr1vqKFz5nSJ1wjiW/s400/p12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">10.</span><br />
<br />
Their loss<br />
is as great<br />
from drugs<br />
as mine<br />
from age<br />
<br />
I’m twice theirs<br />
<br />
With them<br />
senescence is promiscuous<br />
<br />
Decay creeps upon them<br />
as moss on a rock<br />
on mind and body<br />
house and car<br />
<br />
But they’re still of this world<br />
and look at my survival<br />
as a plot<br />
<br />
I<br />
ingenuous<br />
don’t think it is</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Though I’ve planned it for years, unknowing.<br /><br />I’ve left it late to implement because of conditions, and hover at the boundary now, uncertain where to put my aged feet — one on this, the other on the next?<br /><br />The boundary’s opaque and there’s fog, like in a forensic.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpv0OOmNQzWMycH5Zdbix02g3uf-zjrRyI1tiOat53UWNrRAKyNKPZrJuBTLzP8L7os0vlEkobzaPHbAQeJrch3lWc_f0ZwMtGpYiMAH6-v71H4J1zBbeNgsxyY6OcumvG5ta0mRccVNC/s1600/p13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620499218147207282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWpv0OOmNQzWMycH5Zdbix02g3uf-zjrRyI1tiOat53UWNrRAKyNKPZrJuBTLzP8L7os0vlEkobzaPHbAQeJrch3lWc_f0ZwMtGpYiMAH6-v71H4J1zBbeNgsxyY6OcumvG5ta0mRccVNC/s400/p13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">11.</span><br />
<br />
The cake tastes of shampoo<br />
and I have to eat it all<br />
but that doesn’t matter<br />
it’s not nourishing<br />
<br />
Keep things in their categories<br />
and all is clear<br />
<br />
It makes for wisdom<br />
<br />
to interpret the inscrutable<br />
as it must be faced<br />
<br />
<br />
She’s not coming over after all —<br />
troubles have stopped her<br />
<br />
my bed is forlorn<br />
its rituals aborted<br />
<br />
What do I do with my masculine intent?<br />
<br />
Go outside and polish up the truck<br />
clean the spouting<br />
repile the shed<br />
<br />
delay is just for a month or two<br />
then her peace returns</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Walk around with the chain-saw and big boots<br />Put each step deliberately down upon the earth hard, to say It’s mine and I’ll rule it as a man should,<br />as I would if she were here<br />which is probably why she’s not.<br /><br />It must be hard for the earth to be ruled levelled ploughed and fertilised. Better for the doer than to be done by.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQcmpf-tOr-U8iSPAuZywJ7hM1eELByRQ8oIIuvcRjVYl_U2wAl-ysxZaVWCsE0xPor92fjfJjnYNxeWHBKJChhc1-N5LBhcL-5L8UEc3KgYMWAUGNNLHj7jtypvR5pk28FudYysMYM9X/s1600/p14.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496834537167474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZQcmpf-tOr-U8iSPAuZywJ7hM1eELByRQ8oIIuvcRjVYl_U2wAl-ysxZaVWCsE0xPor92fjfJjnYNxeWHBKJChhc1-N5LBhcL-5L8UEc3KgYMWAUGNNLHj7jtypvR5pk28FudYysMYM9X/s400/p14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">12.</span><br />
<br />
Now<br />
after three-and-a-half metres of rain<br />
the sun<br />
in a glass sky<br />
and the bush crackling<br />
<br />
The creek’s at a murmur<br />
<br />
What do you think of that —<br />
will it rain again?<br />
<br />
It stayed cold forever<br />
will it be hot for as long?<br />
<br />
It’s these vagaries —<br />
everything veers extreme<br />
and nothing’s at the mean<br />
<br />
Whatever is<br />
seems insupportable<br />
and always to be<br />
<br />
But why?<br />
<br />
No-one’s trained for this</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />It’s prophecy —<br /><br />You take what is and say it will go on forever;<br /><br />If what you say is bad, everyone will agree, because misfortune seems to be the natural order, and we all think the pessimist is wise.<br /><br />We forget good chance, and the average between.<br /><br />Science makes a packet out of this, and politicians power.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZ5xyf-7p1Bb5uQDuBHgoe10hwLJ3cfAjK07YMm6fB9huD7B0ckzG1UFnCteYz_HBNp3Kn0SAXpYWaREiHReOO55XtYp6Ldh-fVMbuPSJ-o-kjTaFeFbEP2dygD13yXL6WPd3CEcrgw-O/s1600/p15.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496771246805698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeZ5xyf-7p1Bb5uQDuBHgoe10hwLJ3cfAjK07YMm6fB9huD7B0ckzG1UFnCteYz_HBNp3Kn0SAXpYWaREiHReOO55XtYp6Ldh-fVMbuPSJ-o-kjTaFeFbEP2dygD13yXL6WPd3CEcrgw-O/s400/p15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 245px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">13.</span><br />
<br />
I talk to myself a lot<br />
and to the dog<br />
(it’s refreshing to speak to the wise)<br />
but when the sun shines<br />
the people come out<br />
<br />
I walk about<br />
and speak to a few<br />
until the next rain<br />
<br />
At 4.0<br />
I should go to Happy Hour<br />
at the pub below<br />
but I’m disinclined<br />
<br />
It’s encouraging to reminisce<br />
with others of my age<br />
but it worries me<br />
<br />
I talk too much<br />
and fuss<br />
my head aches<br />
and I want to escape<br />
<br />
and besides —<br />
speech makes entanglements<br />
which I may not want<br />
to untie<br />
<br />
It’s best to stay home<br />
with myself as company<br />
and the dog<br />
who by nature retires</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />The guilt that comes from doing what you want is about the same as the guilt you get from not doing what you want.<br /><br />This makes God a necessity.<br /><br />The alternative is a maintained mood of suspended somnolence — you smile and nod and doze with your eyes.You say nothing,until whatever is goes away.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ABke8YgvDraLcn7sCWuzEORmvd-MWGN75DYprXfl40fIMVb2JTZjHvJa8ZF5eihNolWMpuI7qfgE16dIc4PyFMKVa1gy5SRzI1FJnkOUGe83KS2r1jNUT1ADqOcZ_9F6xA1K9l83paSK/s1600/p16.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496700460180738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8ABke8YgvDraLcn7sCWuzEORmvd-MWGN75DYprXfl40fIMVb2JTZjHvJa8ZF5eihNolWMpuI7qfgE16dIc4PyFMKVa1gy5SRzI1FJnkOUGe83KS2r1jNUT1ADqOcZ_9F6xA1K9l83paSK/s400/p16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">14.</span><br />
<br />
They come to this disordered world<br />
today late<br />
when the sun sinks in a silvered haze<br />
and the birds sing<br />
<br />
They will be excited<br />
at the space<br />
and will sleep<br />
<br />
Then in the morning<br />
go for a walk to the end of the track<br />
come back tired<br />
and say they’ve been lost<br />
<br />
I will give them a drink<br />
cook a meal<br />
<br />
They won’t talk much<br />
they’re still lost<br />
they don’t know where<br />
<br />
It’s an incomprehensible space<br />
that hasn’t been explored<br />
<br />
The tracks go into shadows<br />
<br />
There are marks on them</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />The only space we know is our own.<br /><br />When we come to someone else’s we go in armed – with sunglasses lotions insecticides hat stick preconceptions walkman insulating interests for life support, to protect us from the alien air,<br /><br />and microbes.<br /><br />To go further out we take a ship.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOa5VhwjwhZEr3KvrSKlXlrPK-DGfdHoZKjtMwMOQOVeaRfObjYqhiIvXT3xObDKTMxlK9zP9yc99r49SCq95Dub4An_PZTstgrEmRBIz1oLLYMoQA_0Mdg9ICkZmdbpwYCVv-ouG9R044/s1600/p17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496633902974770" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOa5VhwjwhZEr3KvrSKlXlrPK-DGfdHoZKjtMwMOQOVeaRfObjYqhiIvXT3xObDKTMxlK9zP9yc99r49SCq95Dub4An_PZTstgrEmRBIz1oLLYMoQA_0Mdg9ICkZmdbpwYCVv-ouG9R044/s400/p17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">15.</span><br />
<br />
Soon I will be slow<br />
in my slippers<br />
in the sun<br />
and the grass will grow long<br />
<br />
trees will crowd<br />
the spouting block<br />
and spiders web the window<br />
<br />
I will sleep in the afternoon<br />
and use more electricity<br />
<br />
It will be too much<br />
to chop wood<br />
and make repairs<br />
to paint and stop leaks<br />
to dress in the morning<br />
change the sheets<br />
and wash them<br />
<br />
there will be few who know me<br />
<br />
Should I fall<br />
who will find me?<br />
<br />
This is the way of it<br />
and I’m content<br />
<br />
you can live youth at ease<br />
<br />
To age takes strength</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Some say this is sad; I don’t think it is.<br /><br />Promise makes youth happier, knowledge makes age fuller. You know how to do things, the way of it, how to get peace, and how to make use of a sleepless night. There are other strengths.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hW3yXGSiDb-6citsRvP43NZVYwwdmrykhk9GK7qGb4MFc7Tgfak0KCnDQm7jU38UaA7hT6MhcmAbxm79spEQ-65Qy_xks5VDR0wU9xbVN-DLzlTahsMEAG9sKqXmq1Hdnc6sb6eIznQY/s1600/p18.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496554311224434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4hW3yXGSiDb-6citsRvP43NZVYwwdmrykhk9GK7qGb4MFc7Tgfak0KCnDQm7jU38UaA7hT6MhcmAbxm79spEQ-65Qy_xks5VDR0wU9xbVN-DLzlTahsMEAG9sKqXmq1Hdnc6sb6eIznQY/s400/p18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">16.</span><br />
<br />
Six steps down<br />
and three floors up<br />
it goes<br />
<br />
erratic and uneasy<br />
until the end<br />
when you lie<br />
finished<br />
<br />
Work is done<br />
the kids grown<br />
the house paid off<br />
<br />
There’s no further use for you —<br />
you’re costing too much<br />
and make worry<br />
<br />
It’s time —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">unless</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">of course</span><br />
the Director has a job for you<br />
one no-body’s thought of<br />
<br />
like saving The Planet<br />
(he doesn’t say which)<br />
<br />
No such luck<br />
you’re done<br />
you’re off<br />
and you’ve left your spleen<br />
(the body part you valued)<br />
to posterity</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />You have to leave something for the children; they’ve inherited your will already. Attitudes aren’t welcome, so leave some words, guidance ones, a story or two, a pithy epithet, or something they can quarrel with and thereby keep the peace. You can rule by division, even from the grave.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtVc80xfcVONW87Tx_iDNDtiVVuEuEHiXW6qLtDzjWGXPmy4MqPn5U34mpKDHfzDdj3vZ2AE-42cm4gwv4q2g8CZPZojAtWWbhuaP4KrHq2yym-E96H751aPHw_Ebx5oVOsUd4LqhgvPU/s1600/p19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496488105006162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQtVc80xfcVONW87Tx_iDNDtiVVuEuEHiXW6qLtDzjWGXPmy4MqPn5U34mpKDHfzDdj3vZ2AE-42cm4gwv4q2g8CZPZojAtWWbhuaP4KrHq2yym-E96H751aPHw_Ebx5oVOsUd4LqhgvPU/s400/p19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">17.</span><br />
<br />
Ho you<br />
who are accomplished —<br />
<br />
As the Preacher says:<br />
have care for us<br />
who are at whim<br />
<br />
who at the crossroads<br />
might as well return<br />
<br />
We’ve no idea<br />
of where to go<br />
<br />
of stop or go<br />
front or back<br />
<br />
One idea’s as good as any other<br />
no time nor deed more valued<br />
than another<br />
<br />
not life<br />
nor death<br />
<br />
Strength has uses<br />
consciousness none<br />
<br />
and we are the majority<br />
<br />
Have mercy</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />On people like us, who live at a bad address,<br />that the district council would like to suppress,<br />who’s people often forget the law,<br />who haven’t much money and don’t want to have much,<br />who, if we had influence, wouldn’t know what to do with it,<br />who are too pushed to know what an accomplishment is,<br /><br />and are too tired to understand.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnoUh2ByNVgHP5830Verc1tLkKByPlkR51zXrIaJ3SL4N2XV8nkYZ34tXqFRo-4BzXfPU7V6tOeX2M32xNciZOysGJhMFG-84dbxtjMo2JEeBkZFBxxGYnp8msfUzwC0EgvX3izCP0eyz/s1600/p20.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496409270650434" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvnoUh2ByNVgHP5830Verc1tLkKByPlkR51zXrIaJ3SL4N2XV8nkYZ34tXqFRo-4BzXfPU7V6tOeX2M32xNciZOysGJhMFG-84dbxtjMo2JEeBkZFBxxGYnp8msfUzwC0EgvX3izCP0eyz/s400/p20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">18.</span><br />
<br />
It’s this that made me kick the dog:<br />
<br />
Neville had a leak at his header tank<br />
so no water was crossing the creek<br />
<br />
Debbie and the girls and me dried out<br />
and Jimmie and Eva<br />
Pete and Mike and Dinah<br />
Henry too<br />
<br />
Someone muscled in on things<br />
and didn’t do it well<br />
<br />
The IRD sent another demand<br />
<br />
It rained when I sprayed the moss<br />
<br />
Al wanted more for the fridge<br />
than he paid at the first<br />
<br />
It was all these things put together<br />
<br />
Then<br />
when we played<br />
at the end of the day<br />
he nipped me<br />
<br />
But it’s me that should have been<br />
kicked in the butt<br />
and shut in the shed<br />
to shiver</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />The shed’s a place to shiver in. You can close your mind and centre on the labour of repentance, the dusk and dirty windows, spider-webs, old tools, rubbish round the edges and memorabilia, half attempts at things, forgotten causes, samples of bad workmanship.<br /><br />It’s like a mind.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPm3_0FS-Xjh2YQ7ReEQlAEQU8t2WB6HLsWKCmROzodT303MP3LAO_cZVkY1JMxvZ3r3Sguu_LyLHFDsoBfx92wnDHcdll_k9yHzH8K5t1JvWxuPxg8B204P-G8o_wauwv_L9xkmyAdUc/s1600/p21.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496341778923250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNPm3_0FS-Xjh2YQ7ReEQlAEQU8t2WB6HLsWKCmROzodT303MP3LAO_cZVkY1JMxvZ3r3Sguu_LyLHFDsoBfx92wnDHcdll_k9yHzH8K5t1JvWxuPxg8B204P-G8o_wauwv_L9xkmyAdUc/s400/p21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">19.</span><br />
<br />
The rest of the world is a dangerous place<br />
and you don’t know where<br />
it’ll hit from<br />
<br />
I stay put<br />
for safety<br />
but<br />
<br />
people say things<br />
that don’t matter<br />
so why do they say them<br />
<br />
That’s what hurts —<br />
the motives<br />
not the words<br />
<br />
What have I said<br />
what have I done<br />
to provoke<br />
<br />
Memories and imagined scenes<br />
crowd and jostle<br />
in my mind<br />
for reasons causes facts<br />
to justify<br />
<br />
They make me fret<br />
and be outcast<br />
until time<br />
or a happy chance<br />
brings confidence again</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Gardening’s the worst, amongst the strawberries, pulling out euphorbia and twitch; it lets memories in, of things said and done by me or by others to me, embarrassments I want to forget, that no-one with sense would think of. I want to hide until I feel shameless.<br /><br />I must accept that fear and chance and sentiment may sometimes be too much for me.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMexbeFXN7ZFPNlCfWSD-u04M8ogENPL42AxaoQX5ikEIJwcQjAOgNovUKIlj6amFqvysWXQ8fOwsng6fknlWq5KLt635m_fRjsldgyHn0UyHcBB7GrzeYfy74FZHACD45-G6Yrt5KHcM/s1600/p22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496277107825106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQMexbeFXN7ZFPNlCfWSD-u04M8ogENPL42AxaoQX5ikEIJwcQjAOgNovUKIlj6amFqvysWXQ8fOwsng6fknlWq5KLt635m_fRjsldgyHn0UyHcBB7GrzeYfy74FZHACD45-G6Yrt5KHcM/s400/p22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">20.</span><br />
<br />
I catch her<br />
if I can<br />
between games<br />
<br />
A note at the door says<br />
‘Back Tomorrow’<br />
but you can’t tell which tomorrow<br />
<br />
Another says<br />
‘Back In Ten Minutes’<br />
and leaves the same doubt<br />
<br />
Hours are<br />
Tuesday to Friday<br />
8.15-5.0<br />
<br />
Which gives flexibility<br />
if you add away-time<br />
and tournaments<br />
<br />
So I drive to town at 8.0<br />
and wait at the salon door<br />
in case<br />
<br />
My hair has grown like bracken<br />
<br />
She comes at 8.45<br />
and I take the chair<br />
<br />
Been keeping well, I ask<br />
Oh yes, she says, and busy<br />
It keeps me out of mischief<br />
<br />
That’s a loss, I say<br />
as a man should<br />
to hint at himself<br />
How’s bowls<br />
<br />
It was a shame, she says<br />
I disgraced myself<br />
I’m better off at work</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB2CDdR87RZcIMqrXUXopPb3htC16ABuMCcVZ1AQqwpcpGpjabQ_MiFGe5CzIQPcGiLTH9DQ6TqgUWdJVYuxGPxQWfCf7R6jgCwUgy1clp9vIB13wn-9oh14flSwFDWwwhMH5TdWjO3H0/s1600/p23.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496208284695234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzB2CDdR87RZcIMqrXUXopPb3htC16ABuMCcVZ1AQqwpcpGpjabQ_MiFGe5CzIQPcGiLTH9DQ6TqgUWdJVYuxGPxQWfCf7R6jgCwUgy1clp9vIB13wn-9oh14flSwFDWwwhMH5TdWjO3H0/s400/p23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 239px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">21.</span><br />
<br />
It’s in the public places<br />
and the parks<br />
The Protected Natural Areas<br />
and the reserves<br />
In the gorges<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">wherever you go</span><br />
among the rocks<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">for a scramble</span><br />
It’s tended and pampered<br />
and hid from the helicopter<br />
<br />
And from predatory greed<br />
that scuttles on the pakihi<br />
to cut and plunder<br />
<br />
in the dark<br />
<br />
I’m afraid in the dark<br />
<br />
Even my friend might<br />
do this in the dark<br />
<br />
The thought destroys<br />
takes sleep robs rest<br />
<br />
I can hold no trust<br />
in anyone<br />
I live lonely<br />
and in dread<br />
that he might so desire</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Pot and paranoia go together.<br /><br />The peace you have from smoking it is denied by worry about it.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4wFl-jWs3ZPo9Vzvtn4J7KLOFeBliKXXVeKn_5LPRWwklVP7WaWuuXSCFT-j5atQWwk5m8nNZCZ89oDRN1DB3an4L9g5yLR1fuKJiZmAxtYEmejOcNpSasgw06lBCXHqvY6ROVWHtP-b/s1600/p24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496127371238898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg4wFl-jWs3ZPo9Vzvtn4J7KLOFeBliKXXVeKn_5LPRWwklVP7WaWuuXSCFT-j5atQWwk5m8nNZCZ89oDRN1DB3an4L9g5yLR1fuKJiZmAxtYEmejOcNpSasgw06lBCXHqvY6ROVWHtP-b/s400/p24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 274px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">22.</span><br />
<br />
And other vaguer presences<br />
like the time it snowed<br />
when I wanted it to snow<br />
<br />
But mostly it doesn’t<br />
<br />
I get up in the morning<br />
and it’s dull<br />
<br />
It’s cold, I light the fire<br />
and it clears<br />
<br />
Or it’s fine, so I paint the house<br />
but it rains<br />
<br />
Life should prefigure itself<br />
in shadows, hints<br />
rhetorical gestures that<br />
we recognise<br />
<br />
a message in the sunset<br />
sequences we know<br />
<br />
It would save a lot of money<br />
make it surer with the wash<br />
but mostly<br />
it would set my mind at rest<br />
<br />
I wouldn’t need to worry much<br />
and stuff like that</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />If life could be like the compliance officers of our Regional Council, who ring up offenders before they visit them — just a message a token a hint — something to say ‘we’re going to happen’, and if it could be written into the constitution, so to speak, to take out surprise and put in prediction; it would save on health, the police, and capitalism generally.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9MBAyUzB6OmJhw8kx-ygjYfdsd0hmThTRh8brAgr9DBS78hamttgPRxd-ykgXjQuBXMACCGwvBeLtPbKKhJNgdt8KL7cRzMVFUbsv9ov0MJaADtKbDlCijze6MLWMW3-HFb0sAyC7fTm/s1600/p25.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620496050023551826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR9MBAyUzB6OmJhw8kx-ygjYfdsd0hmThTRh8brAgr9DBS78hamttgPRxd-ykgXjQuBXMACCGwvBeLtPbKKhJNgdt8KL7cRzMVFUbsv9ov0MJaADtKbDlCijze6MLWMW3-HFb0sAyC7fTm/s400/p25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">23.</span><br />
<br />
It’s Monday<br />
I know<br />
from the radio<br />
<br />
Last week<br />
I did the wash on the wrong day<br />
I thought it was Saturday<br />
<br />
Once you’ve lost track<br />
the calendar’s not definitive<br />
<br />
If you didn’t know yesterday<br />
you can’t tell today<br />
and have to turn to the media<br />
for the formality<br />
<br />
It matters most<br />
to the rest of the world<br />
and not much here<br />
<br />
We don’t much care<br />
except for appointments<br />
and programmes on TV<br />
<br />
Though it would be a help<br />
if the seven days<br />
had signatures<br />
<br />
colours perhaps<br />
or songs<br />
or each to one own sin —<br />
<br />
venal, of course<br />
not deadly</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />That’s the trouble with time, it doesn’t define itself to be easily read; we have to do that, make special days like Christmas, mark the seasons, make history, and be self-conscious about night and day, or else we would be like the animals who don’t know death.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgg987Mfmb_f_Mzc4eoJzu8mo9jyrtRrk9nP3O0DMQhYihrOwfFXedVwbtZiDonMfK0A9yo2vsdfsUFqv9J6b9ZfS9DochqrXgZhRgqT1jFCyf_S0mWBPXmKYBAbkQTzayCAuED90nYmVy/s1600/p26.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620495967121531682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgg987Mfmb_f_Mzc4eoJzu8mo9jyrtRrk9nP3O0DMQhYihrOwfFXedVwbtZiDonMfK0A9yo2vsdfsUFqv9J6b9ZfS9DochqrXgZhRgqT1jFCyf_S0mWBPXmKYBAbkQTzayCAuED90nYmVy/s400/p26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">24.</span><br />
<br />
Welcome from the World<br />
<br />
Sunny days and midnight rain<br />
<br />
Green things go wild<br />
and reach up writhing<br />
<br />
But I am not green<br />
and am sick in my soul<br />
with longing for life<br />
whose movement is not to death<br />
where these green beings<br />
can grow in splendour<br />
in themselves unchanged<br />
<br />
and flowers<br />
<br />
where age is to strength<br />
and does not mean decay<br />
<br />
where rest is no loss</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Age would be a pleasant thing if it didn’t weaken.<br /><br />To grow from middle age into strength and experience would be a just return for the effort put into getting so far, and would encourage more people.<br /><br />Life needs to give more to show for it, besides children and stuff.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJ8fj5yZzrz8f5-KR-1PtBfZQutr2UWI_l81RXEy5wTwvQdU-v_CwWNk371TNCXyahmH4dU12zoU28-uwMk7cx6YiG7rtgoWYpybaKUsk8qmUL5brYMEjIyRtogD3ElWhSAOgnPs_UwZ0/s1600/p27.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620495299692429778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiJ8fj5yZzrz8f5-KR-1PtBfZQutr2UWI_l81RXEy5wTwvQdU-v_CwWNk371TNCXyahmH4dU12zoU28-uwMk7cx6YiG7rtgoWYpybaKUsk8qmUL5brYMEjIyRtogD3ElWhSAOgnPs_UwZ0/s400/p27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">25.</span><br />
<br />
My eyes are slow<br />
I can’t tell<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">on the open road</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">who’s driving</span><br />
A wave to a stranger<br />
is a wasted thing<br />
yet I don’t like to give offence<br />
and worry<br />
when I get home<br />
how to do it acceptably<br />
<br />
Do I keep my hands<br />
at the top of the wheel<br />
a firm grip<br />
and a muscular wrist<br />
<br />
Do I lift one finger<br />
from the right<br />
in dignity and discretion?<br />
<br />
Extend an arm<br />
fascist and friendly?<br />
<br />
A flick of the hand?<br />
<br />
A toot of the horn?<br />
<br />
Manners change<br />
Requirements are reviewed<br />
by society in its course<br />
<br />
I like etiquette<br />
and I like to be right</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />I dream a lot when I’m driving, and can’t tell who’s passing until it’s too late; then I’m surprised and wave carelessly, instead of in the ordered way of a man in control.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWTF7iaKz2-7ftgKVF_MeqoBDbuD5SK8ASKmZwoGRXXvcgBnZx9uaAyiSyuN1aDTVrhBvMORlzSh-oONmFC8zaYAVHq1k_34rd623jLuP4_8qmTb2rVK5SkvW5Mks-im-bIdHtiZCABcW/s1600/p28.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620495229558502402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvWTF7iaKz2-7ftgKVF_MeqoBDbuD5SK8ASKmZwoGRXXvcgBnZx9uaAyiSyuN1aDTVrhBvMORlzSh-oONmFC8zaYAVHq1k_34rd623jLuP4_8qmTb2rVK5SkvW5Mks-im-bIdHtiZCABcW/s400/p28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">26.</span><br />
<br />
Fog thick as a burning<br />
and I can’t see traffic<br />
on the road<br />
<br />
There is no wind<br />
<br />
There’s the sound<br />
of fine rain sifting<br />
<br />
and of the trucks<br />
as they labour up the hill<br />
unseen in this dark<br />
which must be perpetual<br />
<br />
They go to no visible goal<br />
are only noise<br />
<br />
All I hear<br />
all through the day<br />
is the same again</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />And there’s a dog barking on and on; its lonely need’s the same as the <br />trucks —<br /><br />someone’s got to drive.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7nAmXDBgzEVKQPiZJ_djODkQgM_VLvRAOrreae9bzlnqtYS3SI4bIk80FPdC6DWeLVb6lOI27HSwNER-OhSFM7fvjmqfATlcqHemqKvqt8MDSgPwFYjl00e2gvQAWYrHLuSjdC8rs42B/s1600/p29.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620495139369992402" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW7nAmXDBgzEVKQPiZJ_djODkQgM_VLvRAOrreae9bzlnqtYS3SI4bIk80FPdC6DWeLVb6lOI27HSwNER-OhSFM7fvjmqfATlcqHemqKvqt8MDSgPwFYjl00e2gvQAWYrHLuSjdC8rs42B/s400/p29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">27.</span><br />
<br />
Alien as my name in the bush<br />
or a word from a dog<br />
it rings against<br />
the sound of the land<br />
<br />
There’s water, wind<br />
small animals<br />
and a rushing from the moor<br />
like the sea<br />
<br />
And this<br />
that a garden bird<br />
has learnt<br />
<br />
which brings me running<br />
<br />
in case<br />
it’s family<br />
and editor impressed<br />
a friend about to visit<br />
or edifying news<br />
<br />
Sometimes<br />
it’s killed in a storm<br />
and I forget<br />
for weeks<br />
until someone hints<br />
at my isolation<br />
<br />
Then I remember<br />
and it’s fixed<br />
<br />
Again I’m part<br />
of the world of news<br />
of alien images grafted on<br />
and countdown time</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrm2sbEaB0CSOpYX1WA7adR048PzfZmrNpSGnsoI-lV_p6npUGSLWfyh0ntmFSbPX9tqWsFefNThrfqFp9KcxYniQq7f39Vdw2zXW1kH7QjLsQI3e63oxTxqPLH4KeQIcYb77gHTrQ2AU/s1600/p30.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494984115289858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtrm2sbEaB0CSOpYX1WA7adR048PzfZmrNpSGnsoI-lV_p6npUGSLWfyh0ntmFSbPX9tqWsFefNThrfqFp9KcxYniQq7f39Vdw2zXW1kH7QjLsQI3e63oxTxqPLH4KeQIcYb77gHTrQ2AU/s400/p30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">28.</span><br />
<br />
Today I’m stooped<br />
from cutting gorse<br />
and must hold myself<br />
<br />
The legs work but there’s heaviness<br />
in the head<br />
and my eyes fall shut<br />
when I forget them<br />
<br />
If I sit<br />
it is senseless to stand<br />
<br />
If I stand<br />
there’s nowhere to go<br />
<br />
The day falls flat<br />
no pattern<br />
no things to be done<br />
no need<br />
<br />
There’s no part for me<br />
I’m shut out<br />
lest I infect<br />
and spread<br />
the malaise</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />How to exist with no need, nothing that needs to be done in this world in which I have no speciality; there’s nowhere only I can be.<br /><br />There’s the dog; no matter how far off I might be I would come back for the dog.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRR-3m2PfR09WIpmXOT-xSOL_isP0XvWysy-PriEW21YcV2dyRxMfWeLZhRaRTE9TPvZ7UZRyB7IDt-_-sxoxdEg21CxuB6c5Hl-O-84iGGuC-z7EMNp978snndUPXJbnyT_UbWqZbUmSH/s1600/p31.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494902626398482" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRR-3m2PfR09WIpmXOT-xSOL_isP0XvWysy-PriEW21YcV2dyRxMfWeLZhRaRTE9TPvZ7UZRyB7IDt-_-sxoxdEg21CxuB6c5Hl-O-84iGGuC-z7EMNp978snndUPXJbnyT_UbWqZbUmSH/s400/p31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">29.</span><br />
<br />
Tonight the sea<br />
is an apricot shade<br />
and flat<br />
<br />
The sun’s a blot<br />
the horizon out of sight<br />
<br />
You can’t tell<br />
in the sky<br />
where anything is<br />
<br />
There are reasons for this<br />
that are these:<br />
<br />
1. Bushfires on the other side<br />
2. Old still damp air<br />
3. A time of small tides<br />
<br />
But these are just the factors<br />
are not the fact<br />
<br />
The sky’s decayed in its own dust<br />
The clouds are mould<br />
the sun corrupt</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Some might rhapsodise at sunset’s effect, as they might say an open-cast mine’s a grand thing; but I say that’s destruction, and this light in the sky is the effect of old weather.<br /><br />It’s best to keep to the fact when you can find one, in case the end-time finds you ill-prepared.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mE3uWpmDJOra_5xrg3X74yWQDhsVYxEXRsbunLVXLEQCQUfz-UUAse5_oIfQi-8gouKe1tIANHMHdugOoyMekd99aw7CALKHE4ktT3vwhpOR_Q9jQGOyftpt2Dwt5J_t-ZDKRugnujuU/s1600/p32.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494700062631954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2mE3uWpmDJOra_5xrg3X74yWQDhsVYxEXRsbunLVXLEQCQUfz-UUAse5_oIfQi-8gouKe1tIANHMHdugOoyMekd99aw7CALKHE4ktT3vwhpOR_Q9jQGOyftpt2Dwt5J_t-ZDKRugnujuU/s400/p32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">30.</span><br />
<br />
It’s the Day of Rest<br />
and we sleep in<br />
each quiet as a baby after breakfast<br />
<br />
Even the birds<br />
are somewhere else<br />
and motorbikes are mute<br />
<br />
But rest from what?<br />
<br />
We did little last week<br />
and have no plans<br />
for the week ahead<br />
<br />
We don’t make plans<br />
if the present’s right<br />
<br />
and we don’t do<br />
in case we do wrong<br />
<br />
We let each day<br />
look after itself<br />
and the chores too<br />
<br />
We don’t do mornings<br />
very much either<br />
<br />
But on Sundays especially<br />
we doze on<br />
<br />
because it’s good<br />
to keep in step<br />
with the world</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Which is over the cliff by the sea at the end of the road, and is not much wanted by us much of the time, except for entertainment and necessities, but we didn’t come here for necessities, and can do without a lot of the time, until we get nostalgic, and think it would be nice to have the rubbish collected.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd5RhgHZJ5oC327zvJNNBDVNeeN0suZ-QoWw17wFZne7qhWPdw5HLXGoXSW3mL4F-B7UMSuuJ4DMB4bmY1YR76-kFr6-tAntHqpvlTmnwp-bVzr13eiRxmtNJaTKaEdEntp1OqcYxkA2q/s1600/p33.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494788258965650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTd5RhgHZJ5oC327zvJNNBDVNeeN0suZ-QoWw17wFZne7qhWPdw5HLXGoXSW3mL4F-B7UMSuuJ4DMB4bmY1YR76-kFr6-tAntHqpvlTmnwp-bVzr13eiRxmtNJaTKaEdEntp1OqcYxkA2q/s400/p33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">31.</span><br />
<br />
All things being equal<br />
on a morning like this<br />
I should go to see Rick<br />
about the moths that eat the broccoli<br />
<br />
and go on to see John<br />
about how he’s placed his tank<br />
(I’ll have to do the same myself<br />
sooner or later)<br />
<br />
or call on Nev<br />
about the rust in my truck<br />
<br />
Then there’s Dinah and her house<br />
(she’s away)<br />
<br />
Jim and Eva<br />
(they’re not well)<br />
<br />
Debbie and the leaking pipe<br />
<br />
and the blasted mid-town water supply<br />
<br />
But they’re not<br />
and I don’t care if it is<br />
<br />
Today I’m myself<br />
with book pen and paper<br />
water and tree<br />
the dog in the sun<br />
and not a word said<br />
to anyone</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />You have to ask yourself: if you stand on your own feet, will they carry you? Because of the prevalence of showers, most people have bad feet. They don’t see them in the shower because they’re standing on them, and toes go wild without their knowing.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpkTONpssPfgHijgqnVWnhVP86Y1UdDpsBBSmJ2hyphenhyphenzBJxraC0yF5z9LpD1Wmzxat-Uf6OS7isJOwLEN52BSVb_0y9iAO0Qgr56Bt2Ehx-U_DumoEZBvbos7wTBsMgQpRRS8P7fN-WEHfk/s1600/p34.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494599318697250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjpkTONpssPfgHijgqnVWnhVP86Y1UdDpsBBSmJ2hyphenhyphenzBJxraC0yF5z9LpD1Wmzxat-Uf6OS7isJOwLEN52BSVb_0y9iAO0Qgr56Bt2Ehx-U_DumoEZBvbos7wTBsMgQpRRS8P7fN-WEHfk/s400/p34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">32.</span><br />
<br />
From my bed<br />
I look over the sea<br />
<blockquote>
yet my eyes are shut<br />
when I’m in bed</blockquote>
There are moonlit nights<br />
and fishing lights<br />
and storms at night<br />
<blockquote>
but through all these<br />
my senses are asleep</blockquote>
Water lulls them<br />
and the softness<br />
and the dog at my feet<br />
<br />
I dream<br />
and puzzle when I wake<br />
as to what the dreams mean<br />
<br />
But if an arrangement<br />
could be made<br />
with my body and my mind —<br />
<br />
then I might see<br />
when I sleep<br />
the sea<br />
<br />
have rest in the night<br />
and peace in the day</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />The bed is like television —<br />it leaves me with the feeling that I don’t get enough out of it. Like life itself it’s always there, but is not used well enough. I don’t remember what I did when I was in it asleep. Warmth, comfort, security, and the other good things of dreaming sleep, aren’t sufficiently savoured.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4fUeMRy2JlQnYKZzyQTQth5tderQEv256br7uycrQdLTEyBeNjDfLiT_W0ZsC2GRGGUVAvToN-_M0_ygfbMXl0ODOpn8vGS5RCe-Ut7Ds0zUKSciRwjLN2T47Ag6F-YS5zN-rWBehTvr/s1600/p35.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494531923204210" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjk4fUeMRy2JlQnYKZzyQTQth5tderQEv256br7uycrQdLTEyBeNjDfLiT_W0ZsC2GRGGUVAvToN-_M0_ygfbMXl0ODOpn8vGS5RCe-Ut7Ds0zUKSciRwjLN2T47Ag6F-YS5zN-rWBehTvr/s400/p35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">33.</span><br />
<br />
In this weather<br />
we mope a lot<br />
<br />
Sun warms<br />
and lessens pain<br />
<br />
but cloud conceals—<br />
there’s only the ache of it<br />
under the rain<br />
<br />
This is what it feels like<br />
the past<br />
(not what it was):<br />
<blockquote>
a cell<br />
of stinging snakes<br />
an underground<br />
of wasps<br />
a long inimical cul-de-sac</blockquote>
Weathers change<br />
cloud dissolves<br />
and the sun comes out<br />
<br />
then this is what it is:<br />
<blockquote>
a morning at the end of the year<br />
<br />
dawn upon the best of times<br />
<br />
the marvellous of each season<br />
in one day</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />Out of town, as Dylan Thomas said, there’s too much weather; it drives us in or lets us out. Its barometric episodes are ours, its fogs and katabatic frets set our days.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_62g5kzm4noCuv7hyphenhyphenjJSQsGsczWhI3brHzSgtkPS1RWYYTLlVTYUPsZ9_h-DncB_2nUSCz2nnoA3PenrJRLe3vzj-aA3wIsSpNAdmE82DOfC0JqAYb6JO2e-9G2ct-KBk4vIytzPm8GT/s1600/p36.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494457299246850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhs_62g5kzm4noCuv7hyphenhyphenjJSQsGsczWhI3brHzSgtkPS1RWYYTLlVTYUPsZ9_h-DncB_2nUSCz2nnoA3PenrJRLe3vzj-aA3wIsSpNAdmE82DOfC0JqAYb6JO2e-9G2ct-KBk4vIytzPm8GT/s400/p36.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">34.</span><br />
<br />
By the end of the week<br />
they’re grey —<br />
flannels dish-cloth towels<br />
the pillow’s smudged<br />
<br />
They’ve been used as they ought<br />
but carelessly<br />
on convenient terms<br />
<br />
and will have to be soaked<br />
on Friday night<br />
before they’re washed<br />
with the sheets the socks the shirt<br />
handkerchiefs and underwear<br />
a pair of jeans<br />
<br />
The dog’s things will have to be aired<br />
and my bed<br />
<br />
as part of my insistence<br />
that my house<br />
and my person<br />
is respected<br />
<br />
and by respect preserved<br />
<br />
Grey is an unnatural colour —<br />
it looks like something’s wearing out</blockquote>
<br />
<i><br />A good wash puts things right — windows, sheets, shirts, towels, the kitchen floor, even one’s face.<br /><br />It’s good to start and end with.<br /><br />It’s a quick return for labour, and in this capitalist world is sure to make one well valued.</i><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/panic-poems-2003.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflP-yM_BPyBSRIP_biGTs7htNdTqUgiah4IOA6g2DAqs-wY1G_TH3Yroq6y3qgfaQoFDOeh-5pAj6kCgLMysEI7A-9GbRroq_hmI99opa4XYvwLM19LoUAB6EUaFhQdYiUBblAFbyfQOk/s1600/p37.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5620494292121068114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgflP-yM_BPyBSRIP_biGTs7htNdTqUgiah4IOA6g2DAqs-wY1G_TH3Yroq6y3qgfaQoFDOeh-5pAj6kCgLMysEI7A-9GbRroq_hmI99opa4XYvwLM19LoUAB6EUaFhQdYiUBblAFbyfQOk/s400/p37.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<span style="font-weight: bold;">35.</span><br />
<br />
A fine mild calm day<br />
<br />
High cloud at first and last<br />
<br />
You left at half past eight<br />
with the Powelliphanta for Kath<br />
<br />
At 9.0 I went to the Birchfield swamp<br />
to botanise with Red<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">we found a clematis</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">a jointed rush</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">an orchid and a water-weed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">sphagnum mounds</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">some typha</span><br />
and we lunched on the floating turf<br />
in the sun<br />
<br />
Home at 3.0<br />
<br />
I washed the mud off Red and the truck<br />
<br />
cleaned the fire<br />
and set it<br />
<br />
a cold tea<br />
<br />
2 rings<br />
<br />
read the paper and watched TV<br />
<br />
and now I want to go to bed<br />
to close my eyes<br />
and rest my mind<br />
<br />
I miss your comfortable self<br />
and in my own unease<br />
grow tired of tiredness</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSXRhYfPweiiW0yzssmkzl9DlPSfm-swtdAcn0zDV1O5tFwAyJ4vE19h2txtPuWcGtgbNhpkN6GeE9tiOcW1fhXoXKJsg0pDlBk2trMVIB-8zLe8YwsiMEdy-PNAIiTAjNy8JXMSg0zE/s1600/pc2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579206956009137554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDSXRhYfPweiiW0yzssmkzl9DlPSfm-swtdAcn0zDV1O5tFwAyJ4vE19h2txtPuWcGtgbNhpkN6GeE9tiOcW1fhXoXKJsg0pDlBk2trMVIB-8zLe8YwsiMEdy-PNAIiTAjNy8JXMSg0zE/s400/pc2.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 280px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><i>Published by Heteropholis Press.<br /><br />Further copies of this publication may be obtained from P.O. Box 367, Westport, Buller, New Zealand.</i><br /><br />ISBN 0-476-00084-X</b></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle, 2003</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-75332545610318590642011-03-05T09:34:00.059+13:002017-11-26T10:58:49.971+13:008 Great O's (2003)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFn0c95-myd5ehyD54ty1H__2RTndh0SspMgORKMY1p4DQ2GBP3twBMB7Kq94TocnxHIVxr0QvLMRknhzsSbJWOSwRVZVbVIFNb-NSPhJNd-mc_xQNxFrb8_TXfZMdiLcrmOQUMjICRnC5/s1600/8c1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581528592176859778" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgFn0c95-myd5ehyD54ty1H__2RTndh0SspMgORKMY1p4DQ2GBP3twBMB7Kq94TocnxHIVxr0QvLMRknhzsSbJWOSwRVZVbVIFNb-NSPhJNd-mc_xQNxFrb8_TXfZMdiLcrmOQUMjICRnC5/s400/8c1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-fifteen.html">8 Great O's</a> (2003)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rnmvnlV895OVYmIlr17lBvbzl0fX9Y4Ic4izRGIGR35vcWihASXYrf-TdKDO8_0Cp6v7ad-4Jxu4mFp6JIBSlp3lz89lpWlIBuZQxRJrZtcTNBPIE8zC2AzVXcQ_LJM9FQ4ZmW_8oQgy/s1600/8i.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581528518033231922" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7rnmvnlV895OVYmIlr17lBvbzl0fX9Y4Ic4izRGIGR35vcWihASXYrf-TdKDO8_0Cp6v7ad-4Jxu4mFp6JIBSlp3lz89lpWlIBuZQxRJrZtcTNBPIE8zC2AzVXcQ_LJM9FQ4ZmW_8oQgy/s400/8i.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br /><i><u>PREFACE</u></i></span></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>The text is an adaptation of the last page of a pious biography, ‘The Life of St. Mary tbe Harlot’, written by her uncle, Ephraem, deacon of Edessa, around the year 370. <br /><br />‘The Word' is a family story. <br /><br />The Great 0 's' is a term taken from the Advent liturgy. <br /><br /><span style="padding-left: 22em;">Leicester Kyle</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYlhNN8QclUIQiMbEh88w6m9kdeQiYq14hMnh2pPFE05ygWn6q8N1UEdVOvw6maMUu8IzUHMD4LX2TxueWMzqYD33dKgpninE0saNx22Gb2NJaLh9Wfq3ikjAraZeSmgM5W-E4F99KHC8/s1600/go1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079636923938818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZYlhNN8QclUIQiMbEh88w6m9kdeQiYq14hMnh2pPFE05ygWn6q8N1UEdVOvw6maMUu8IzUHMD4LX2TxueWMzqYD33dKgpninE0saNx22Gb2NJaLh9Wfq3ikjAraZeSmgM5W-E4F99KHC8/s400/go1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><u>The</u> <u>Text</u></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Sorrow,<br />
sorrow on me, Beloved,<br />
for my dear ones fell on sleep.<br />
<br />
I, unapt in will, abide<br />
and behold, winter has come upon me<br />
and the endless storm has found me<br />
naked and spoiled<br />
with no perfecting of good.<br />
<br />
I marvel at myself, beloved.<br />
Daily I default and daily do repent.<br />
I build up for an hour<br />
and an hour overthrows what I have builded.<br />
At evening I say<br />
‘Tomorrow I shall repent’,<br />
but when morning comes<br />
joyous I waste the day.<br />
Again at evening I say<br />
‘I shall keep watch all night<br />
and shall with tears entreat,’<br />
but when night comes I sleep.<br />
<br />
Behold,<br />
those who received their life with me:<br />
Agathon Anoub Ammonas Bessarion Chomas Lot and Or,<br />
Doulas Dioscoros Felix Matoes Longinus Zeno and Philagrios,<br />
Gelasios Theodore of Enaton Phocas Poemen and Paul,<br />
Sarah Symeon Serinus Origen Mark Pambo and John,<br />
Chaeremon and Mary the Harlot.<br />
<br />
Their minds were never set upon the business of earth.<br />
They with all confidence have gone.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqdGG_TpnmvP3XAHf5CFd-J6FHVdWnBbCSFFR9A9iAAaBtHmo-_xKqbqH7SGEiN7PuMCZ6B93Bbwy1ppEpNF-V7PeNvvxFDLIiPWFCxEBCzZbYxnjDTtSD5eqbjiNtvakGBDsndw2T7iZH/s1600/go2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079560483682738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqdGG_TpnmvP3XAHf5CFd-J6FHVdWnBbCSFFR9A9iAAaBtHmo-_xKqbqH7SGEiN7PuMCZ6B93Bbwy1ppEpNF-V7PeNvvxFDLIiPWFCxEBCzZbYxnjDTtSD5eqbjiNtvakGBDsndw2T7iZH/s400/go2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 277px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">DISCOURSE</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNgFhAl_CK0wJI4aLDtwlv1M-706JyVnF-VZ55dN5kwTpfhNtZlNef1NANy_2cbXLxFcVYAcBnXf-K7RFMnJf_kXwvE7qSJzCdOWRiOBPZnuur94d16BnEY95ekzgYaO0Qy7xTXYvbTSP/s1600/go3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079473299375170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivNgFhAl_CK0wJI4aLDtwlv1M-706JyVnF-VZ55dN5kwTpfhNtZlNef1NANy_2cbXLxFcVYAcBnXf-K7RFMnJf_kXwvE7qSJzCdOWRiOBPZnuur94d16BnEY95ekzgYaO0Qy7xTXYvbTSP/s400/go3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 238px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>1.</b><br />
Sorrow on me, Beloved,<br />
for my dear one fell on sleep<br />
as one might upon a mattress of years<br />
unsatisfactory, uncomfortable,<br />
but better than persisting in a cold fog<br />
of failure,<br />
<br />
Leaving three homeless dogs<br />
two new lambs<br />
one edible goat<br />
and a cat with kittens<br />
under the bathroom floor,<br />
<br />
As well as much unfinished business,<br />
a great deal of rubbish,<br />
and unwashed dishes in the sink,<br />
<br />
Which spoke of his circumstance<br />
and of ours,<br />
who watched him decline<br />
into malaise.<br />
<br />
In privacy we let him drift<br />
until he fixed upon the reef<br />
where, still amidst the encircled sea,<br />
he sank.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQf9-z3bk0hkCqm3g_X44FmjO2d7hAl3Pntt7YJ2GIkb7eyqVaoGVGHMcEUXA9QKE8fbCd6-C7DHlc6GoeYqLsZ-XCMvtQVr8d4l8bM7k7wnWm5OQ5fT7IjqrrINW-UNxMGLg6tw1ZFyI/s1600/go4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079400797002514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzQf9-z3bk0hkCqm3g_X44FmjO2d7hAl3Pntt7YJ2GIkb7eyqVaoGVGHMcEUXA9QKE8fbCd6-C7DHlc6GoeYqLsZ-XCMvtQVr8d4l8bM7k7wnWm5OQ5fT7IjqrrINW-UNxMGLg6tw1ZFyI/s400/go4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>2.</b><br />
And with all confidence has gone<br />
into uncharted land,<br />
where faith is the instrument,<br />
and hope is with him<br />
from this world<br />
<br />
We know will be better,<br />
for there was not much chance here<br />
though room for it.<br />
<br />
Faith was his currency<br />
in tickets stars and new-found friends,<br />
but courage often left right out<br />
for weariness.<br />
<br />
When things are bad,<br />
while hope is a pleasure,<br />
it’s best to go.<br />
<br />
O grand enchanted world<br />
warmed by the breath of God,<br />
<br />
restless in the foliage,<br />
like spring.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtADhR1amOM5CioGrNWti9bae63TWlMpIBY4MeAbhbcCuTDsOTb7NPBq5HA1EXU2J4Xc8-xTxmxrD9asjFnJnUPzQXYRt_g4V1kJt5oP9L-I8PpOrCjMxHJTqjLIvryFqfMznyczfD7PfH/s1600/go5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079329978196706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtADhR1amOM5CioGrNWti9bae63TWlMpIBY4MeAbhbcCuTDsOTb7NPBq5HA1EXU2J4Xc8-xTxmxrD9asjFnJnUPzQXYRt_g4V1kJt5oP9L-I8PpOrCjMxHJTqjLIvryFqfMznyczfD7PfH/s400/go5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>3.</b><br />
Our minds are not much set upon<br />
the business of earth.<br />
<br />
The clock strikes nine<br />
and the plumber rings<br />
to unblock the sink<br />
<br />
He sets the day today.<br />
We set to cleaning<br />
<br />
dishes the beds and the sitting room<br />
are all as he left<br />
<br />
there’s mould at the overflow<br />
under the sink<br />
moss inside the back door<br />
under the leak<br />
and the fridge is green<br />
<br />
The bathroom hasn’t been used <br />
for months<br />
<br />
Mess in the fire is burnt to a lump<br />
<br />
There are papers and tins<br />
all over the floor<br />
and here<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">on the shelf</span><br />
a photograph <br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">of him</span><br />
Let’s sit<br />
and be at home and quiet<br />
until the plumber comes<br />
<br />
and consider<br />
<br />
that one could go so suddenly<br />
yet leave himself behind<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
for when he comes.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8fw0KP6Q0voE3-3fW2zSjB4HlBfb0dxBsI8enim-t6GJNE5ZEqSaexic62vFqLUUPPAokln9PxlW7cnx6CxZYB4-2Y4KTMnURyLN3xhWAwK8A63mkuar-FI5SE6ItcRt0uzpScVrvvK-/s1600/go6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079249544986530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT8fw0KP6Q0voE3-3fW2zSjB4HlBfb0dxBsI8enim-t6GJNE5ZEqSaexic62vFqLUUPPAokln9PxlW7cnx6CxZYB4-2Y4KTMnURyLN3xhWAwK8A63mkuar-FI5SE6ItcRt0uzpScVrvvK-/s400/go6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>4.</b><br />
I, unapt in will, abide,<br />
bound by sunsets and<br />
rises to this rock,<br />
shackled by life<br />
<br />
<br />
which lets me live no<br />
where else.<br />
<br />
It penetrates flesh,<br />
lights reins veins integuments,<br />
<br />
reveals interiors of light,<br />
<br />
makes visions of my mind,<br />
<br />
traces roots like phosphorous<br />
in the ground,<br />
<br />
makes patterns<br />
of weather<br />
to come,<br />
<br />
shows a future,<br />
<br />
lightens past,<br />
<br />
enables a present <br />
by profile<br />
and in the round.<br />
<br />
In curious <br />
and indeterminate effect<br />
it lures me<br />
by mystery.<br />
<br />
Others move,<br />
leave only grief behind,<br />
their history<br />
in houses like this.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZgebmjRnNDoUIrJkBB272Y1DBOeLY-Grc5myyPbCbZ2mpUMpkWIyv8pVq53fP0l-3Qu_8_MRmas1qHr0cWUfNpmv-LpPXnHuGTLWL-tKrDOzhfszOIbWPXP-qprwddUIJex7jRx48wwv/s1600/go7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079178189952802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfZgebmjRnNDoUIrJkBB272Y1DBOeLY-Grc5myyPbCbZ2mpUMpkWIyv8pVq53fP0l-3Qu_8_MRmas1qHr0cWUfNpmv-LpPXnHuGTLWL-tKrDOzhfszOIbWPXP-qprwddUIJex7jRx48wwv/s400/go7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 234px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>5.</b><br />
Behold, winter has come upon me.<br />
I am stilled<br />
where once I walked,<br />
and cold<br />
who once was warm.<br />
My sun is slow to rise<br />
and days, like time,<br />
are short.<br />
<br />
Kings’ concubines<br />
can’t stir my flesh<br />
nor warm my feet;<br />
the comfort of the customary’s prime,<br />
and my time is arranged<br />
for avoidance of test<br />
lest I prove weak.<br />
<br />
Life is diluted now<br />
of consequence and taste.<br />
<br />
Things new are no matter—<br />
but if they bring change<br />
they drain strength.<br />
<br />
I stay in the sun<br />
quietly, to remember<br />
and re-order history.<br />
<br />
Sometimes there’s song<br />
thin in the wind,<br />
in patterns of past.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9SEZQBZEve9j-wDh9DVCTM01tNjt0T2QOMBs1X4mjshpVgBeX7lz52Mgka-XjleM-4ylF4mfzWej5B0mIQhyphenhypheni6_g9zhNIwJr3lktW6_-w1rVUbG6z4O75CO48xncJPHAnbB7bjlrRQi-/s1600/go8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079103288519426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjg9SEZQBZEve9j-wDh9DVCTM01tNjt0T2QOMBs1X4mjshpVgBeX7lz52Mgka-XjleM-4ylF4mfzWej5B0mIQhyphenhypheni6_g9zhNIwJr3lktW6_-w1rVUbG6z4O75CO48xncJPHAnbB7bjlrRQi-/s400/go8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 227px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>6.</b><br />
The endless storm has found me<br />
in conflict of times<br />
- their interpretation<br />
fragments of guilt<br />
- bewilderment<br />
and a great stirring<br />
<br />
swirl of doubt<br />
like a rose<br />
in words of delicate sense<br />
around fixedness of truth<br />
and one’s judgement<br />
of the past<br />
of people<br />
faces work hierarchies<br />
<br />
Courage now<br />
in the gust of boundlessness<br />
the noise of names<br />
<br />
Strength to stand<br />
in the wind <br />
the dust</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BJghnVRFxeKd4L7LWiwWnpyK1xo7ZTYVTSorXfoprpkRWwn8xoa49tueE1C1Ka30MFtE92S6wZFOT9Eu2i8BUzXTlU2y9ZPTeF16b6c8jrkx7mjLZEtoZpQOO06AFDqDUQTawjk6GCud/s1600/go9.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676079020985033730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8BJghnVRFxeKd4L7LWiwWnpyK1xo7ZTYVTSorXfoprpkRWwn8xoa49tueE1C1Ka30MFtE92S6wZFOT9Eu2i8BUzXTlU2y9ZPTeF16b6c8jrkx7mjLZEtoZpQOO06AFDqDUQTawjk6GCud/s400/go9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 216px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>7.</b><br />
Naked and spoiled<br />
by weather<br />
which damages<br />
by means of imports<br />
from the aether—<br />
<br />
dust mist enervating rays<br />
little bits of asteroid<br />
for chance<br />
<br />
that burn and fling one<br />
this and that<br />
to bruise<br />
<br />
for the punishment of failure<br />
at not growing right<br />
changing shape from the outline set<br />
and being human at the end<br />
for everyone to see<br />
<br />
There’s no hiding the truth<br />
from one who wants to look —<br />
if it wasn’t so cold<br />
we might as well be nude<br />
<br />
Let buttocks blush<br />
and toes deform —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">truth prevails</span></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCt0Y-fBq2RV7QhkAwCn7Fll2nS_ZQ-7Qmf-JHv0dPXMsM4gQ9JbOAU_Wd07FV5CabTBFVXbE3XFAejoHirUb5fG3ma3QrXiRlz1kPPCzcrqPgfGEFPJu_57tg8iAlxi3Gjad-UMcVMTy/s1600/go10.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078950927320978" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLCt0Y-fBq2RV7QhkAwCn7Fll2nS_ZQ-7Qmf-JHv0dPXMsM4gQ9JbOAU_Wd07FV5CabTBFVXbE3XFAejoHirUb5fG3ma3QrXiRlz1kPPCzcrqPgfGEFPJu_57tg8iAlxi3Gjad-UMcVMTy/s400/go10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 237px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>8.</b><br />
From first form<br />
as if the new is innocent<br />
the old value-added<br />
and no accounting for wear and tear<br />
nor credit for effort<br />
<br />
The whole of life is escape from youth<br />
its ignorance<br />
the unformed<br />
whose virtue is in promise<br />
<br />
I am sick of hope<br />
of looking for what is to be found<br />
and must rest now<br />
on the accomplished<br />
<br />
There is vision at the end<br />
of final form<br />
and making it<br />
of small success and delight<br />
<br />
Only the weak <br />
have eyes to see the world —<br />
<br />
they are washed clear<br />
by grief <br />
and understanding</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-OdnvhfjZ_FgM7SM_zjsPzDxA08IXWBAziwCwhXEo-Vni77O7A1MZxmqygzxrfPGcENb_yl4tNdNL8FTI1mo63Dwb9jFV4qqPljwp7k7vmT2J-IARZlY9A9b9zhzF2O0O46lVM4-vacxF/s1600/go11.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078879870642690" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-OdnvhfjZ_FgM7SM_zjsPzDxA08IXWBAziwCwhXEo-Vni77O7A1MZxmqygzxrfPGcENb_yl4tNdNL8FTI1mo63Dwb9jFV4qqPljwp7k7vmT2J-IARZlY9A9b9zhzF2O0O46lVM4-vacxF/s400/go11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 213px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>9.</b><br />
I marvel at myself, Beloved<br />
wonderfully made<br />
to fabricate eternity<br />
and overcome omnipotence<br />
by thought<br />
<br />
By word and note<br />
make heaven in a ruin<br />
paradise in a pot<br />
<br />
Look both at once<br />
behind and before<br />
want both to claim<br />
to keep<br />
<br />
Find youth in old age<br />
be wise at conception<br />
profound in the artifice<br />
of life<br />
<br />
See fear in death<br />
and make each day a knot<br />
a web a woof<br />
unrepeatable<br />
not to be undone<br />
revisited at night by dream<br />
by vision in the day<br />
of the unbidden<br />
<br />
Sorrow,<br />
sorrow on me,<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">Beloved,</span><br />
at folly<br />
great as the gift</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fpc3QPkl4EnsywDsmOWqiGmyvN9YL2zU_m70UGF7ykNCdcrKYdfRcDu2-OYpejeJ9j0C6i1J6pi5aJTi7r7eMip2fkLR0oLJcYXG5L0kwCOaOAqRGXvHL9xWrKQuEsOAj5jQsAHbQC0w/s1600/go12.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078811458760658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj5Fpc3QPkl4EnsywDsmOWqiGmyvN9YL2zU_m70UGF7ykNCdcrKYdfRcDu2-OYpejeJ9j0C6i1J6pi5aJTi7r7eMip2fkLR0oLJcYXG5L0kwCOaOAqRGXvHL9xWrKQuEsOAj5jQsAHbQC0w/s400/go12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 219px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>10.</b><br />
I daily default<br />
and daily do repent<br />
<br />
The logic<br />
that turns the stars<br />
turns me<br />
as inveterately<br />
from day to dark<br />
and back<br />
<br />
with contrary affections<br />
immovable connections<br />
<br />
and always the likelihood<br />
that on one day<br />
the night won’t come<br />
the scale be tipped<br />
to brightness<br />
<br />
To know<br />
I must see<br />
and seeing want to know<br />
<br />
Then—<br />
O my need for dark!<br />
the comforting of sleep<br />
and to forget<br />
in the night<br />
all the sun sought</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4vXPN0u6FHn8qvxqAHlEUuVR6p9b1ALNQfCEE5RsLgfktIEQWYc2aBwDZEe8m-DPDhulruPqL16H-33udwevXCNUrwVt80kOzmlOG7CBBaQJzDAdeltlh7cQA8ESiHyaP2qtngqdDs6Y/s1600/go13.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078739817275298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi4vXPN0u6FHn8qvxqAHlEUuVR6p9b1ALNQfCEE5RsLgfktIEQWYc2aBwDZEe8m-DPDhulruPqL16H-33udwevXCNUrwVt80kOzmlOG7CBBaQJzDAdeltlh7cQA8ESiHyaP2qtngqdDs6Y/s400/go13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 229px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>11.</b><br />
An hour overthrows what I have builded;<br />
hope will re-erect it,<br />
my food my floor my building-block<br />
unalterable aether or<br />
the sustenance of self<br />
delight and glory<br />
entrance key perpetual,<br />
<br />
by word<br />
in play<br />
by accident<br />
intentional.<br />
<br />
In all these places overthrow<br />
in other places build<br />
<br />
in time or out of it<br />
as Origen has writ.<br />
<br />
The symbol’s there,<br />
hidden in substrata of the mind<br />
<br />
and text-agenda,<br />
written out in youth<br />
and followed with surprising skill<br />
until debility.<br />
<br />
Then look back,<br />
in pleasured open eyes<br />
at all I have not done<br />
yet lived,<br />
though in disguise.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHF1bLsbp_hW4pbBxgxezIpZ4Hhu5vAbqunOWy1V4vDc3LyNyj_cHuJFfdvuGTlYxjjgw0lYfTWcOEP_keEZBtBO5f-wUVK87KZVVb2nsF9ypLmhuRutqrw0GTQakjES5q29RCFRXXd5iT/s1600/go14.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078657797968194" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjHF1bLsbp_hW4pbBxgxezIpZ4Hhu5vAbqunOWy1V4vDc3LyNyj_cHuJFfdvuGTlYxjjgw0lYfTWcOEP_keEZBtBO5f-wUVK87KZVVb2nsF9ypLmhuRutqrw0GTQakjES5q29RCFRXXd5iT/s400/go14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 235px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>12.</b><br />
At evening I say ‘Tomorrow!’<br />
the disease will weaken.<br />
<br />
There will be new leaves unblemished,<br />
strong in the sun<br />
and at work.<br />
<br />
There will be new things<br />
tomorrow,<br />
the old rubbed clean,<br />
the new just out of ground<br />
first sight,<br />
<br />
first use<br />
and perfect<br />
in vigour.<br />
<br />
The air will not have breathed before<br />
and water new to wash in,<br />
everything conspiring<br />
in support of fresh endeavour,<br />
<br />
firm in will<br />
I will mend and clean<br />
mop and brush<br />
turn resolute.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkaw1IRg214JphkgdhobeXcdrOZ99F3ERxjpZ7GG7XebrehJzte2RCIiaiLGHnVQWkD49PlAv0z8lmYNPGOAyhcuWnXjZQpld2U5KA6k7iCesehFMwW-5DW1Jj5YMz8s6vNxjlL-xPtEu8/s1600/go15.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078585413376898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkaw1IRg214JphkgdhobeXcdrOZ99F3ERxjpZ7GG7XebrehJzte2RCIiaiLGHnVQWkD49PlAv0z8lmYNPGOAyhcuWnXjZQpld2U5KA6k7iCesehFMwW-5DW1Jj5YMz8s6vNxjlL-xPtEu8/s400/go15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 219px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>13.</b><br />
But when morning comes<br />
joyous I waste the day,<br />
in pleasures that my goat will dance for<br />
temporal,<br />
as has three times<br />
and never is the now,<br />
<br />
which like the rain across the hill<br />
inexorably comes<br />
with rustling,<br />
<br />
the sound of sorrow for one<br />
and hope for the next;<br />
<br />
they couple<br />
and produce it<br />
for taste.<br />
<br />
The others are eternal.<br />
<br />
This<br />
on which I spend myself<br />
the now,<br />
not really is,<br />
though it might fall<br />
silver in the sun<br />
with rain.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjK8WGMDoM_Y4Zs1TLlNRdPdtF5z9ooy315aGlUoQKHrUrw2NgmbXj7o_0GtUo4-fLQ88P9MX1jaWrJ090fK9P5B5U42bIu2ErOIgNdMAKpNe-n4rDHphMyRLk_t8W9oW8h0qlL2hp_uW/s1600/go16.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078507835490322" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVjK8WGMDoM_Y4Zs1TLlNRdPdtF5z9ooy315aGlUoQKHrUrw2NgmbXj7o_0GtUo4-fLQ88P9MX1jaWrJ090fK9P5B5U42bIu2ErOIgNdMAKpNe-n4rDHphMyRLk_t8W9oW8h0qlL2hp_uW/s400/go16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 228px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>14.</b><br />
I shall with tears entreat<br />
to believe it away,<br />
lest decay make my species<br />
as a medlar<br />
when it blets,<br />
<br />
to separate the pure,<br />
lest heat from corruption<br />
make my mind convective,<br />
<br />
dulls and drains.<br />
<br />
I do with tears,<br />
<br />
and not for long,<br />
<br />
like those who found <br />
their life with me<br />
who with me now do fade,<br />
who know the latter fragments—<br />
those pieces of light.<br />
<br />
Forgive,<br />
in this short time.<br />
<br />
Make what is seen<br />
not seen.<br />
<br />
Make it nothing.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGDM4UJVPRQpMjZ0pXvwuoKzsMvQMyv_DZeVYpOygHcZ6NixFZm-NRMmfbJ6bmCE_SYU6wVD-DU5ialoJ2UaWPYH3mnRRKIju8a2kwfH5TY4n-gT_ILabBDV0DRfgGiNM48FPMut-JMK6F/s1600/go17.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078421047270914" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjGDM4UJVPRQpMjZ0pXvwuoKzsMvQMyv_DZeVYpOygHcZ6NixFZm-NRMmfbJ6bmCE_SYU6wVD-DU5ialoJ2UaWPYH3mnRRKIju8a2kwfH5TY4n-gT_ILabBDV0DRfgGiNM48FPMut-JMK6F/s400/go17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 235px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>15.</b><br />
When night comes<br />
I am full of sleep.<br />
My world is a word at my ear<br />
of half ideas and soothing,<br />
<br />
where no choice is made.<br />
Shamefulness comes unrebuked,<br />
initiative runs riot,<br />
memory proceeds <br />
to reconstruct my life<br />
in fantasy or hope,<br />
as I lie still<br />
out of straining.<br />
<br />
People use this open door,<br />
come in<br />
and change to subversive desire<br />
in rains of recollection and plastic<br />
tints of brilliant years<br />
incomplete,<br />
<br />
in dances of inconsequence,<br />
too like my waking<br />
for question.<br />
<br />
My feet are sore;<br />
hands hurt in the palms,<br />
pain in the side<br />
in the head.<br />
<br />
There’s no comfort in night;<br />
sleep shallow as day,<br />
poised restless.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-g8zz-YtS4G60ZCsCCAq_lkv4BYrUX5dno0Uchti3Engv7RBFSqm5gZqZvlmWC5VxGOI-t7rznQG2udpXwiEMMOIZ-1ibL8uQwo9Xd95hZVTErdK3NWq7ORtkNK-qrt_HoCnMczxIqCaD/s1600/go18.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078343294328370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-g8zz-YtS4G60ZCsCCAq_lkv4BYrUX5dno0Uchti3Engv7RBFSqm5gZqZvlmWC5VxGOI-t7rznQG2udpXwiEMMOIZ-1ibL8uQwo9Xd95hZVTErdK3NWq7ORtkNK-qrt_HoCnMczxIqCaD/s400/go18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 231px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>16.</b><br />
<br />
Behold those who received their life with me,<br />
acute abstruse and in faith acuminate:<br />
<br />
Agathon Anoub Ammonas Bessarion Chomas Lot and Or,<br />
Doulas Dioscoros Felix Matoes Longinus Zeno and Philagrios,<br />
Gelasios Theodore of Enaton Phocas Poemen and Paul,<br />
Sarah Serinus Origen Mark Pambo John,<br />
Chaeremon and Mary the Harlot,<br />
<br />
and you who stay<br />
who murmur still,<br />
a low tone, <br />
incontinent,<br />
in some small town with lilac<br />
at the start of an indifferent summer.<br />
<br />
My photo holds the news.<br />
You’ll want that information very much,<br />
today.</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHljVIs1luE7OE1uIHqn-c9Sbgu5M0cqmceRCoZpqp-dMwWfqsgtQ2hRxrK14u5vD9LJlDHKwltUBaK9RrpRKth3O_W6SSxdS9vf5Y4Osoffpke5Dt96hFDtjnaJrdrfBvXNOhhh9CYG8/s1600/go19.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078267431166114" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNHljVIs1luE7OE1uIHqn-c9Sbgu5M0cqmceRCoZpqp-dMwWfqsgtQ2hRxrK14u5vD9LJlDHKwltUBaK9RrpRKth3O_W6SSxdS9vf5Y4Osoffpke5Dt96hFDtjnaJrdrfBvXNOhhh9CYG8/s400/go19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 244px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">THE<br />WORD</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFoejWMhJt7HrecY5Fyvjo1TWckskTwA-hFlSxOC5OPMZGvBWu7aqCQElJY4MfSzjXw-55ku7ocCzXB-7S_qsZIwjxSyOoGydCYcDceFt1Ec8zi5pCodnR4XMso0WeAlhyphenhypheni40XPAgn98F/s1600/go20.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078142993992050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjFoejWMhJt7HrecY5Fyvjo1TWckskTwA-hFlSxOC5OPMZGvBWu7aqCQElJY4MfSzjXw-55ku7ocCzXB-7S_qsZIwjxSyOoGydCYcDceFt1Ec8zi5pCodnR4XMso0WeAlhyphenhypheni40XPAgn98F/s400/go20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>17.</b></i></div>
<br />
You must know that I am work,<br />
there is no leisure in me.<br />
The house you see is not unpacked,<br />
we’re living out of boxes<br />
haven’t books or blinds or curtains or<br />
our mats upon the floor.<br />
<br />
Work is my being,<br />
and is next door.<br />
When weariness brings me home<br />
and the pain,<br />
I look at you and find<br />
in your yogic pose and innocence<br />
refreshment in fear,<br />
air for breathlessness,<br />
space for a cramped old age.<br />
<br />
They were cruel.<br />
I can’t get them out of my sense —<br />
the smell of wet beds<br />
the stink of drains<br />
stale washing<br />
old work piling up never to be done<br />
chafing pants leaking shoes<br />
fire-less nights and half-cooked food.<br />
There was no need for punishment,<br />
each day was harsh enough.<br />
<br />
You had a life of it<br />
but we three had hell.<br />
<br />
There’s the cause —<br />
she’s lovely, you say,<br />
and she was, in a violent way,<br />
like an alien trying to be mother.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ71D9Z82YppYEqpfz9jkxvA07RG_j6lL4qRrORhTpkrU4Gt2-D2vVxXdRRcoHS6pcI8fna6daMdpKx4iIqVDgaqpC5aRnhHfvnrF6LkJ1w4GtfPzYOfqLsxGAudJRRmKJzmwdi0Y2Ad1/s1600/go21.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676078068643489346" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzZ71D9Z82YppYEqpfz9jkxvA07RG_j6lL4qRrORhTpkrU4Gt2-D2vVxXdRRcoHS6pcI8fna6daMdpKx4iIqVDgaqpC5aRnhHfvnrF6LkJ1w4GtfPzYOfqLsxGAudJRRmKJzmwdi0Y2Ad1/s400/go21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 247px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>18.</b></i></div>
<br />
I don’t know how you were taken;<br />
if it was a snapshot you were persuaded<br />
to sit cross-legged,<br />
and you must have been persuaded<br />
to smile like that.<br />
<br />
We have no such evidence of joy.<br />
There were good times<br />
that drudgery couldn’t suppress —<br />
our poplars at autumn:<br />
the leaves fell like scraps of celebration.<br />
<br />
Sometimes it snowed<br />
and that, like the leaves,<br />
was a sign to me<br />
of a new clean world<br />
showing itself for hope.<br />
<br />
Poplars divided the farm into squares.<br />
Each square held its own:<br />
raspberries, strawberries,<br />
boysenberries, gooseberries,<br />
coming in at different times.<br />
Each square held its own surprise -<br />
one might be quiet,<br />
another picker-peopled;<br />
one might have mushrooms in the verge<br />
another a brood of quail.<br />
The sun the wind the rain<br />
made different spaces.<br />
At harvest it was a game<br />
with new moves each day,<br />
and we three boys had company.<br />
At other times we worked alone.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMpdbNdyAmLkKipOQ7BP_xSOb7aEG5pwg3UVAK0ARf8zbELQ974-7W4TLv1lLzjo4YgAC90T6dmLP_LsxDFeZS6QMvUxSb2d7K3jNGhvcHzbIRBcq39a-9M6Cu1XcCz5KRymXkA1G96DG/s1600/go22.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077991543785010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrMpdbNdyAmLkKipOQ7BP_xSOb7aEG5pwg3UVAK0ARf8zbELQ974-7W4TLv1lLzjo4YgAC90T6dmLP_LsxDFeZS6QMvUxSb2d7K3jNGhvcHzbIRBcq39a-9M6Cu1XcCz5KRymXkA1G96DG/s400/go22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 249px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>19.</b></i></div>
<br />
There were mountains<br />
at the end of the road.<br />
They had significance—<br />
for us they were freedom<br />
from fear and fret,<br />
something established<br />
that couldn’t be damaged.<br />
<br />
I imagined them in storm.<br />
There was no impediment,<br />
no buildings in the way no trees<br />
no elemental guilt.<br />
There they could rage<br />
flood freeze and drift as they pleased.<br />
Wilderness attracted me,<br />
its feral peace.<br />
<br />
No winds blew in our fruit-filled<br />
sun-drenched squares;<br />
they were constrained,<br />
tree-scented, and secured<br />
from the house;<br />
they cleansed our heads<br />
from bed-room stench.<br />
Our beds were never dry.<br />
In those young years<br />
none of us managed<br />
to last through the night.<br />
We were always loosed by worry,<br />
flooding gushing worry,<br />
too scared to get ourselves outside<br />
past the possibility of ghosts,<br />
and paralysed at the thought<br />
that somewhere in the dark<br />
might hide the cause.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8FZquXwuzIoaCIyqkdpD9VCC4xdhHusKYwVhGqTGLlrD2Dk-XM7PXS20uWdNwTc6DnmdOdvpFuHKDpC3hQa9cx6Igvx43wxjW7XfjSg9dQpk7YdW8Qy1LMX4X8lRb-ocRNnVrhu1XSlP/s1600/go23.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077911467829586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhc8FZquXwuzIoaCIyqkdpD9VCC4xdhHusKYwVhGqTGLlrD2Dk-XM7PXS20uWdNwTc6DnmdOdvpFuHKDpC3hQa9cx6Igvx43wxjW7XfjSg9dQpk7YdW8Qy1LMX4X8lRb-ocRNnVrhu1XSlP/s400/go23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>20.</b></i></div>
<br />
There were a lot of ghosts at home.<br />
You might have met some.<br />
I remember when you came once<br />
to stay for a week or two<br />
and you looked frightened.<br />
You spent a lot of time in the trees.<br />
They came snapping at our heels<br />
like a pack of dogs<br />
to tear and scrap,<br />
snarling at the remains.<br />
They were wherever we went:<br />
throughout the house<br />
about the farm<br />
at school at play at the shop —<br />
a surprise in others eyes<br />
a falling tone in speech and look<br />
as if an end were near.<br />
Sometimes it was unpaid bills<br />
mentioned by a friend at school,<br />
talked of at the barber’s,<br />
questioned by the grocer,<br />
argued at a knock at the door.<br />
Next there would be a visit from the family<br />
consequent quiet for a day or two,<br />
then row upon row<br />
of crockery and pots<br />
tears and a splintered door<br />
then bed for them<br />
while we hid out in the farm.<br />
<br />
They liked bed,<br />
and made love with strength<br />
as the apocalypse approached,<br />
so eager for comfort<br />
they forgot at times<br />
to pull the blinds.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVLL9Q18gtTpma6Xst85cHeAfwiRVKmi7txmElW-o7AFVo6XNWcaXIlJh2S3UbrpSUihzl5y6lT1kraxPlJxUkdkHoZF3Nozjf656_G0CFRgoUnQRAlEhZpcUifbModfDIu8G8TDGp4Lw/s1600/go24.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077843543778786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeVLL9Q18gtTpma6Xst85cHeAfwiRVKmi7txmElW-o7AFVo6XNWcaXIlJh2S3UbrpSUihzl5y6lT1kraxPlJxUkdkHoZF3Nozjf656_G0CFRgoUnQRAlEhZpcUifbModfDIu8G8TDGp4Lw/s400/go24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 236px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>21.</b></i></div>
<br />
The worst were from the past.<br />
We didn’t know their names<br />
and they sometimes dodged into the future<br />
from where they could paralyse.<br />
The Present was enough –<br />
it could come in a flash<br />
like typhoid fro the drains<br />
at the back of the shed,<br />
of grey water and black slime.<br />
We were sick of it together<br />
and in the papers.<br />
Nurses came and health inspectors<br />
and a lavatory.<br />
<br />
On the other side of home square<br />
and down the whole length of the farm<br />
ran the water race<br />
on the north edge,<br />
outside the trees,<br />
a small ditch fast-flowing<br />
with mountain water from the river<br />
that curved out beyond the paddocks<br />
where the sheep grazed.<br />
We played there in brief secret times<br />
when Dad was away<br />
for reasons never given,<br />
and Mother had so much to do<br />
she did nothing.<br />
<br />
Here we learned the elemental lore<br />
of purity and how to kill it,<br />
of water light and air<br />
how they flowed.<br />
<br />
There were eels in the race.<br />
We caught cooked and ate one<br />
though we knew that was a wasteful act,<br />
and our motives suspiciously confused.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReaYLCvMW5y3EmUpcWeueO-EtRRMNN0s9DzJn1NqhyphenhyphenhUIQbeq7o_B35y2-sIPe3MP4nG0IZGZ7KNRbH193p5Z3x4D1MQtCJ-QdorIZLu-opSHV8o-HguyiCO_fDuKlVPkPiA0RZFGyEsv/s1600/go25.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077765100052658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhReaYLCvMW5y3EmUpcWeueO-EtRRMNN0s9DzJn1NqhyphenhyphenhUIQbeq7o_B35y2-sIPe3MP4nG0IZGZ7KNRbH193p5Z3x4D1MQtCJ-QdorIZLu-opSHV8o-HguyiCO_fDuKlVPkPiA0RZFGyEsv/s400/go25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>22.</b></i></div>
<br />
That water,<br />
sun-lit between the trunks,<br />
and the broad space beyond<br />
of sheep and a wild river,<br />
was an edge of happiness,<br />
the possibility of limit<br />
to the endless jobs always to be done<br />
before and after school —<br />
weeding pruning stacking packing,<br />
putting this away and getting that,<br />
works that began but had no end<br />
and seemed designed entrapment.<br />
<br />
They grew feeble in their concerns<br />
in crisis and complexity,<br />
and floundering.<br />
They developed a theology of luck,<br />
on which they based whole futures<br />
and excuse for the past.<br />
<br />
Because they had suffered,<br />
reward was imminent.<br />
For this they bought lotteries<br />
and squandered the little they had.<br />
<br />
They could have done well —<br />
a handsome couple of good name,<br />
of First Four Ships and past prestige,<br />
but scandals from youth consumed them,<br />
billowed and blew in a gathering storm,<br />
and for disguise took philosophies<br />
of that day —<br />
‘excelsior’ ‘the glory of man’, <br />
all dead as Empire,<br />
affecting but despising life,<br />
fascist but unable to fruit<br />
and blind as a scoured-out road.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1xmPO5KUKb4rF2TkiUJqWAMOXJxS6IeGubhgbHN4X-LYB9yiY-inS8J3QhdQtvewDo0R2aoKHLFfEsopvI_b4L8qvGJcBFYDR2jCbhETxs3blNMyo9ntgzQWBP484pPH3PRt8wBX5sR4/s1600/go26.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077691972079506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz1xmPO5KUKb4rF2TkiUJqWAMOXJxS6IeGubhgbHN4X-LYB9yiY-inS8J3QhdQtvewDo0R2aoKHLFfEsopvI_b4L8qvGJcBFYDR2jCbhETxs3blNMyo9ntgzQWBP484pPH3PRt8wBX5sR4/s400/go26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 247px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>23.</b></i></div>
<br />
Their distracted state disabled them,<br />
so we must grow their berries.<br />
We were kept from school.<br />
They didn’t think of it,<br />
they were too self-absorbed.<br />
All their wrongs were blamed<br />
on outside sources,<br />
nothing on within.<br />
Their own small energy was spent<br />
on strength for their need,<br />
which was a vortex.<br />
‘If only - - - -<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">you would give,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">I would get it done.</span><br />
If you would give me<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">a lift</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">a hand</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">a gift</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">your self - - - -</span><br />
I would do it.’<br />
<br />
They were a fog,<br />
in which nothing could be seen<br />
for itself.<br />
<br />
They were the criteria<br />
in which values were defined.<br />
Nothing was good true pure.<br />
Love joy sorrow<br />
must be pretended to.<br />
<br />
When your photo came to our house<br />
it had to be hid<br />
which I did.<br />
It couldn’t be left around,<br />
and would have been destroyed<br />
for the judgement it made on our house.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru0qDDHJuZdxL3hfKZYMZgJ549P0kx5mHIigQzev0b8YZTeDQ7QuPnCYiv7pgECkTM-gON5r8vHCSsvsOx5JKpNeZ9J7o_4EDrJF11SmzEC0Gk6JyHdzB87Wt4RixB_rzz0vBksMTZizP/s1600/go27.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077613759791298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiru0qDDHJuZdxL3hfKZYMZgJ549P0kx5mHIigQzev0b8YZTeDQ7QuPnCYiv7pgECkTM-gON5r8vHCSsvsOx5JKpNeZ9J7o_4EDrJF11SmzEC0Gk6JyHdzB87Wt4RixB_rzz0vBksMTZizP/s400/go27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>24.</b></i></div>
<br />
a condemnation:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">you seated on the floor</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">in the jersey your mother knitted,</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">legs crossed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">hands on knees</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">your hair in curls no barber</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">could make.</span><br />
You must have been posed<br />
by someone who knew to work space<br />
on that floor<br />
to make you a force<br />
a destiny.<br />
<br />
At three you had a currency<br />
and the photo was sent about.<br />
You wear convention now,<br />
are sad and have no radiance,<br />
yet you had a childhood —<br />
in that state I was stateless,<br />
and didn’t know my loss.<br />
I still use you for comfort.<br />
I sit in there with you,<br />
and look out at the storm <br />
that shakes my house,<br />
wears at it and erodes<br />
by grief and doubt and the acid guilt<br />
of never having done<br />
that tedious toil on the farm<br />
and the grey contagion.<br />
<br />
They toyed with death,<br />
it was their way,<br />
and I think the way of the times.<br />
<br />
All their roads were blind, dead-end,<br />
blocked by bad habit and lost trust,<br />
contagious all<br />
in air by touch in water food<br />
routine converse and rite.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbjy8EYiMaqHri8-nyUb2fChWXLI2_5P_ZeDg3jE05xlTdDRs3vweeOSUPfdYhcMgfgaHowzIihOXqLqEwLT9oFQjaKoprJKZoajgFFBtJ-kUR7u9JAGWiGeBEJUx7-XyMoiEcEhIrlJE/s1600/go28.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077538545371650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKbjy8EYiMaqHri8-nyUb2fChWXLI2_5P_ZeDg3jE05xlTdDRs3vweeOSUPfdYhcMgfgaHowzIihOXqLqEwLT9oFQjaKoprJKZoajgFFBtJ-kUR7u9JAGWiGeBEJUx7-XyMoiEcEhIrlJE/s400/go28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>25.</b></i></div>
<br />
Inheritance too.<br />
<br />
Can these necrotic knots be loosed?<br />
By weight and test and taste-by-taste<br />
or turn and re-invention?<br />
<br />
In you I look to be reformed,<br />
freed from the strategy of forgiveness<br />
and others we used on the farm,<br />
where each block was an island,<br />
and life was possible between the bushes,<br />
and diverting solutions.<br />
<br />
Neither parent knew necessity,<br />
could not recognise<br />
nor catalogue priority.<br />
Sufficiency came of its own<br />
they thought,<br />
directed and anonymous.<br />
Health warmth solvency<br />
were spontaneous;<br />
a house was born with a roof.<br />
Maintenance and forethought<br />
were no true part of life,<br />
nor provision needed for them.<br />
A need a loss a poverty<br />
were discords in justice<br />
and would soon be put right<br />
without effort.<br />
<br />
We were set to work in case,<br />
and it seemed reasonable.<br />
<br />
The habits learned then haven’t died.<br />
Even now I don’t light the fire<br />
nor keep myself warm by other means<br />
as I don’t know how.<br />
My only skill is labour.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZiJU4_SGVvIrjtif6WlB_fOwcZXB-CV6SKwPxwntjWy4ebmu1HyTqeQxDn26iE65ochuM3hK5YLPHUq5jy0FCdwckBpepLNN8VMZUIjDgK9vq1b7qWE-ycU6iMhTjmdzk7d0dBmF1HEz/s1600/go29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077462774707474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtZiJU4_SGVvIrjtif6WlB_fOwcZXB-CV6SKwPxwntjWy4ebmu1HyTqeQxDn26iE65ochuM3hK5YLPHUq5jy0FCdwckBpepLNN8VMZUIjDgK9vq1b7qWE-ycU6iMhTjmdzk7d0dBmF1HEz/s400/go29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>26.</b></i></div>
<br />
I eat only two meals a day,<br />
am uncomfortable with cars,<br />
uneasy on the telephone,<br />
have no sense of occasion nor dress.<br />
Ours was an unsocial existence,<br />
pressed out of berryfruit.<br />
I still shrink at the business of survival.<br />
<br />
You lived in a sophisticated space,<br />
arranged and liable to time.<br />
We knew only light and night,<br />
and seasons with dominant toil.<br />
<br />
The sparseness they put around you<br />
was a power;<br />
to seat you on bare boards like that<br />
cross-legged<br />
was to make a Buddha.<br />
Carpet must have been taken up<br />
and things removed<br />
to make a meaning.<br />
He could have put a light behind,<br />
hung a pomp above,<br />
made a baldacchino,<br />
placed a Chinese stand,<br />
but your pose tells the power,<br />
and your grin puts joy<br />
into a personal space.<br />
<br />
Mine is a rubbished mind,<br />
of furniture unused<br />
and abandoned rooms.<br />
Some rotting article <br />
is always in the way<br />
and dust puffs in clouds<br />
when I move.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGc20yfJYd5nAdV2K1OkmaRo1RII91S49pgj80xyppFjQ26nXzGn64isZI-AJKO-uUR6dFYqQ8fAW82tSHjH6qGx6eeWg878P5U_IAISsHdqHLZ-E_3dj38gDtsI8nNdVy3HqsAvGWhY9/s1600/go30.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077386068924274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnGc20yfJYd5nAdV2K1OkmaRo1RII91S49pgj80xyppFjQ26nXzGn64isZI-AJKO-uUR6dFYqQ8fAW82tSHjH6qGx6eeWg878P5U_IAISsHdqHLZ-E_3dj38gDtsI8nNdVy3HqsAvGWhY9/s400/go30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>27.</b></i></div>
<br />
This that I’m in<br />
is my father’s chair.<br />
It’s from my collected past.<br />
He once had ambitions—<br />
kept literary company,<br />
took ‘Oriflamme’,<br />
wrote poems of trees and chiefs<br />
liked books,<br />
and sometimes attended lectures.<br />
<br />
Though ignorant<br />
he wasn’t blissful <br />
and was guilty at a fact,<br />
as though it was damaged<br />
by his incompetence.<br />
<br />
His world became a carnivorous place<br />
where nothing was safe<br />
and disguise was mandatory.<br />
He was afraid of sleep<br />
lest the unknown come by,<br />
and for that reason didn’t read,<br />
yet there were the books,<br />
all over the place,<br />
against the walls<br />
and under stairs,<br />
which he had collected<br />
as another man might cars,<br />
for something to do<br />
when it’s wet.<br />
<br />
We had a choice of these<br />
on stormy days,<br />
and sometimes the gramophone.<br />
<br />
Music and the written word<br />
became for me the world,<br />
and my necessary life a dream.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTUFanORDCwmZpfCAw5BYeeKN3LH0zLRptBPRMxtMcmgJ_Lei_TUN3CDozwFbTJ_0hq1mCPq2wSnwCJ2i6QDz971AIrN1if4wrKkzTKhNmoVn3jSUHaYAnMcOkYa5aGy09WgzMS_4fVD4/s1600/go31.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077323101900146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqTUFanORDCwmZpfCAw5BYeeKN3LH0zLRptBPRMxtMcmgJ_Lei_TUN3CDozwFbTJ_0hq1mCPq2wSnwCJ2i6QDz971AIrN1if4wrKkzTKhNmoVn3jSUHaYAnMcOkYa5aGy09WgzMS_4fVD4/s400/go31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>28.</b></i></div>
<br />
In books, people did normal things;<br />
home was the fantasy,<br />
thinning as it wore out<br />
and the printed word showed through<br />
in debt collectors angry friends<br />
and police.<br />
<br />
Our things were sold for food<br />
and necessary bills.<br />
<br />
It grew dark and dry<br />
in the desert they made<br />
from a sand of crumbs<br />
and remnants.<br />
There was no refreshment.<br />
<br />
It became that they lived<br />
as if they were visiting,<br />
not as others did<br />
but wandering<br />
from one shadow to another,<br />
out of home in each<br />
and always on the wrong side<br />
of the veil.<br />
<br />
As the saint condemns the hedonist<br />
by his own existence,<br />
so they did to life,<br />
making it unworthy<br />
by their own example.<br />
Death seemed to them a seductive fate<br />
(like a prostitute’s glance from across the street)<br />
an easy state,<br />
that rest is best<br />
and death a well-made bed,<br />
this life a waste,<br />
and that a proper end.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn33">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQv949GzNRHuXy-HDuSMbblgefgKNUpZU1qRJUrHnvU2fxjZTmW_zxaB3Lu2gFBXAIFfW26_kjaBFCcd1YkxLs2VdScFgOnIs3gnGlmaAJWjR0fKQRigDdJ1TqpZDV-iIpMesn3_aMjGL/s1600/go32.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077251718987522" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhtQv949GzNRHuXy-HDuSMbblgefgKNUpZU1qRJUrHnvU2fxjZTmW_zxaB3Lu2gFBXAIFfW26_kjaBFCcd1YkxLs2VdScFgOnIs3gnGlmaAJWjR0fKQRigDdJ1TqpZDV-iIpMesn3_aMjGL/s400/go32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 251px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>29.</b></i></div>
<br />
My life is out-of-date.<br />
I’ve done most of those things<br />
a man is to do<br />
and learned to do them fittingly,<br />
but I’ve not the graces you were given.<br />
You were born in a temperate world,<br />
and in spite of age<br />
still move in it with confidence.<br />
You’ve tamed the beast.<br />
You expect a reasonable mean<br />
as your parents did,<br />
and like them know<br />
to make it happen.<br />
<br />
Mine died petty deaths<br />
as if from ill thrift<br />
or wilt before the wind.<br />
He first,<br />
in bed one afternoon.<br />
She went soon,<br />
from loneliness.<br />
They left lively guilts behind.<br />
<br />
No one of us looks back <br />
and sees the same,<br />
so I keep to work<br />
and make it my script,<br />
and for safety’s sake my eyes<br />
and ears<br />
all mine,<br />
not theirs.<br />
<br />
I don’t read newspapers<br />
nor have T.V.<br />
but sometimes the radio.<br />
<br />
I no longer need to know.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn34">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYj2IVFt2PFYmyY8aSNP-8wxYel8KoMDfatEe-BMwjcdZtYIxicISfzvl-YRoDeZFmox4d7hLVQj_ZPxPfNz3Rxy5V5gjfkmStoyjRu88J1ru2AOggwNdIiY5XYGtlL2Q0JqQtsIwXuz4j/s1600/go33.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077179617737730" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYj2IVFt2PFYmyY8aSNP-8wxYel8KoMDfatEe-BMwjcdZtYIxicISfzvl-YRoDeZFmox4d7hLVQj_ZPxPfNz3Rxy5V5gjfkmStoyjRu88J1ru2AOggwNdIiY5XYGtlL2Q0JqQtsIwXuz4j/s400/go33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<i><b>30.</b></i></div>
<br />
Work is my frame.<br />
It holds together <br />
all those things that make me,<br />
which fall to other gravities<br />
when a man hasn’t a centre.<br />
<br />
And you are in a frame —<br />
in that photo,<br />
already all that could ever be.<br />
Look at that elbow,<br />
that angle,<br />
it knows what to do<br />
it holds in readiness for the moment<br />
to jump from pose to act,<br />
in fulcrum force and furious<br />
if need be;<br />
and the wrist —<br />
it’s tensed for persuasion,<br />
there’s no slack.<br />
<br />
You were at the heart of being.<br />
Nothing’s stationary in your frame.<br />
Though only three<br />
you’re a host of philosophies,<br />
a child as proof of God.<br />
<br />
It’s another force<br />
that mass-produces<br />
slaves and servitors like me.<br />
<br />
I hope I am not stricken in my sleep,<br />
that I am seduced by death<br />
and know it before it comes.<br />
Then I can go kindly,<br />
but not before I’ve unpacked;<br />
I would not want to go<br />
and leave the house like me<br />
skeletal, before its time.</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn35">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKDdGWl5IcD6_DtSrUreW-MWmjNEpekptOob-ToWXC0ow9tCIfDCOaEL4hH7z02tdE6yQDQ3I5B-Kc0sZSVJPIuuoU-RjP67U29ZbLVzVmpIHWCTDgoz9aBvSaXU31sLG0LgMSWIskBrZ/s1600/go34.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077102640972466" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGKDdGWl5IcD6_DtSrUreW-MWmjNEpekptOob-ToWXC0ow9tCIfDCOaEL4hH7z02tdE6yQDQ3I5B-Kc0sZSVJPIuuoU-RjP67U29ZbLVzVmpIHWCTDgoz9aBvSaXU31sLG0LgMSWIskBrZ/s400/go34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 246px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">THE<br />O'S</span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn36">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn36" name="_ftn36" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">36</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lg_Uo0Ur3yDLqaSfafoLuVzUVc0BLu8cOUa_714lIOjR5cfjvdV6jV2NyRnic0GkcJoe1_vbmrzymRkM0mdIy2Zk6lWbq-JrHTP_6RNN8N1YhKFBlHKw-yNeVl6fwpHPxQMTIcVdSZIx/s1600/go35.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676077026235025474" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_lg_Uo0Ur3yDLqaSfafoLuVzUVc0BLu8cOUa_714lIOjR5cfjvdV6jV2NyRnic0GkcJoe1_vbmrzymRkM0mdIy2Zk6lWbq-JrHTP_6RNN8N1YhKFBlHKw-yNeVl6fwpHPxQMTIcVdSZIx/s400/go35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 238px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>31.</b><br />
O Anoub<br />
of the seven brothers,<br />
who does not lie<br />
<br />
Teach me to hold at the end<br />
before my past,<br />
which stands now an angel at the gate<br />
<br />
My eyes must recognise and I<br />
must see there my youth,<br />
and self interpret<br />
<br />
to order<br />
in the telling<br />
<br />
fearless as one must before the fact<br />
of immolation,<br />
though some do shred<br />
and others eat the consequence<br />
<br />
which is in fire made<br />
not for destruction<br />
<br />
is proved in nature,<br />
and bears my lineaments cast<br />
as I have made them<br />
<br />
It is in the way of understanding<br />
and is to be mapped by line</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn37">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn37" name="_ftn37" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">37</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzuCmDi_rrjhKntEZJfHzN-yRtN-Cov6Kft4DHS1NYklITK_L6JmGqRyv1D4fdBIoTEf8FvQT-0rYGnTnE5IJxMpNcHqrOFEM09Fwt2-vy0ZvvbAzvDSwsBOcmDYdQwFlFabkei1BK7m3/s1600/go36.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076951604060626" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifzuCmDi_rrjhKntEZJfHzN-yRtN-Cov6Kft4DHS1NYklITK_L6JmGqRyv1D4fdBIoTEf8FvQT-0rYGnTnE5IJxMpNcHqrOFEM09Fwt2-vy0ZvvbAzvDSwsBOcmDYdQwFlFabkei1BK7m3/s400/go36.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>32.</b><br />
O Doulas,<br />
friend of Bessarion<br />
who made the water sweet<br />
<br />
Make good in me the bitterness<br />
brewed in spleen and stored there<br />
by negligence<br />
heaped and soured<br />
<br />
I’ve long thought in anger<br />
have sorted out and ordered the events<br />
have justified my own blamed theirs<br />
wept rivers of resents<br />
<br />
I’ve stood on dignity<br />
my rights the right of wrong<br />
and spent life spendthrift<br />
<br />
Benefit me,<br />
spoiled and<br />
now near winter’s end<br />
<br />
Before darkness takes<br />
show me the light of life<br />
its balance boundlessness and bright<br />
spirit<br />
perfection of body space and<br />
place<br />
integument<br />
<br />
Tire I do<br />
of the fire</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn38">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn38" name="_ftn38" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">38</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4Hd5ieAxBD94Se2-YSDW7_NFCHol1RKhlVe5brRrvrMwuoBrqS6FmUXsnKWxT6P-EcsuOvUq-xSrFar9d-U27RDi4zH_PLLSqesz1iRQg-oLyZpEeCRboWWcuHsZ3Gp7tR-0MaC_JuL1/s1600/go37.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076879838266146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiv4Hd5ieAxBD94Se2-YSDW7_NFCHol1RKhlVe5brRrvrMwuoBrqS6FmUXsnKWxT6P-EcsuOvUq-xSrFar9d-U27RDi4zH_PLLSqesz1iRQg-oLyZpEeCRboWWcuHsZ3Gp7tR-0MaC_JuL1/s400/go37.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 229px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>33.</b><br />
O Phocas,<br />
who spoke with James the fornicator,<br />
note my body,<br />
its ability<br />
<br />
to do as bodies do<br />
and are made for<br />
<br />
Note the leg,<br />
how it is turned<br />
to enviable speed and utility<br />
<br />
The genitalia,<br />
of proportionate size<br />
<br />
Both belly and buttock<br />
one flat one round for use<br />
<br />
The chest<br />
with its pectoral cast<br />
<br />
The arm of purpose<br />
the prehensile thumb<br />
of muscles and joint<br />
to reach hold to take defend<br />
and balance calisthenically<br />
<br />
The neck<br />
of arrogance<br />
<br />
O Phocas <br />
note the neck,<br />
the head upon it</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn39">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn39" name="_ftn39" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">39</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG89rDZi09cvkloitCkwh_3qRODfei_eGUfEN1X2zrH27n2jLrbi1lANQaBtWtwTBqGMjoyS7Dy1VFDDcxLQKrjmlZPCh6WMbiMdBQGqWwudoDfvE7yDnSjbcp87yT0YVCBH76Y4cYceOe/s1600/go38.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076802267493218" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiG89rDZi09cvkloitCkwh_3qRODfei_eGUfEN1X2zrH27n2jLrbi1lANQaBtWtwTBqGMjoyS7Dy1VFDDcxLQKrjmlZPCh6WMbiMdBQGqWwudoDfvE7yDnSjbcp87yT0YVCBH76Y4cYceOe/s400/go38.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 238px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>34.</b><br />
O Gelasios,<br />
whose book was stolen and returned,<br />
show me peace<br />
for the sight of it<br />
<br />
To sit<br />
at the end of the day<br />
and watch as it nears<br />
<br />
To sleep<br />
as it runs on its bed<br />
<br />
and wake<br />
as it rises<br />
<br />
Come forth from the house<br />
and let me look<br />
<br />
To own it so invaluable!<br />
is more than I might ask,<br />
but let me a passing glance<br />
a touch a taste a sound<br />
<br />
Some have killed<br />
and lost for ever<br />
<br />
some have stolen<br />
and not held<br />
<br />
but I at the end of these past years<br />
who have laboured with no thought of it<br />
beg now for this reward</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn40">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn40" name="_ftn40" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">40</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bMdBIiMrHcfyVXKhxwKGGexci0TYyWbLRk3TZy7GSYe5KU6FBGPFocxDWQ8HzqOZyfmzXdxCtLUzz1fSr6k1vOBBlU6MWtcT6DiT37TiRUUsVyB9ooLMFXR4sDiNh1eS-8VItzHAFpQY/s1600/go39.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076726784599058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1bMdBIiMrHcfyVXKhxwKGGexci0TYyWbLRk3TZy7GSYe5KU6FBGPFocxDWQ8HzqOZyfmzXdxCtLUzz1fSr6k1vOBBlU6MWtcT6DiT37TiRUUsVyB9ooLMFXR4sDiNh1eS-8VItzHAFpQY/s400/go39.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 239px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>35.</b><br />
O Agathon,<br />
who talked with Amoun Macarius Joseph and Peter,<br />
give me voice<br />
<br />
I speak as if there is no-one to hear<br />
<br />
My words drop<br />
like a stone in a pool<br />
and widen, widen silently<br />
until they are lost<br />
<br />
and my voice is flat<br />
as a lake<br />
<br />
Though each word is a choice made<br />
for exactitude<br />
and the thought precise<br />
<br />
there’s nothing to answer,<br />
they are declared<br />
pronounced from above<br />
<br />
O Agathon<br />
give me air<br />
so my words might breathe<br />
<br />
give me spirit<br />
to impart<br />
<br />
then I will speak<br />
to a face to mind and soul<br />
<br />
each thing I say will have life in it<br />
to question, to reply<br />
<br />
and will make people</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn41">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn41" name="_ftn41" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">41</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsPbCE0fRa1b1FXr_lJffYMhcRfJ98zd6pWVPz11rjmU1y6oD-j0OnmihHJDerMr_hIQtbva5PTU80PILJXBUtf1uwZJvtuW7hxBCyhPFqEGWaCIeP3Xmw0_zUPD1ioiuCwdyF-chksf2/s1600/go40.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076652600406658" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSsPbCE0fRa1b1FXr_lJffYMhcRfJ98zd6pWVPz11rjmU1y6oD-j0OnmihHJDerMr_hIQtbva5PTU80PILJXBUtf1uwZJvtuW7hxBCyhPFqEGWaCIeP3Xmw0_zUPD1ioiuCwdyF-chksf2/s400/go40.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 222px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>36.</b><br />
O Serinus,<br />
who was sustained by God<br />
in harvest sewing and weaving,<br />
curious are the claims<br />
<br />
So many<br />
have gone before<br />
<br />
so many<br />
yet to come<br />
<br />
and still we are incompetent<br />
<br />
Nothing is effectively conveyed<br />
and I<br />
in my trouble<br />
find no guide<br />
<br />
I only am flesh<br />
with all around in shadow<br />
<br />
There are no maps of my land<br />
<br />
I must blaze hack and make direction<br />
as if this street is wild,<br />
and leave no sign<br />
for none will read it<br />
<br />
though they follow<br />
<br />
It’s the same path for all,<br />
from life to death<br />
posterity between<br />
<br />
though none<br />
at the first<br />
believe it so<br />
<br />
Show us of what we are made<br />
<br />
Show us to what we come</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn42">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn42" name="_ftn42" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">42</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH86ao8P19jds74JqZe9hqiuJS6UyVIRUcMOXa_3HiEVHfjB5L_UkrZ91hOFxnBxXH-Ld-VFppndOxoa8KAb7-046cVBjqojGstpLiBmjQJGQf2Jqu33FNmITwHDbLNB89DzSn7yl2mwh/s1600/go41.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076577684392354" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioH86ao8P19jds74JqZe9hqiuJS6UyVIRUcMOXa_3HiEVHfjB5L_UkrZ91hOFxnBxXH-Ld-VFppndOxoa8KAb7-046cVBjqojGstpLiBmjQJGQf2Jqu33FNmITwHDbLNB89DzSn7yl2mwh/s400/go41.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>37.</b><br />
O Matoes,<br />
give me a word<br />
that is identifiable<br />
<br />
There is much that has no knowledge of its own,<br />
that floats and masquerades<br />
as this or that<br />
while I,<br />
anxious for the truth,<br />
say ‘yeah’ ‘spot on’<br />
and ‘cool’<br />
<br />
Best take trash than starve<br />
<br />
Some say ‘Love Yourself’<br />
others ‘Love your Neighbour’<br />
some ‘Affirm’,<br />
but nothing changes<br />
<br />
no philosophy from over the sea<br />
nor strategy for support,<br />
which comes like the advancement of weeds<br />
to hide scrap<br />
ground cover<br />
<br />
One word,<br />
as Yes or No in truth,<br />
will make hard standing<br />
<br />
one word<br />
to replenish and refresh</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn43">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn43" name="_ftn43" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">43</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-QNUfJTL0SzbS4dGH9EFLI8OXYCQ4OWk3vOiHakdYkn2z9isZOOhXcTJs10O48r_lkf9uYXtUP_beTk5Qbs5NQ3gNblZ9GGE7nw1Vawjn0ldbEgvKr2LvlHgJWPezp0VbNKpnmve-NGp/s1600/go42.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5676076493797452850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit-QNUfJTL0SzbS4dGH9EFLI8OXYCQ4OWk3vOiHakdYkn2z9isZOOhXcTJs10O48r_lkf9uYXtUP_beTk5Qbs5NQ3gNblZ9GGE7nw1Vawjn0ldbEgvKr2LvlHgJWPezp0VbNKpnmve-NGp/s400/go42.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 221px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b>38.</b><br />
Ho Felix Lot and Or!<br />
<br />
If God should visit you now<br />
what would you do?<br />
<br />
Don’t speak without necessity,<br />
watch carefully<br />
each flame purify<br />
<br />
Sit as it rages by<br />
and play<br />
something grand—<br />
a coronation glee<br />
a wedding of the Doge<br />
<br />
(it’s to the sea you must go<br />
for succour)<br />
<br />
You have the limitations<br />
would weep and go home,<br />
for you have no prescription of to be<br />
<br />
then the winter comes upon you<br />
and the storm<br />
<br />
Be gracefully<br />
for that is something you can do,<br />
and gratefully<br />
<br />
as if the world had reasonable soul</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn44">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/8-great-os-2003.html#_ftn44" name="_ftn44" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">44</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tMZl0wiDUTAK_QIHv2-CETpR_AkXKVPPutERwQ-WISWTByvUXlEC1SKzYcZV9ZelCtg-J-7MpNIamZO2tEPNE4LruOn9hTRaA6X5OSKsI8BUgFBwO_J82lcpfpQJQFH6astYPwNjP9oO/s1600/8ci.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5593710857365483714" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4tMZl0wiDUTAK_QIHv2-CETpR_AkXKVPPutERwQ-WISWTByvUXlEC1SKzYcZV9ZelCtg-J-7MpNIamZO2tEPNE4LruOn9hTRaA6X5OSKsI8BUgFBwO_J82lcpfpQJQFH6astYPwNjP9oO/s400/8ci.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 244px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNye15Oov5gxMfuxNvOkE29LmPko0k_t8Oe5mNTG4Y9WxVqrOFkImdJ2fTIC8xWg4Cfj6wZx2HU_BUs9xX3-eV3to4nQNQuq70xQKhEyAX3gIeSRSTypXcIMdPEBynTMjrUwPPUtRutZ0/s1600/8c2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581528424662375970" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMNye15Oov5gxMfuxNvOkE29LmPko0k_t8Oe5mNTG4Y9WxVqrOFkImdJ2fTIC8xWg4Cfj6wZx2HU_BUs9xX3-eV3to4nQNQuq70xQKhEyAX3gIeSRSTypXcIMdPEBynTMjrUwPPUtRutZ0/s400/8c2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle, 2003</b></div>
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Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-16003639605945353932011-03-04T08:41:00.051+13:002017-11-26T10:59:02.848+13:00Things to Do with Kerosene (2002)<div style="text-align: center;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQTvcgKZGd5oko-WXXg9uqnRZFZVvnUhlKASWuZ6w_kgz3Ou5DpRhw8X_HNmh89GzpgsUmjPfJeKzIHM4kS7K_xuUxlK53q632V0MO7z5kxNs9iD5tqqOImMe9CbxYz5aSza1svZ2iGk/s1600/kc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579207476201154850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMQTvcgKZGd5oko-WXXg9uqnRZFZVvnUhlKASWuZ6w_kgz3Ou5DpRhw8X_HNmh89GzpgsUmjPfJeKzIHM4kS7K_xuUxlK53q632V0MO7z5kxNs9iD5tqqOImMe9CbxYz5aSza1svZ2iGk/s400/kc1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-fourteen.html">Things To Do With Kerosene</a> (2002)</span></div>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_00XJFQCxxIdHl8fMzpOYXiIdQi-Ld-H31AYtlsxQUGAVWYgY2g6PBQtgpZmKL1uLEL_jqEqM8SRsKavcdk0IAKZKd9mSCy10RrYipzttEG92Y8I0WWgsptYfzrm35Y4nIZ-zAFRzCk/s1600/k1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579207307339102594" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ_00XJFQCxxIdHl8fMzpOYXiIdQi-Ld-H31AYtlsxQUGAVWYgY2g6PBQtgpZmKL1uLEL_jqEqM8SRsKavcdk0IAKZKd9mSCy10RrYipzttEG92Y8I0WWgsptYfzrm35Y4nIZ-zAFRzCk/s400/k1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 264px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;"><br />Things To Do With<br />Kerosene</span><br /><br /><i><br />A Consideration</i></b></div>
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>These poems are created from the Handy Hints at the back of Aunt Daisy's Cookery Book. I began the collation while writing another work. There was need for a restorative change of subject, but I soon found they could not be treated lightly – the hints have too serious an intent. While some are bizarre, zany, even dangerous to the user, there is always more to them than one might think. <br /><br />They come from the thinking of the 1940's and 50's, when we were moving out from a time of deprivation.<br /><br />Look, says Aunt Daisy, here are ways to smarten up, to paint to gloss to make things new, and to prepare yourselves for better days.<br /><br />There's a sort of piety here, a kindness, a scent of grace, as well as turps meths ammonia nail polish remover and kerosene. Here are the means for dignity.<br /><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">Leicester Kyle,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 15em;">Oct. 2002.</span></i></blockquote>
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<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOXMNIJqHOVDdKfe63rFfgGK6qTXhp5nmpj4xid0202M3Ol3hubIisLuuKwTsdtviLp6LZYz-jVaA-19s7bWdF5DUEML_gOb9wJgZQVs3Hz3HWreyoFwPoR4LaogPkps39rkOOmzKHm6S/s1600/k2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622336107819573106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYOXMNIJqHOVDdKfe63rFfgGK6qTXhp5nmpj4xid0202M3Ol3hubIisLuuKwTsdtviLp6LZYz-jVaA-19s7bWdF5DUEML_gOb9wJgZQVs3Hz3HWreyoFwPoR4LaogPkps39rkOOmzKHm6S/s400/k2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Preface</span></b><br />
Bright sadness<br />
of late sun after<br />
rain all day<br />
<br />
Trees are wet<br />
the road’s awash<br />
and nothing will dry<br />
before dark<br />
<br />
There’s still a way to go<br />
and when I’m home<br />
there’s wood to cut<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the dog to feed</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">the fire to set for guests</span><br />
What will there be —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">has rain got in</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">the tank run dry</span><br />
what can there be for tea?<br />
<br />
And to do<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">before they arrive!</span><br />
Sweeping cooking fixing<br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">and making good!</span><br />
<br />
How will I go?</blockquote>
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<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlhXB5knJvIfwmns34-4Ltidkgn5a8H6uTtrTiMM9jwlamQ7bXoMh5q-GAwjICxjFI1923LZ_6Iaet18oFE80nv1lSt_OcxiEjuUwcnAZEAPUx-v7VXJeUfR67YNZE3b7Ia_cLDE05WOP/s1600/k3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622336039925743250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjlhXB5knJvIfwmns34-4Ltidkgn5a8H6uTtrTiMM9jwlamQ7bXoMh5q-GAwjICxjFI1923LZ_6Iaet18oFE80nv1lSt_OcxiEjuUwcnAZEAPUx-v7VXJeUfR67YNZE3b7Ia_cLDE05WOP/s400/k3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
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<div align="right">
<b>1.</b></div>
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<b><u>Adhesive</u> <u>Tape</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>sponge with kerosene, and wash in warm</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8.5em;">soapy water.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<br />
The stickiness left<br />
<br />
Glue that holds the stuff of life<br />
together<br />
<br />
The paste of space<br />
of which galactic gems are made<br />
that draws the universal dust<br />
and rolls it into planetary spheres<br />
coagulant<br />
<br />
It messes in the house<br />
gathers fluff and dust remnant<br />
from the last removal when<br />
we fled a sphere of activity<br />
for this of influence</blockquote>
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<i>You can use carbon tetrachloride instead of kerosene, but use sparingly.</i><br />
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQKNkXai_prjiAgb2AVpCnTRzgFykZ3IiFkORiDEqO4seOUMOArCjrEX-mED-1UoKlISwf7DY-CRlvn6Zg6wquKBC1ug8BJqyHptlGhcPQLIOHNyGjtTfen6iOsH6D9f9kqubIa3E1Abj/s1600/k4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335989637137666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWQKNkXai_prjiAgb2AVpCnTRzgFykZ3IiFkORiDEqO4seOUMOArCjrEX-mED-1UoKlISwf7DY-CRlvn6Zg6wquKBC1ug8BJqyHptlGhcPQLIOHNyGjtTfen6iOsH6D9f9kqubIa3E1Abj/s400/k4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
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<b>2.</b></div>
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<b><u>Bath</u>, <u>Stained</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>make a paste of kerosene and whitening, or</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">soap powder, and leave on the stain for some</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">hours. Rub off and wash with kerosene.</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">Finally rinse with clear water.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<br />
These evidences of age of use<br />
in a pre-loved house —<br />
<br />
brass taps coppers blue-glass panes<br />
black hydrangea wall-paper<br />
and baths as old as verandahs<br />
<br />
gone yellow green and blue<br />
basin and bath<br />
<br />
The water is brown<br />
from the pakihi<br />
and will stain you too<br />
inside and out<br />
<br />
your body turned to leather<br />
like those dug up in Denmark<br />
<br />
You shall live on and on<br />
cured for eternity<br />
not conscious<br />
but coloured conspicuous<br />
and alive</blockquote>
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<i>Cream-of-tartar and peroxide will also make an effective paste.<br /><br />A weak solution of oxalic acid will remove rust marks.<br /><br />Salt and vinegar mixed may take the blue stain from under the tap.<br /><br />Rinse thoroughly.</i><br />
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbtSxaKlgzYuxRZYnF0WL9JfzIQSYKeG9H5GP0Zg1gQc-PL_XoWV0n-gaiMLS4x2MDouvd-5Hh6uB0RFZ2od-SIwBcUhCdIylqcmDqpIxJrF70CGoymJ4Uuzhe73ep3ktl0RWCf1JegWD/s1600/k5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335931983742930" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiPbtSxaKlgzYuxRZYnF0WL9JfzIQSYKeG9H5GP0Zg1gQc-PL_XoWV0n-gaiMLS4x2MDouvd-5Hh6uB0RFZ2od-SIwBcUhCdIylqcmDqpIxJrF70CGoymJ4Uuzhe73ep3ktl0RWCf1JegWD/s400/k5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 250px;" /></a></div>
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<div align="right">
<b>3.</b></div>
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<b><u>Blacklead</u> <u>on</u> <u>Hands</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>rub sugar and kerosene in, then</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">wash.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<br />
and wash again<br />
<br />
rub soften sweeten<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and rub again</span><br />
as one might with words<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">in an inflamed situation</span><br />
but<br />
be careful to keep to the rules —<br />
<br />
use soft brown sugar<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">raw sugar</span><br />
make a paste with the kerosene<br />
and rub it on the hands<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">again and again</span><br />
insinuate<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">into the cracks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">mollify</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">suggest</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">impugn</span><br />
and let it all wash over one</blockquote>
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<i>It’s best to do this while you’re having a bath, so that your<br />hands can soak; then the lead will come away more easily from<br />under the nails.</i><br />
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<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvgQ3IGbYAnJA_9utzHUwNTEe5zs-rkhozqvA17Yv3KEFUjvL249lLM0O3IpFLOcnK4Zzpk2LLapF3pTR7WVrmAQKDR96dheF8KH47MPAckbLaAN-xz4HFFGIKFoLfkT3bgOxdDamm8IE/s1600/k6.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335873934890802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjAvgQ3IGbYAnJA_9utzHUwNTEe5zs-rkhozqvA17Yv3KEFUjvL249lLM0O3IpFLOcnK4Zzpk2LLapF3pTR7WVrmAQKDR96dheF8KH47MPAckbLaAN-xz4HFFGIKFoLfkT3bgOxdDamm8IE/s400/k6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
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<div align="right">
<b>4.</b></div>
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<b><u>Boards</u>, <u>to</u> <u>Whiten</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>wash with kerosene in the water.</i></span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Chopping boards<br />
wooden sink-tops<br />
kitchen tables<br />
benches where you roll the dough<br />
tubs<br />
and a tool called a scrubbing-board<br />
from deep-shaded past<br />
<br />
when there were bone-handled knives<br />
a thing on the table<br />
with a name like an arpeggio<br />
and the archaic luxury<br />
of going soon to bed<br />
<br />
where there were moreporks<br />
on the roof<br />
rats in the wall<br />
starlings in the attic<br />
<br />
and a ghost like water running<br />
where it should not be</blockquote>
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<b>or:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;">1. <i>scrub with coal-ash.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">2. <i>use the blue water from the washing.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">3. <i>scrub with 1 part lime to 3 parts sand.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">4. <i>rub with lemon-skins.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">5. <i>apply a weak solution of oxalic acid.</i></span><br />
<i>The lime and sand works best if you’ve the time</i> </blockquote>
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<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQKRRrCCE5nn0v0JcFbt-uT1B1iseGR538tmV4Gn-X98fpGZLupZp8z2lt7MDBHXdimnrtL233Pj0I_gSJcGnfIn5SPrLvwS6VFIbHHSB13nmWnQkX0gD82I4iajjwNcUb7wflTKdn1HA/s1600/k7.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335823968916818" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQQKRRrCCE5nn0v0JcFbt-uT1B1iseGR538tmV4Gn-X98fpGZLupZp8z2lt7MDBHXdimnrtL233Pj0I_gSJcGnfIn5SPrLvwS6VFIbHHSB13nmWnQkX0gD82I4iajjwNcUb7wflTKdn1HA/s400/k7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
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<blockquote>
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<div align="right">
<b>5.</b></div>
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<b><u>Boots</u>, <u>Working</u>, <i>to soften:</i></b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>soak the boots in kerosene, then</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;">give them a dressing of neatsfoot</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 14em;">oil which softens the leather.</span></blockquote>
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<blockquote>
<br />
To the foot<br />
moulding at heel and arch<br />
spreading to the toe<br />
to hold<br />
<br />
For on the foot it all depends<br />
and must be kept in form<br />
fragrant<br />
no murmur<br />
nor grudge<br />
against the neat<br />
its foot<br />
<br />
Though it may do no good<br />
to the stitching<br />
for things immersed in an alien element<br />
often come apart at the seams<br />
<br />
As with wine <br />
in skins<br />
<br />
decayed by the discrepancy</blockquote>
<br />
<i>castor oil will do instead of the neatsfoot; it is best used warm</i><br />
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
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<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkmaUnaLTc2WSjZHmqs-p0RGpppPHYUpOuwHILflOzZyEeXpJfC3mmsefK5C0rZCmhJyKEkuXjtY7mnW2Alw2GzIEOxsAVhx_sZHsTCLJbdJTaEEkwqvpkE6jcq-PUBb3ie6nOqSqiY7o/s1600/k8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335759204911618" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYkmaUnaLTc2WSjZHmqs-p0RGpppPHYUpOuwHILflOzZyEeXpJfC3mmsefK5C0rZCmhJyKEkuXjtY7mnW2Alw2GzIEOxsAVhx_sZHsTCLJbdJTaEEkwqvpkE6jcq-PUBb3ie6nOqSqiY7o/s400/k8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>6.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Bottle</u>, <u>to</u> <u>Cut</u>:</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I will try to keep to the fact<br />
<br />
A lively earnest and ready mind as mine<br />
is easily moved over to hyperbole<br />
<br />
It works in this wise —<br />
<blockquote>
to cut a bottle or demijohn<br />
wind some knitting wool<br />
round at the cutting point-<br />
about half an inch of it<br />
<br />
Pour kerosene on the wool<br />
till it is soaked<br />
<br />
Light it,<br />
and when nearly burnt out<br />
upend the bottle in cold water<br />
<br />
The top will come off neatly</blockquote>
Hold with care —<br />
you will be given a jar</blockquote>
<br />
<i>Don’t do this in the house — perhaps in the wash-house by the<br /><span style="padding-left: 3em;">tub.</span><br /><br />Leave the outside door open.<br /><br />Don’t use petrol instead of the kerosene.</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWzd06rR-mWMOSFSS1sva15eZsUvbnVS_ETysxNlcPtivoHmG2VEJMhumBdt7do7FIQB6ncjxrMtwcZ2DHtqHI3WmSh474gB4pjLMIJhcTWYlldslJ89uCSTfq2HpDNw8PRfJtWSnoba-/s1600/k9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335691991921170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjWzd06rR-mWMOSFSS1sva15eZsUvbnVS_ETysxNlcPtivoHmG2VEJMhumBdt7do7FIQB6ncjxrMtwcZ2DHtqHI3WmSh474gB4pjLMIJhcTWYlldslJ89uCSTfq2HpDNw8PRfJtWSnoba-/s400/k9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 249px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>7.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Cement</u> <u>in</u> <u>Clothes</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>wash or soak in water containing</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">vinegar — about a cupful to each tub</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">of water. Then soak in water</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10em;">containing kerosene and soap powder</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It’s amazing<br />
it crumbles out<br />
these clothes<br />
that were stiff as a board from the dust<br />
and were set in their ways to the wearer’s disgust<br />
are freed from rigidity<br />
to move at the call<br />
of limb and joint<br />
<br />
It’s mystery<br />
it’s alchemy—<br />
stone is given life again<br />
pants can be inhabited<br />
overalls be worn—<br />
by means of kerosene<br />
and vinegar<br />
and soap<br />
<br />
Socks that stood solid<br />
on the back porch floor<br />
can now be fitted on the foot<br />
put in the boot<br />
<br />
I vouch for the efficacy</blockquote>
<br />
<i>salt will do instead of vinegar — a handful to a gallon<br /><br />flush the tub after, to clear dust from the pipes</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8EEZH7OPyE-agJYCxjk80bfoaalm3Qnr5qbaa1KgUO2B93tKgJVhl85FXERVpjZPUoyL_-0QsyGLPrW7jFbDHFngrrPyuJ_j1cQpIaG8_uC8YaTV203PRr3lSl0H4jWugjzRTr4rRWxf/s1600/k10.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335625000310514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgV8EEZH7OPyE-agJYCxjk80bfoaalm3Qnr5qbaa1KgUO2B93tKgJVhl85FXERVpjZPUoyL_-0QsyGLPrW7jFbDHFngrrPyuJ_j1cQpIaG8_uC8YaTV203PRr3lSl0H4jWugjzRTr4rRWxf/s400/k10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>8.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Chewing</u> <u>Gum</u>, <i>to remove:</i></b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>soak the gum in kerosene.</i></span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
An element of force it has<br />
<i>enough within of fire and<br /> of water one to solve dissolve<br /> remove wash burn the dis-<br /> card of the unclean sweet of<br /> pacification</i><br />
<ul>
<li>spat out upon the floor</li>
<li>trod into path and step</li>
<li>stuck underneath the<br />table chair the door-<br />knob in the longdrop<br />where it moulders</li>
<li>smeared in the mat</li>
</ul>
By kerosene removed<br />
<br />
So simple a simple<br />
<br />
As well by eucalyptus<br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">methylated spirits</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 6em;">vegetable turps</span></blockquote>
<br />
<i>if you have a fridge rub first with ice<br /><br />then scrape off as much as possible and it will remove<br />more easily</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUzG8H9iBUA29a6mNAEa_3oW6M3tTaQsoCmRAsGj2XBMSKshyphenhyphenVAJBxCDgd1st1uu06H4yRolz5pNlMo7jWPi61BGxJgj53j0-4Hc5ggo2HaLbeRM9CQf6Q0RPhCudaSldofS6J_p2r0jA/s1600/k11.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335557708980146" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhOUzG8H9iBUA29a6mNAEa_3oW6M3tTaQsoCmRAsGj2XBMSKshyphenhyphenVAJBxCDgd1st1uu06H4yRolz5pNlMo7jWPi61BGxJgj53j0-4Hc5ggo2HaLbeRM9CQf6Q0RPhCudaSldofS6J_p2r0jA/s400/k11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>9.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Coal</u> <u>Dust</u>, <i>or Slack:</i></b> <i>to use —</i><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Brickettes —<br />
<br />
to each dustpan full<br />
use:<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1 teacup of kerosene</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">¼ pan of sawdust</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">5oz. flour</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">½ pint cold water</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">1 pint boiling water</span><br />
Paste the flour and cold water<br />
Stir in the hot and<br />
Boil till thick<br />
<br />
Mix with the kerosene<br />
Stir in the sawdust<br />
Add enough slack to <br />
Make a stiff mixture<br />
<br />
Form into balls and dry</blockquote>
<br />
<i>There are other means:</i><br />
<blockquote>
<i>washing soda with the dust,</i><br />
<i>or sugar</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>put the mix in paper bags</i><br />
<i>and use to bank the fire</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>or sprinkle on the fire from a shovel</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9TXo4nMbZTqqx23P1UTTHrAo7MIceZuTmkx9CBMVVrx4z7gFy1sfYKixMmJi7HZFfCFk3rRNrwhHneD1uYTV-OjBJGdJetB8tvVx_jpzde9sdJWUX6AlP2yN4fqgCAHf29rT8X2s-ZTN/s1600/k12.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335492604134642" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhi9TXo4nMbZTqqx23P1UTTHrAo7MIceZuTmkx9CBMVVrx4z7gFy1sfYKixMmJi7HZFfCFk3rRNrwhHneD1uYTV-OjBJGdJetB8tvVx_jpzde9sdJWUX6AlP2yN4fqgCAHf29rT8X2s-ZTN/s400/k12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>10.</b></div>
<br />
<b>Crayon</b></blockquote>
, <u>on</u> <u>Frocks</u>:<span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>cover with kerosene, roll up and leave</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">for a day. Wash in warm soapy water</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">and a few drops of household</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">ammonia.</span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
To dissolve —<br />
not conceal —<br />
by translucid liquid<br />
which itself won’t stain<br />
<br />
But will search out<br />
offensive particles<br />
of wax<br />
<br />
and cancel colours<br />
which misdirect<br />
the patterns of the day<br />
the forethought<br />
choice<br />
<br />
to make suns run<br />
men smile<br />
and opposition fade<br />
<br />
I use none other</blockquote>
<br />
<i>Try —<span style="padding-left: 1em;">1. A warm iron on blotting paper</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 3.5em;">2. Bicycle puncture solution;</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 4.5em;">when dry it will peel off</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 4.5em;">bringing the colour with it</span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvlvOCdjrL6rSUOzFYk6me5V4s6RIkfM9BBddl-d06mWE63z_WwFd6r2PV5XLGW3gizJkAkaJgBzmhBbJ-ixLbZfi_zv1Na36ewIkxTBgY3Af55eZMHB-GIlNWeXKtLE1flybCTWPlJS8a/s1600/k13.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335423450360242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvlvOCdjrL6rSUOzFYk6me5V4s6RIkfM9BBddl-d06mWE63z_WwFd6r2PV5XLGW3gizJkAkaJgBzmhBbJ-ixLbZfi_zv1Na36ewIkxTBgY3Af55eZMHB-GIlNWeXKtLE1flybCTWPlJS8a/s400/k13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>11.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Dyemarks</u>, <u>to</u> <u>Remove</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Boil with a cupful of Kerosene in the</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">water, then soak with the stained</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">parts on top. Cover the stains with</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">bicarbonate of soda till the marks</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 12em;">disappear.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Compose yourself<br />
still the mind<br />
it helps to say a mantra —<br />
the names of your children<br />
in euphonious disorder<br />
the tasks ahead in priority<br />
while the stains disappear —<br />
<br />
and they will<br />
<br />
As sure as that crumbs do grow<br />
at the bottom of the fridge<br />
so these stains will fade<br />
<br />
Blot by blot they will diminish<br />
white as a polar night<br />
your linen will be<br />
<br />
A summer night<br />
<br />
White and bright</blockquote>
<br />
<i>white things may be bleached<br /><br /> tartaric acid may be used<br /><br /> test on a spare piece first</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmfbxgQsP8QlIzvOLlsHUR1hcUJhwZq2T3EYl6I42rEZDIgyiH972eYPtceoBb6QpmXf4VDXjvo5Zr8D2XRyHPLLsNX_F-OV5UnElc37_NSdRaeVACuAMrjJKlWmYA6b4oI-4b802fpFS/s1600/k14.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335333421547458" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdmfbxgQsP8QlIzvOLlsHUR1hcUJhwZq2T3EYl6I42rEZDIgyiH972eYPtceoBb6QpmXf4VDXjvo5Zr8D2XRyHPLLsNX_F-OV5UnElc37_NSdRaeVACuAMrjJKlWmYA6b4oI-4b802fpFS/s400/k14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>12.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Enamel</u> <u>or</u> <u>Porcelain</u>: <i>to clean</i> —</b> <i>have a saucer full of <br /><span style="padding-left: 11em;">common salt, and add a little kerosene.</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 11em;">Dip a cloth in, and rub over porcelain</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 11em;">or enamel, using plenty of ‘elbow</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 11em;">grease’. Rinse and polish.</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
We have no proof that life will end —<br />
only precedent<br />
<br />
Space is the order of material things<br />
and their connection with each other<br />
<br />
Time is the ordering of events<br />
caused by the presence of matter<br />
<br />
The whole of life is a flight from youth<br />
to the establishment of precedent<br />
<br />
So this receipt’s for someone old and wise<br />
who knows.</blockquote>
<br />
<i>Turps will do it just as well<br />and any other soluble salt<br /><br />or commercial agent</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRvFe4MiVgr1l7nG8wduD9TmC5o7YSy34BvPzhwOs_bkcBslWPaw-7oS2kGLF5vtHCnPHcRpGHrXlCJx65Ju2F0GWyhAaQigEKpjDVqYEKg5zBuQEFrD0IV80J7gIFuWJgSByOSo0AeUP/s1600/k15.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335270511265858" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbRvFe4MiVgr1l7nG8wduD9TmC5o7YSy34BvPzhwOs_bkcBslWPaw-7oS2kGLF5vtHCnPHcRpGHrXlCJx65Ju2F0GWyhAaQigEKpjDVqYEKg5zBuQEFrD0IV80J7gIFuWJgSByOSo0AeUP/s400/k15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>13.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Fleas</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>fleas usually live in the sand or dust beneath the house.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">Wash door, steps etc. with kerosene.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
By invitation only<br />
is there entrance to the house<br />
<br />
Guests may come<br />
with music food and stubbies<br />
to hand<br />
<br />
The rellies roll a barbecue<br />
<br />
Neighbours call<br />
with news to please<br />
<br />
Connections in high places<br />
<br />
But —<br />
the doorstep’s washed in kerosene!<br />
<br />
No pest will plague<br />
and no plague pester</blockquote>
<br />
<i>it is advisable to pay particular attention to cracks between floor-boards and skirting boards<br /><br />a clean-out of rubbish from under the house is also a good idea</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLK8gp-89kq2ZI9utcpGgEo60Ljvsf1umnRrNeBwVXpUC8vxMIwTx5Ow3DCa2BoOEBQ0eASJRMPK4TQFqzejHQ2RmSgVmv6ZpvB6ODkk4hopfqM8IxXUiVTVzMbc-XYrn560dZiA6YvyNi/s1600/k16.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335194219165842" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLK8gp-89kq2ZI9utcpGgEo60Ljvsf1umnRrNeBwVXpUC8vxMIwTx5Ow3DCa2BoOEBQ0eASJRMPK4TQFqzejHQ2RmSgVmv6ZpvB6ODkk4hopfqM8IxXUiVTVzMbc-XYrn560dZiA6YvyNi/s400/k16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>14.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Flour</u> <u>Bags</u>: <i>to remove markings</i> —</b> <i>rub in kerosene, leave<br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">for a while, then boil.</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
To cut<br />
the brand<br />
from the cloth<br />
<br />
and the race be run<br />
without cachet<br />
<br />
These bags have their uses —<br />
<br />
but who would run with<br />
<i>Flemming’s Finest<br /> Chelsea Sugar<br /> Sure To Rise</i><br />
<br />
on front<br />
or back<br />
of the shorts<br />
<br />
It would be a boast</blockquote>
<br />
<i>if residual marks are left on the shorts:</i><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<i>cover with dripping</i><br />
<i>and rub together with the hands</i><br />
<i>leave 24 hours</i><br />
<i>then wash in hot soapy water</i></blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpaZy2zSgTArFW6WLsE8Bb1QckTrEJzDJS9zMNLLf3_R3_9GfPCLCDlb7k4yXW4SzHc2mFErJdGNwTKaYtBe-LUBRUWhtpXClz2GiWvvGzQCUDZm5NvIi9sIPw6vK2VUnkxk67I2qiLB9/s1600/k17.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335128310162754" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhrpaZy2zSgTArFW6WLsE8Bb1QckTrEJzDJS9zMNLLf3_R3_9GfPCLCDlb7k4yXW4SzHc2mFErJdGNwTKaYtBe-LUBRUWhtpXClz2GiWvvGzQCUDZm5NvIi9sIPw6vK2VUnkxk67I2qiLB9/s400/k17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>15.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Grass</u> <u>Stains</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>soak in Kerosene, then wash in warm soapy</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 8em;">water</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Green<br />
though it be so clean<br />
must stay with the leaf<br />
<br />
Like dirt<br />
with the soil<br />
<br />
And oil<br />
with the car<br />
<br />
Flowers<br />
in the vase<br />
<br />
It is in the being<br />
of soap and Kerosene<br />
to keep things in their order<br />
<br />
When you or I<br />
stray where we oughtn’t<br />
these are the agents<br />
cleansing and restorative<br />
that God will use<br />
to re-place us</blockquote>
<br />
<i><b>You can also:</b></i><br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<ul>
<li><i><b>sponge with meths</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>soak in glycerine and egg</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>cover with cream of tartar</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>smear with treacle</b></i></li>
<li><i><b>salt and tartaric acid</b></i></li>
</ul>
</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<i><br />after all these wash,<br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">then dry in the sun</span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Bfp534fCfSPzgvdeDyFQMAbeHD4qVqOpB5xOLwiqgMmpgzyWxew4dvGzRRHI-RrnXPt9zJ6e8x36Uz0F-wdye4uLeO03k0drGIeM7On1cRW4mbV9mtyX8ELca9Dzw85ZoUncG0v68L2l/s1600/k18.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622335064682268882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7Bfp534fCfSPzgvdeDyFQMAbeHD4qVqOpB5xOLwiqgMmpgzyWxew4dvGzRRHI-RrnXPt9zJ6e8x36Uz0F-wdye4uLeO03k0drGIeM7On1cRW4mbV9mtyX8ELca9Dzw85ZoUncG0v68L2l/s400/k18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 253px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>16.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Lamp</u>, <u>Kerosene</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>keep a bucket of sand handy in case of fire.</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">Water is no use with oil, but sand</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 9em;">extinguishes the fire immediately.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Light can turn enemy<br />
the lamp leveller<br />
in fire dark and smoke<br />
<br />
sand saves<br />
<br />
which is a message from Montaigne<br />
on wisdom —<br />
<br />
to go with nature<br />
who is a gentle guide<br />
to those who don’t rebel<br />
<br />
Do not confound her remedies<br />
with extravagancy<br />
an extinguisher<br />
or a hose<br />
<br />
Observe creation’s worth —<br />
<br />
use one element<br />
upon another</blockquote>
<br />
<b><u>NOTE</u>:</b><br />
<blockquote>
<i>place the bucket out of common reach<br /> lest someone smoke or spit<br /> and be contaminant</i></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWi-ZqVW7iBa3MwHxK9fKg4Iuta8NfT-6OADPSC8XgHn5ld0mNdgoMLtBdC1n8fXZL23CJVm_DKidl9od7uQTvDZqtJarHmzYZxlh-kKZS1w1XqTehETWGQ6dYInEL1G5evwDSsUi-Zmh/s1600/k19.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334999971230946" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixWi-ZqVW7iBa3MwHxK9fKg4Iuta8NfT-6OADPSC8XgHn5ld0mNdgoMLtBdC1n8fXZL23CJVm_DKidl9od7uQTvDZqtJarHmzYZxlh-kKZS1w1XqTehETWGQ6dYInEL1G5evwDSsUi-Zmh/s400/k19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>17.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Lead</u> <u>Floor</u>: <i>to clean</i> —</b> <i>rub with Kerosene.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Tie a soaked cloth to a mop,<br />
perhaps,<br />
and do it standing.<br />
<br />
Or get down on your hands and knees<br />
and rub if you must,<br />
as if you were sanding.<br />
<br />
Best work out a way to polish<br />
the floor<br />
from a distance.<br />
<br />
You will get a fine reflective gloss<br />
and glose<br />
with firm persistence.<br />
<br />
Don’t worry or get in a bind<br />
— that would be sad,<br />
<br />
For lead if you let it gets on your mind<br />
— and makes you mad.</blockquote>
<br />
<i>and then wash with hot soapy water<br /><br /> a dull surface is appropriate to the metal</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI0O9B_8mrqqD-V2KMNWt6tRribQgdHYTrWSVSpx-tOafkQIuHx6P4n9n4rIBgSCRAoDWMVwvhE8DU6x-PVFVA_Epg9NUtal2hfIw_Bw16VWShH8EtxjmFf00QTU7Ch-4gAJlK5vp2mlG/s1600/k20.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334928044258834" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoI0O9B_8mrqqD-V2KMNWt6tRribQgdHYTrWSVSpx-tOafkQIuHx6P4n9n4rIBgSCRAoDWMVwvhE8DU6x-PVFVA_Epg9NUtal2hfIw_Bw16VWShH8EtxjmFf00QTU7Ch-4gAJlK5vp2mlG/s400/k20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>18.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Maori</u> <u>Bugs</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>Each day, spray the places where they come with</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">kerosene. Place chloride of lime in little tin lids in</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">several corners round the place.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Put candles<br />
make an altar<br />
stand each day to give a thought<br />
for the resonance<br />
the others to come —<br />
<br />
Stick bugs at night<br />
to hang on the curtain rail<br />
and click at the dog<br />
<br />
Black Arachnids<br />
from the coal<br />
that come tarantula<br />
over the mat<br />
<br />
Others brown<br />
like scorpions<br />
and run in the sheets<br />
<br />
Huhus at the window<br />
under the door<br />
scramble prickly<br />
<br />
Giant snails in the shed<br />
shining<br />
<br />
Pray for the creatures<br />
<br />
Pray for them all</blockquote>
<br />
<i><u>Platyzosteria</u> <u>novaeseelandiae</u>, the Black Stinkroach, or<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Kekerengu, produces an objectionable smell when alarmed.</span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZhmRJMVghQ-kidrq79UrUKz0Jc50Iura3dFOV7XVziiZj9KiF6ZFn7e2Wc_MMGQ0tx_SolGzupUhAWJxofCr7DyT2l3ethT7XrOijxunVf7tBBTL3r0fe_AaQhM3QpMmmpBEco4cShou/s1600/k21.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334859096478530" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPZhmRJMVghQ-kidrq79UrUKz0Jc50Iura3dFOV7XVziiZj9KiF6ZFn7e2Wc_MMGQ0tx_SolGzupUhAWJxofCr7DyT2l3ethT7XrOijxunVf7tBBTL3r0fe_AaQhM3QpMmmpBEco4cShou/s400/k21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>19.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Mason</u> <u>Bees</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>to prevent Mason Bees from building in the</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">ceiling, saturate a large duster with Kerosene</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">and wipe all over the ceiling. This will also</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;">clean the ceiling.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Though when the bees have gone<br />
back come the spiders<br />
which masons catch<br />
and store in clay cells<br />
in equability<br />
<br />
of temperature and dryness<br />
for their grubs<br />
<br />
Nature is a pest<br />
it infiltrates in crumbs of clay<br />
and pickled corpses<br />
patinas of mould<br />
flat things that scuttle<br />
damp things that slide<br />
<br />
Be forearmed —<br />
dust mop and saturate<br />
make it domesticate</blockquote>
<br />
<i>the Masonic Apron may be cleaned with warm soapy water and a little ammonia<br /><br />it may be worked with powdered chalk to keep it soft</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-sPzLEgcEBNMXW7ii1oRjdyyXg_-XaECZ61tykNR-BowwfAHkgmhunPPmQPH0ynrtKrxH5TglUfA463P3b3YdxBNEkmU7a7YhXmNL082Y0HQhQis97q_8lnjDQxkhe7wnwAIwLZJu3jo6/s1600/k22.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334795243644802" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-sPzLEgcEBNMXW7ii1oRjdyyXg_-XaECZ61tykNR-BowwfAHkgmhunPPmQPH0ynrtKrxH5TglUfA463P3b3YdxBNEkmU7a7YhXmNL082Y0HQhQis97q_8lnjDQxkhe7wnwAIwLZJu3jo6/s400/k22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 242px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>20.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Mildew</u> <u>Stains</u>:</b><br />
<span style="padding-left: 7em;"><b>3.</b> <i>soak in Kerosene for 24 hours then wash.</i></span><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
As for a soiled cloth<br />
in water warm with soap<br />
and it will come as clean and white<br />
and uncorrupted though<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Don’t be deceived —<br />
it still decays in other ways:<br />
<br />
By slow disintegrating age<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">it loses thread</span><br />
By power of ultraviolet sun<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">it slackens and</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">falls apart to dust</span><br />
By use it wears<br />
<br />
Countless other forms of life<br />
attack it —<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">insect mammal mould</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">and microscopic</span><br />
Yourself<br />
before you die<br />
should get some life out of it</blockquote>
<br />
<i>if new and slight<br />wash in soap and water<br />and dry in the sun<br /><br />if on white cotton<br />use Jovelle Water<br /><span style="padding-left: 2em;">(<span style="font-size: 85%;">see under J</span>)</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcQLUMXu14h5tzeYMZvQ0j4NzIDdY5kAlvS9pqpjc6TsZmbA0YqMC-6H_PKgQ45ZxlGAyKD-dKgisoCbUnvllL5OZWfgDQB4zwxEdeCpvQk1a8Hyuj4zKFANv2Ii8pAok68GJr0-ABJJR/s1600/k23.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334726770231602" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhwcQLUMXu14h5tzeYMZvQ0j4NzIDdY5kAlvS9pqpjc6TsZmbA0YqMC-6H_PKgQ45ZxlGAyKD-dKgisoCbUnvllL5OZWfgDQB4zwxEdeCpvQk1a8Hyuj4zKFANv2Ii8pAok68GJr0-ABJJR/s400/k23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 248px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>21.</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<b><u>Moths</u>: 1.</b><br />
<br />
Mix and shake well<br />
4oz. pyrethrum powder<br />
in one quart Kerosene.<br />
<br />
Stand<br />
for about 8 hours<br />
<br />
And add about 10c worth<br />
synthetic oil of wintergreen<br />
<br />
Spray the carpets with this<br />
but nothing else<br />
<br />
It is a volatile thing<br />
and moths are serious<br />
<br />
They breed in the fabric of life<br />
<br />
Their lust for the thread <br />
is metaphor<br />
<br />
I confidently affirm this<br />
<br />
<b><br />2. <i>turpentine will keep them out</i><br />3. <i>put a cake of camphor in</i><br />4. <i>dust things with napthalene</i></b></blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zMYN4MQ76R0c_r-hi0XRwgiAYNL-lI9DwODeoir_joT1uYIl7Ysgn-uMoObnSnDNN8TK8dLyBPEaIac8yuqRlcTgPZAln-1wGZqSTdtPzcbQ7CAKO1Zng1iav992oJAByMgUAmREhzhD/s1600/k24.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334669250267410" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1zMYN4MQ76R0c_r-hi0XRwgiAYNL-lI9DwODeoir_joT1uYIl7Ysgn-uMoObnSnDNN8TK8dLyBPEaIac8yuqRlcTgPZAln-1wGZqSTdtPzcbQ7CAKO1Zng1iav992oJAByMgUAmREhzhD/s400/k24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 251px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>22.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Overalls</u>, <i>greasy</i>:</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Wash in a bucket of water<br />
with a teacup of Kerosene<br />
<br />
Wring out and rinse in<br />
hot soapy water and soap powder<br />
soda and ammonia<br />
<br />
repeat 3 or 4 times<br />
<br />
Rinse well <br />
and hang out<br />
to dry<br />
<br />
or in a safer place<br />
where there is no grease<br />
nor chemical peril<br />
where you wear clothes<br />
to stay immaculate<br />
<br />
Cut your hair<br />
do your nails<br />
scrub yourself with sugar soap<br />
then take a white collar job<br />
<br />
Modernise<br />
Be dandiacle<br />
Go clean</blockquote>
<br />
<i>for a perfect finish: after pressing<br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">hang out in the sun</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-heY7L3fotXko_wu6YM-nbqsJXvVZJTn5D1zM0MhFhbtORvcfS7f0hTam3IpBATB4Lwbju_jgy7Q2aiCTRgcVrD36iyXNwx9zz0fqtexZGEHsC1T9kJHCTSPoXnkMfIn77r182o9yYxju/s1600/k25.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334604098680370" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-heY7L3fotXko_wu6YM-nbqsJXvVZJTn5D1zM0MhFhbtORvcfS7f0hTam3IpBATB4Lwbju_jgy7Q2aiCTRgcVrD36iyXNwx9zz0fqtexZGEHsC1T9kJHCTSPoXnkMfIn77r182o9yYxju/s400/k25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 250px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>23.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Saucepans</u>:</b><br />
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
If dirty from an open fire<br />
put them in a kerosene tin<br />
and cover with cold water<br />
<br />
Add 2lbs of cooking salt<br />
<br />
Bring slowly to the boil<br />
and simmer for some time<br />
<br />
When cold clean<br />
with pot cleaner<br />
sandsoap<br />
and ‘elbow grease’<br />
which is a catalyst<br />
on crusted tar<br />
dissolves and dislodges<br />
to flakiness<br />
<br />
reducing black to a minimum<br />
on steel or aluminium<br />
<br />
then put your pans upon the rack<br />
<br />
None will know you’re colonial<br />
and like to cook on the fire<br />
when you’re alone and all<br />
will praise your kitchen economy</blockquote>
<br />
<i>if the saucepan is burnt<br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">cook vinegar in it</span><br />or put it in the fowl run<br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">with milk in it</span><br />(the chooks will peck it clean)</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSGN81GqP7pg4ixGSzs9L8cLmWYejibS1jMfiud1p0vnprR0k-UmHWfdqfmeow3Y_GSLZ5KWZ709y_hINtWW4kgLcJmnOQ_0JXePPRXSfMPpC_sM5kGDVzgii-kr4dX8YFPm5WZ3VAtV7/s1600/k26.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334521283622866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNSGN81GqP7pg4ixGSzs9L8cLmWYejibS1jMfiud1p0vnprR0k-UmHWfdqfmeow3Y_GSLZ5KWZ709y_hINtWW4kgLcJmnOQ_0JXePPRXSfMPpC_sM5kGDVzgii-kr4dX8YFPm5WZ3VAtV7/s400/k26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>24.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Silver</u>: <i>tarnished</i> —</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>if silver is disfigured with black spots,</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">rub on a mixture of precipitated chalk</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">and kerosene. Leave to dry, then wash in</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 10.5em;">boiling water.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
A scrub and a polish <br />
does nothing any harm<br />
<br />
Possessions are like pets<br />
to be tamed<br />
into the manner of the house<br />
<br />
In time<br />
they will reflect it<br />
<br />
There, you will say<br />
on seeing a spoon —<br />
is a house with a pride<br />
<br />
And on seeing an epergne —<br />
is a house with a style<br />
<br />
It is an aura<br />
or an affect<br />
that our belongings grow<br />
<br />
And their reflection<br />
is of us</blockquote>
<br />
<i>or use aluminium salt and soda<br /><br />or a good silver polish<br /><br />never use rubber bands<br /><br />nor put ivory-handled knives into hot water</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho919MBUPAZ2AZv-Tx5PAd5ajzC5B48-YJlhc8HF7YXeMDMZWjnDjgoIyVyxcn4Z-ePKu-bR3HSHQWSD7v5hGofBbJLECgaNSgLBAoq6GoB_Ysk69eTvxsVl12EeMZR95eHmaiGU4aHQhV/s1600/k27.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334450984964002" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho919MBUPAZ2AZv-Tx5PAd5ajzC5B48-YJlhc8HF7YXeMDMZWjnDjgoIyVyxcn4Z-ePKu-bR3HSHQWSD7v5hGofBbJLECgaNSgLBAoq6GoB_Ysk69eTvxsVl12EeMZR95eHmaiGU4aHQhV/s400/k27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 254px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>25.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Skins</u>, <i>to cure</i> —</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<ol>
<li>Calf cow and deer skin.<br /><br /> Scrape skins clean<br /> stretch on floor<br /> tack into place<br /><br /> Rub with Kerosene<br /> till wet all over<br /> then rub on baking soda<br /><br /> Form a paste<br /> leave for 2 or 3 days<br /><br /> Rub all over<br /> with a brick<br /> until pliable<br /><br /> The fleshy bits<br /> should come off<br /><br /> The skin be smooth<br /><br /> Wear or otherwise use</li>
</ol>
<br /></blockquote>
<i>there are also goat and other skins</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtO9B0-ZwsJram7U_JtlNIMBHN799acMGXjuM_0CLbTr3oXjKgdHz_bhUCdAAYBx9D7XTouODDdjM9R56UXayAa8x47643TtlI4rfJhGfMUSOvftmMswxXPrLjAyNUK2Tyz5t9KDQg4-c/s1600/k28.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334385253121010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRtO9B0-ZwsJram7U_JtlNIMBHN799acMGXjuM_0CLbTr3oXjKgdHz_bhUCdAAYBx9D7XTouODDdjM9R56UXayAa8x47643TtlI4rfJhGfMUSOvftmMswxXPrLjAyNUK2Tyz5t9KDQg4-c/s400/k28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 247px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>26.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Stove</u> <u>Polish</u>: <i>(for old-fashioned ranges)</i> —</b><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<ol>
<li><i>Mix equal parts of boiled linseed oil, <br />kerosene, and vinegar. Apply to warm stove.</i></li>
</ol>
</blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
Who would say no<br />
to a black iron stove with fire,<br />
not give all it asks,<br />
a thing believed beloved?<br />
<br />
It boxes the envious flame<br />
and directs it,<br />
this to the pots<br />
that to the pipes<br />
and all that’s left out into the house,<br />
drying and warming<br />
as the wild wind sweeps across the moor.<br />
<br />
O comfort of my wish and will!<br />
Who would not give you wood<br />
oil vinegar wax and turps<br />
blacklead bluestone if it helps<br />
as well as Kerosene?<br />
<br />
I endorse this product.</blockquote>
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">2. <i>4 cakes blacklead</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">3 spoons floorwax</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">1 cup turpentine</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">mix well together</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 5em;">this mixture will shine the stove</span></blockquote>
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM_ZMabBRED_bEt7OKc-PeQIi0HmQyCjReD5Ll66zdMB161DkVBR2iygYTfp4WaYtDtBda-DEEOv9UPRN0zzsPJQaq0OtYp5MPIDvxIHqdisM7JfSJ6oDNG5AH9Y2elm4wIZglaI2e3f3/s1600/k29.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334309132009138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEixM_ZMabBRED_bEt7OKc-PeQIi0HmQyCjReD5Ll66zdMB161DkVBR2iygYTfp4WaYtDtBda-DEEOv9UPRN0zzsPJQaq0OtYp5MPIDvxIHqdisM7JfSJ6oDNG5AH9Y2elm4wIZglaI2e3f3/s400/k29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 256px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>27.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Tiles</u>:</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>instead of using water, clean hearth tiles with a cloth</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 4em;">moistened with Kerosene, turpentine or skim milk.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<blockquote>
<br />
A fire is the edge of the abyss<br />
the ungovernable governed<br />
and must look well<br />
must be presented<br />
not spit or spark<br />
be kept in bounds<br />
and keep its place<br />
like a dog trained or a cat<br />
<br />
else<br />
like a cat<br />
a flame might jump<br />
to where it should not be<br />
lick at this <br />
or that<br />
<br />
and desolate<br />
<br />
<i><br />a furniture cream is also good<br /><br /> hot coals burn the polish</i></blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTKYIYss0tKevSZuj5RFVoAqPa40DdY5wVlWTnUGENIIm6Zeirpm8ARNigWqtXWaFysPKLVO-d0MOpy5QkQoxBtVuPQg9VRcMejfywfHWkGcmctf0_VHw2bEq1rSteiqswYje3xu2vAYD/s1600/k30.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334245001597106" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmTKYIYss0tKevSZuj5RFVoAqPa40DdY5wVlWTnUGENIIm6Zeirpm8ARNigWqtXWaFysPKLVO-d0MOpy5QkQoxBtVuPQg9VRcMejfywfHWkGcmctf0_VHw2bEq1rSteiqswYje3xu2vAYD/s400/k30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 253px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>28.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Varnish</u>: <i>to clean</i> —</b><span style="padding-left: 1em;"><i>rub with equal parts of raw linseed</i></span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 11em;">oil and kerosene.</span></blockquote>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
On polished parts<br />
on arm and leg<br />
and on the rimu floor<br />
<br />
Pull up the carpet<br />
polish under<br />
<br />
and stand in reflection<br />
<br />
At your feet will lie<br />
the image of your world<br />
glossed<br />
<br />
returned<br />
as once it might have been<br />
<br />
restored <br />
in knot and grain<br />
by Kerosene<br />
<br />
We recommend<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">with confidence</span></blockquote>
<br />
<i>or mineral turps<br />which is not as good as Kerosene<br />which has more oil in it</i><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDo0xb4LtvR6KE-9FUyL3adwKygTMliRBIDweesUx9_XT-GazUsucVUERe4GQUS9wvjwkcDcFj9HkNsJc5xmUqjzH2BJBDMBKl28MQFVCZN5Cv81To2TrJ6xBFH3wzkfTp08NzwJjPgBv/s1600/k31.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334103279171506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZDo0xb4LtvR6KE-9FUyL3adwKygTMliRBIDweesUx9_XT-GazUsucVUERe4GQUS9wvjwkcDcFj9HkNsJc5xmUqjzH2BJBDMBKl28MQFVCZN5Cv81To2TrJ6xBFH3wzkfTp08NzwJjPgBv/s400/k31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>29.</b></div>
<br />
<b><u>Xylonite</u>: <i>to clean</i> —</b> <i>mix with equal parts of methylated<br /><span style="padding-left: 10em;">spirits Kerosene and water. Rub on,</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 10em;">then polish with a dry cloth.</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
Some things, my dear —<br />
<br />
This thing is like this<br />
that instantly and in itself<br />
it was<br />
<br />
Forgotten now<br />
it for an instant was<br />
an element<br />
which we made exact<br />
with a word of our own<br />
<br />
And have lost<br />
though it is there —<br />
an elegance<br />
in shops that sell imperfect verities<br />
<br />
There —<br />
whose owner is always away for the day<br />
in tact<br />
<br />
For what once was<br />
is another thing now</blockquote>
<br />
<b>xylonite</b>. 1869.<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>[ irreg. f. Gr. xylon-wood + ITE ]<br /> A proprietary name for </i>CELLULOID</blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn32">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/things-to-do-with-kerosene-2002.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rw3jnDs9GrJKQuq17KmhsFyXS5qmzroWwTUUygX1-3oOPY1vq2AZ3EIwoUUIR2eRuFdFm2lXemTNx-uMr5yJWoxpvIcSB3dgR9yt05YInWPty5yo4zbP_t_1Bye-bD1QGejJ89M-Btb8/s1600/k32.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622334030203308738" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8rw3jnDs9GrJKQuq17KmhsFyXS5qmzroWwTUUygX1-3oOPY1vq2AZ3EIwoUUIR2eRuFdFm2lXemTNx-uMr5yJWoxpvIcSB3dgR9yt05YInWPty5yo4zbP_t_1Bye-bD1QGejJ89M-Btb8/s400/k32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 240px;" /></a><br />
<b><i><br /><u>EPILOGUE</u></i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>You’ve probably a modern house<br />Fresh dry bright and sharp-edged corners<br />Without a trace of borer rot or mould in dark-stain patches<br />Sound-founded level and with contemporary spouting<br />Close-fitting doors no draughts small dust dry drawers<br />And cupboards with no mice<br />Your water most probably runs all the time<br />And your electricity’s not chewed by rats<br />When it rains you’re not frightened<br />Wind doesn’t suck your windows out<br />And it’s most likely that your whiteware is not in a shed out the back<br /><br />You probably spend money to save time<br /><br />Your car is in a garage<br />With warrant and on the register<br />You spray to keep your garden clean<br />You grow popular things<br /><br />There’s no kerosene in the house<br />Nor turpentine as you don’t paint<br />No stain-remover<br />Broken things — you buy another<br />And you shower<br /><br />There’s no peace there’s always noise<br />You’re not really fit as you don’t have to do very much<br />But you’ve freedom of choice<br />And variety<br />You’ve plumbers mechanics men to repair the appliances<br />Easy terms and purchase rights<br />Your dignity is hired paid-for bought<br />Comfort assured by multiple means<br />Security assurred<br /><br />And above any loss<br />Beyond the inexplicit burden of dependence vanished craft<br />Is the lightness of the load removed<br />That you don’t have to make things go</i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64G9YmgOv2Og8LyMG7JoTyIsvnCaJEq58RP8pGZuc3pKsaSisLOsVsS7M4XDlsdsxuJ9EyFGpEZtAHoqnVSXcKrCPqbF4dBDNueWh4bEpGM3HVQyUo7PGOzgsHrVBsv6_gKYmUOUfl_A/s1600/kc2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5579207392292965122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj64G9YmgOv2Og8LyMG7JoTyIsvnCaJEq58RP8pGZuc3pKsaSisLOsVsS7M4XDlsdsxuJ9EyFGpEZtAHoqnVSXcKrCPqbF4dBDNueWh4bEpGM3HVQyUo7PGOzgsHrVBsv6_gKYmUOUfl_A/s400/kc2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 284px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<b><i>Published by Heteropholis Press, with the generous assistance of the Buller Community Arts Council.</i></b><br />
<br />
Further copies may be obtained from P.O. Box 367, Westport, Buller, New Zealand.<br />
<br />
<span style="padding-left: 2em;">© L. H. Kyle</span><br />
<b>ISBN 0-473-08963-7</b></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle, October 2002</b></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-7465721920203545562011-03-03T08:27:00.010+13:002017-11-26T10:59:19.630+13:00Dun Huang Aesthetic Dance (2002)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tTEt2g60oLZACOtExpXvF6eLoKLQMC6krQJnu_TbBMFu9eJLKW-wk1ftmimNWgfCXmQzwy2qonEKPnYTco5h24TBiwlhEcxBj47XGdYJ2MjrYJjx4oOYseHdQxbluPBALCtndSQvtHw/s1600/d1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581527549597028498" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8tTEt2g60oLZACOtExpXvF6eLoKLQMC6krQJnu_TbBMFu9eJLKW-wk1ftmimNWgfCXmQzwy2qonEKPnYTco5h24TBiwlhEcxBj47XGdYJ2MjrYJjx4oOYseHdQxbluPBALCtndSQvtHw/s400/d1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 286px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-thirteen.html">Dun Huang Aesthetic Dance</a> (2002)</span></div>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5NnY_hYidjEz437B1cDOL063kKTU-8gLFYmwTCbac4HHRgVD4vuJZ6X0Uu-Cu7vvTpQSig1PTmONhnCeOfSOtLGNpxCr4xXR7pQNzUhod20LIf-uy6SukJ1AFTRmLSleoULk86ob-ZLk/s1600/d1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587378436935073282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG5NnY_hYidjEz437B1cDOL063kKTU-8gLFYmwTCbac4HHRgVD4vuJZ6X0Uu-Cu7vvTpQSig1PTmONhnCeOfSOtLGNpxCr4xXR7pQNzUhod20LIf-uy6SukJ1AFTRmLSleoULk86ob-ZLk/s400/d1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">1. Fa Hwa Sutra Story</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 45, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<i>The sculptures in the niche of Cave 45 are</i><br />
<i>masterpieces from Tang Dynasty. It is the</i><br />
<i>art treasure. On southern side there are</i><br />
<i>Anada, Bodhisattva and heavenly King.</i><br />
<i>On northern there are Dacabala-Kacyapa</i><br />
<i>Bodhisattva and heavenly King.</i><br />
<br />
<i>Buddha is sitting in the middle. Ananda</i><br />
<i>is young however Dacabala-Kacyapa is</i><br />
<i>old.</i><br />
<br />
<i>They both become a strong comparison.</i><br />
<i>Bodhisattva are calm and easy and stand</i><br />
<i>elegant. Heavenly kings show their mighty</i><br />
<i>and stand with a tremendous momentum.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
It could have been done<br />
expert and particular<br />
on the run<br />
<br />
Though harried by the hour<br />
and distraught<br />
<br />
Harried by instinct<br />
too and tinctured<br />
in all our parts<br />
by lusts for more<br />
<br />
and set upon<br />
from all four<br />
corners of experience<br />
<br />
in newness<br />
that the world was fresh<br />
in pasture still<br />
<br />
and we in strength upon it<br />
<br />
the first<br />
in this field<br />
of our own</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yOWEtVvy3OKH1NRgcBkfWfz_DM6GE_rYE9iTtWBklCCWdCWBrCkDqx9MvK8mVQAXnmJ_kSXQ5R54zDfl7PZIQ5nZNjII8gYtKrdLnsvjjALtKiDdrjAGYEBFlATL8sWU6IR5n09x7KKn/s1600/d2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587378367498092226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh2yOWEtVvy3OKH1NRgcBkfWfz_DM6GE_rYE9iTtWBklCCWdCWBrCkDqx9MvK8mVQAXnmJ_kSXQ5R54zDfl7PZIQ5nZNjII8gYtKrdLnsvjjALtKiDdrjAGYEBFlATL8sWU6IR5n09x7KKn/s400/d2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">2. Heaven Palace Music and Dance</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 288, Mugao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<i>During the earliest Dun Huang period<br />in one of Bei Liangs cave heaven palace<br />music and dance already appear. It last-<br />ed the entire dynasties in China. All<br />the dancers stand beside an arch-shape<br />pole & start to dance. This is the dance<br />and music for praising Buddha in west-<br />ern world.<br /><br />When the dancers dance, they hold mus<br />-ical instruments in their hands. As<br />they play the musical instrument they<br />dance as well, both separately and to-<br />gether.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
With thought and work<br />
it could have been<br />
that we became the type<br />
but now this tiredness<br />
<br />
Too weary now to see<br />
on looking back<br />
<br />
where we were out of step<br />
<br />
The sets were right<br />
the house the job the family<br />
for support<br />
and we were all the way on top<br />
<br />
it seemed we managed<br />
set the tone<br />
and showed them<br />
<br />
A good agenda<br />
for our age<br />
and wise<br />
<br />
with appropriate philosophy<br />
dignified riposte<br />
modesty<br />
and charm<br />
<br />
A long sad time it was<br />
slowly taking shape<br />
under weather</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeFA4gVrUQFn5I_70os8gxUF1jh1GEj5Y3j5qneVVbzzV2qtm2fWWCrJvsSpeBd2V5knhvQs1Yc4IaIf42NluQ2FG9W7tqe9NBxhLALRKUU-mduwpShlksFz3eOYMX4Upj7H7Yx2ci5n_/s1600/d3.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587378287271918226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYeFA4gVrUQFn5I_70os8gxUF1jh1GEj5Y3j5qneVVbzzV2qtm2fWWCrJvsSpeBd2V5knhvQs1Yc4IaIf42NluQ2FG9W7tqe9NBxhLALRKUU-mduwpShlksFz3eOYMX4Upj7H7Yx2ci5n_/s400/d3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 281px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">3. Thousand Hands Avalokitecvara</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 3, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
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<i>Thousand Hands Avalokitecvara, the<br />full name is thousand hand thousand<br />eyes Avalokitecvara. She heard thous-<br />and hand sutra then she grew up thous-<br />and hands and thousand eyes. Because<br />she have thousand eyes, she can watch<br />out the suffering of people. Because she<br />have thousand hands, she can save all<br />people. <br /><br />The dance of thousand hands Avalo-<br />is composed of many persons. Through<br />the variation of dance and hand posture<br />present the mercy and love of Avalokit-<br />ecvara to all beings.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
I no longer feel embarrassed<br />
<br />
Over-all it worked<br />
we had our children<br />
ran the house<br />
attended the lost<br />
in their sanctity<br />
<br />
Out of error<br />
some good came<br />
it’s said in the letters<br />
and long-after visits<br />
of comfort meant and received<br />
<br />
It’s you and me I think of<br />
and the kids<br />
<br />
With both of us in business<br />
tired and pressed<br />
and never stopped<br />
<br />
each and the other invariable<br />
as day and night succeeded<br />
to the inevitable<br />
<br />
of age<br />
and a time of review</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvxMfqCwXxJJl-wZzHr9-5QRACHaW8lLUwetbNoRZs9rwZxxBnvPFzuUou5IGQ6i7IS8bvzAyGkjMIj9P8KSYOiZts-MHY7ynJIWh3eFibe4drZJlkWPFP46TepAywQQ5ysurf8nuHwBT/s1600/d4.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587378190539072514" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwvxMfqCwXxJJl-wZzHr9-5QRACHaW8lLUwetbNoRZs9rwZxxBnvPFzuUou5IGQ6i7IS8bvzAyGkjMIj9P8KSYOiZts-MHY7ynJIWh3eFibe4drZJlkWPFP46TepAywQQ5ysurf8nuHwBT/s400/d4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">4. Heavenly Angel Scarf Dance</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 220, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
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<i>Heavenly Angel Scarf dance is from<br />Mo Gao Cave Number 220 cave.<br />Heavenly Angel Scarf dace is made up<br />from the hu xuan wu of the Tang Dyn-<br />asty. It is a kind of quick spinning<br />dance. Originally the dancers were all<br />male, then some female dancers were<br />added. <br /><br />Heavenly Angel Scarf dance is a kind<br />enthusiastic dance. The dancers spin<br />clockwise suddenly then spin counter-<br />clock wise in a very fast speed. They<br />change different kind of dance steps and<br />swing their bodies up and down. The<br />faster rhythm of the music goes, the<br />faster the dancer dances.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
We were quick<br />
and wanted to please<br />
<br />
People told us we were clever<br />
but that was because <br />
we didn’t ask for much<br />
and were happy as we were<br />
until the uncertainties<br />
<br />
when those things<br />
that had trod behind<br />
all through the years<br />
as offspring close and owning<br />
came in to shelter<br />
taking space<br />
<br />
with questions we didn’t know<br />
nor answers<br />
<br />
but we kept ancestral<br />
in the old house<br />
spoke the old words<br />
and slowed down<br />
lest we do too much<br />
or miss a step</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw70sni6T9xFQ8W5O4N5roRt88gwFVZIsn3Stwgj1lQkKWm0OA-mE1SVfKlUgRB6bXk3oXtUeBo0pLUwv81Nb9uDCPlt1kH7UJts8bVwbmnA2Wj_WYBYu83R8fXfztRm_sZB0TlHay_5o0/s1600/d5.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587378122152525266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw70sni6T9xFQ8W5O4N5roRt88gwFVZIsn3Stwgj1lQkKWm0OA-mE1SVfKlUgRB6bXk3oXtUeBo0pLUwv81Nb9uDCPlt1kH7UJts8bVwbmnA2Wj_WYBYu83R8fXfztRm_sZB0TlHay_5o0/s400/d5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 283px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">5. Offering Bodhisattva</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 328, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
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<i>Offering Bodhisattva put the palm to-<br />gether kneel with single leg. Their app-<br />earances are very pious. It present the<br />skillful sculpture technique in Tang<br />Dynasty. Whatever hair, ornament or<br />skirts are very realisticall. Dancers try<br />to fathom the facial expression of offer-<br />ing bodhisattva. They express the inner<br />world of Bodhisattva with elegant and<br />pious motion.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
There was our space<br />
<br />
who’s and what is it<br />
what do we do<br />
<br />
We filled it with music and God<br />
<br />
which made it will a need<br />
to conform<br />
a sort of obedience<br />
round which we hung our lives<br />
knowing and predictable<br />
<br />
As others saw<br />
wise in all good sense<br />
admirably made<br />
and subtle enough<br />
as times shift<br />
<br />
But we didn’t see the changes<br />
nor change to them<br />
until they took us<br />
as they do by hymn and rite<br />
<br />
Now you’re there too<br />
part of it</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">6. Four Heavenly Kings</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 331, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<i>Four Heavenly Kings, also named four<br />guardian kings, represent favourable<br />weather, prosperous country, an abun-<br />dant harvest and peaceful world.<br /><br />Eastern heavenly king is named protec-<br />ting-country. It means protecting coun-<br />try and people.<br /><br />Western heavenly king is named wide-<br />eye. He always watches the world and<br />protects people.<br /><br />Southern heavenly king is named en-<br />hancement. He is able to make people<br />enhance their kindness. <br /><br />The northern heavenly king is named<br />broad - hearing. He can hear all the<br />sound from every direction. He holds a<br />treasure umbrella to conquer devils and<br />protect people’s fortune.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
They have died in my arms<br />
<br />
I looked in their eyes<br />
and saw where they go<br />
which is comfort<br />
<br />
Though not to be said in words<br />
That at any one time we are<br />
none of us<br />
sure where we are<br />
<br />
Had we known<br />
we would have been more alive<br />
but we lived easy<br />
protected to near the end<br />
by Music and God<br />
<br />
which always make<br />
the height and depth<br />
seem real<br />
<br />
As they are<br />
though in tact<br />
and for reasons of ease<br />
we prefer them to be figured</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">7. Sun & Moon Light Angels</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 285, Mogao Grottoes)</i></b></div>
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<blockquote>
<br />
<i>No 285 cave is abundant with skill-<br />fully painted and colorful paintings. On<br />the top there are traditional Chinese<br />style paintings. However on the wall <br />there are all Buddhist paintings. <br /><br />On the western wall there are many<br />angels paintings, for example sun angel<br />and moon angel. This dance is adapted<br />from the sun and moon angels on the<br />wall paintings. We design circle white<br />screen, special lighting and shadow style<br />dance. It shows the beautiful but imag-<br />inary and dreaming world.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
You said<br />
it would best work out<br />
if our motives<br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">perspectives</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 3em;">and facts</span><br />
were considered<br />
<br />
That was a moderating thought<br />
until in our middle years<br />
we saw the backward force<br />
discrete and great<br />
whose order is its own<br />
that bears no reference<br />
to us in both our lives<br />
<br />
We’ll plan for later years<br />
you said<br />
and we did<br />
a pretty plan<br />
<br />
Now I alone am left<br />
to make consequence<br />
and hold in my one hand<br />
life after life<br />
and life again<br />
for two</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60_kU6mTFRnNyE1CUmW5E5l_4iX64-c3jKdNO45PD1YvYGgBAKbyBc8uE1V4VlEROgYweV9bXFv6PHkKjzwjVymW0QaUg2KedYZLQGdg3N9M2HXCwqImOC9qBhtbOg8ty6iaZvsFIoWT9/s1600/d8.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587377863717791954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj60_kU6mTFRnNyE1CUmW5E5l_4iX64-c3jKdNO45PD1YvYGgBAKbyBc8uE1V4VlEROgYweV9bXFv6PHkKjzwjVymW0QaUg2KedYZLQGdg3N9M2HXCwqImOC9qBhtbOg8ty6iaZvsFIoWT9/s400/d8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 282px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">8. Green Tara</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 4, Yulin Grottoes)</i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>Green Tara is the incarnation of Ava-<br />lokitecvara. She can save unlimited<br />amount of people very powerfully.<br />When the world gets worse, the ability<br />of green tara will become more power-<br />fully. There are each three green taras<br />on right and left side. Along with the<br />middle one, there are seven green taras<br />in the wall paintings. This is the repre-<br />sentative work in the Yu - Lin Cave.<br />This dance is designed according to the<br />painting. There are 7 dancers to pre-<br />sent the mercy and power of green taras</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
then there were the kids<br />
We thought they were ours<br />
in our power<br />
to make<br />
as one does an artefact<br />
<br />
Touch here<br />
touch there<br />
add pare make straight<br />
and fortify<br />
as if we were to mix and bake<br />
<br />
The strength<br />
was for a jungle world<br />
but we didn’t say that<br />
<br />
We said we had the pattern<br />
our goal<br />
was fullness<br />
in limb and mind<br />
but they had their own<br />
<br />
We missed<br />
in liberality</blockquote>
<br /></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/dun-huang-aesthetic-dance-2002.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZG9i4Lpuk7lkfMp7mgNLNZzW_kHKAeFu7yd1zb_WJCerUyWYaE1yqX5dALETR5B6Eb2kAEhwquyigY0h4ShixjETvHAV3W-RNZAui3HkrVmq7gcZ8kkV_dfBBj3T2vsi52E-qxJND_XZ/s1600/d9.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5587377785523457234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1ZG9i4Lpuk7lkfMp7mgNLNZzW_kHKAeFu7yd1zb_WJCerUyWYaE1yqX5dALETR5B6Eb2kAEhwquyigY0h4ShixjETvHAV3W-RNZAui3HkrVmq7gcZ8kkV_dfBBj3T2vsi52E-qxJND_XZ/s400/d9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 284px;" /></a><br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">9. Mandala</span><br /><i><br />(from cave 4, Yulin Grottoes)</i></b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<br />
<i>Vajra-dhatu mandala is drawn accord-<br />ing to the Vajradhatu sutra. There are<br />nine squares. In the middle is Vairo-<br />cana Buddha, the upper one is Amita-<br />bhana Buddha, the lower one is Ra tna<br />-samb - hava Buddha. Vajra - dhatu<br />means that the wisdom is like dimond<br />and cannot be destroied. Mandala mean<br />enlightenment. Vajra - dhatu mandala<br />represent the wisdom of Vairocana<br />Buddha. It is also called Wisdom man-<br />dala.</i><br />
<blockquote>
<br />
The pattern<br />
how does it go —<br />
round square<br />
or is it mystic<br />
seen at the altar shimmering<br />
<br />
You put it in craft<br />
and I on the page<br />
a magic<br />
we hoped<br />
that would still the whirl<br />
And make order for us<br />
<br />
You went<br />
and left me with belief —<br />
Things always work out in the end<br />
but not always<br />
<br />
It’s a thread running through<br />
and starts with faith:<br />
<br />
God<br />
is how we people space<br />
<br />
Eternity’s Bach<br />
because of the rhythm</blockquote>
</blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span><br /><br />© Leicester Kyle, November 2002</b></div>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b></div>
Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5401334920124495975.post-44152760417318110032011-03-02T08:13:00.068+13:002017-11-26T10:59:32.024+13:00A Wedding in Tintown (2002)<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkxt3M74jFhyphenhyphentOFtgbEq9LlIDdD-QnhzULmhkcEorznUoU7ORCiaReNxs3Hk3zikgykHQuQochNS-SwZygddAfxnhdQMgASGhpV89bu1JUNDXgmXUUH_HfH7RkSTA6R0Zu820yxnVUyoS/s1600/wc1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5581526830848117170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiXkxt3M74jFhyphenhyphentOFtgbEq9LlIDdD-QnhzULmhkcEorznUoU7ORCiaReNxs3Hk3zikgykHQuQochNS-SwZygddAfxnhdQMgASGhpV89bu1JUNDXgmXUUH_HfH7RkSTA6R0Zu820yxnVUyoS/s400/wc1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 272px;" /></a><span style="font-size: 85%;"><a href="http://leicesterkyle.blogspot.com/2011/03/book-twelve.html">A Wedding in Tintown</a> (2002)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn1">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn1" name="_ftn1" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">1</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJa-yyOMP7HU7PbIR7EWJXTJxX6P8BlHzXMUd8qTkFPlnn4G_ncVlsXNZkaJ6YTZ3dxfaCm9gBzvBQgj1Q4C4FmaXvgb7x6vFWzB_N1vQYZz938CTQaHI0RWW1UktvLVfnn-aca3VkzPl/s1600/w1.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674981139380001378" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcJa-yyOMP7HU7PbIR7EWJXTJxX6P8BlHzXMUd8qTkFPlnn4G_ncVlsXNZkaJ6YTZ3dxfaCm9gBzvBQgj1Q4C4FmaXvgb7x6vFWzB_N1vQYZz938CTQaHI0RWW1UktvLVfnn-aca3VkzPl/s400/w1.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 265px;" /></a><br />
<b><br />ARGUMENT</b></div>
<br />
<blockquote>
<i>You may be one of those who think that every human ill is fixed by supplementary prick or pill<br /><br />You might never have thought of what it is we really do<br /><br />And be quite content to follow along the tradition without a doubt as in a contented marriage<br /><br />There’s virtue in an attitude that never stops to doubt<br /><br />For much of this world’s necessary labour’s done by those who rarely wonder why<br /><br />So in this work there’s little explanation<br /><br />I settle down the facts and illustrate the matter<br /><br />Though I have an inclination in me wanting to reveal itself to tell and teach the reasons why<br /><br />There’s so much in this place and passage like no other<br /><br />But fear that it would spoil the story smear the paint confuse<br /><br />Here and there I’ll make the point and pass on to incident and hint<br /><br />Of word and further ritual implicit in proceedings of a sociological spin<br /><br />That might invoke a useful pause to ponder why it is we do and make these rites<br /><br />That hold our nation and each other in this form<br /><br />With no intention ever to undermine or subjugate existence<br /><br />Though that’s not here nor there<br /><br />And rather begs the question that’s inevitably asked of why it is we have <br /><br />Identity commemorate have sex and anniversaries get married kids a partner die remember that we die have houses sleep a pension memories and fads</i></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn2">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn2" name="_ftn2" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">2</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_Etzcr9Qg7wUaSsjcVYBejr7k4X2KqPErfEkvnEB06WbNvigvSzPF1E6eE6skshL61PyYukqvgH2fdDDat4J8mYfLf_0XZ6EzY886akf4JzUc9neK_iRmZYzMJbKdMl3Ey1pSNeVt5NJ/s1600/w2.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674981077026432562" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhE_Etzcr9Qg7wUaSsjcVYBejr7k4X2KqPErfEkvnEB06WbNvigvSzPF1E6eE6skshL61PyYukqvgH2fdDDat4J8mYfLf_0XZ6EzY886akf4JzUc9neK_iRmZYzMJbKdMl3Ey1pSNeVt5NJ/s400/w2.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>2</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 1em;">The</span><br />marriage</i><br />
<blockquote>
We held it at the picnic table by the road down<br />
Where you look along the many-headed coast<br />
There they signed the documents<br />
There were several hundred of us<br />
And we blocked the road against trucks and bad-tempered traffic<br />
Climbed the cliff on the inland side for view<br />
Hung from rock and bush and coloured umbrellas<br />
Filmed and sang and clapped as they kissed<br />
And told them to stand here and there and smile at the sun that shone in their faces<br />
For they stood with their backs against<br />
That unending bush that has no stop until the sea (<i>green cloud<br />on the ground</i>) and Tasman Mountains<br />
<br />
An elder did a karakia<br />
A priest took the vows<br />
They each read poems gave hugs gave rings gave promises of<br />
love and freedom<br />
Messed about a bit to greet the guests and condescended<br />
Took wine to toast each other and the day<br />
Waved at the local lads in black sunglasses<br />
Then so happy it had all gone well (weather family everything)<br />
We<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">begin</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">to tire show impatience have a smoke stretch in the sun want to get on with the meet the food the drink the course of the rite that must proceed before fulfilment in this impulse old as the hill we’re on so we look around for someone we know who might want a lift and a talk then</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 15em;">we</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn3">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn3" name="_ftn3" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">3</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8q7KX_PqEfM7mtAzjDF78UQg_ifqKf8p3HiU3HGmZyRv2uaDm1PmVc_QyFS9sYtIde29HX2HVEPmmEMQBRrBiXsSR0ymARWR7WUoz4kojUfABXheSQtFVsrZGVi67tGB7_BeId6IQ-7a/s1600/w3.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674981002909152706" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjw8q7KX_PqEfM7mtAzjDF78UQg_ifqKf8p3HiU3HGmZyRv2uaDm1PmVc_QyFS9sYtIde29HX2HVEPmmEMQBRrBiXsSR0ymARWR7WUoz4kojUfABXheSQtFVsrZGVi67tGB7_BeId6IQ-7a/s400/w3.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 266px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>3</b></div>
<i>Modes of<br />Transport</i><br />
<blockquote>
All get into our cars<br />
In smoke and bits of tin and dust and plastic rag<br />
Toyota Corollas Falcons a Chev or two a Rover a Landrover '68<br />
something heavy out of Russia and a Ford four-wheel drives of<br />
other sorts of composite kinds with different panels mostly Brit<br />
and USA and a Merc<br />
Not warranted unregistered borrowed plates fake stickers and<br />
charms<br />
For invisibility<br />
Hanging in the front<br />
To help us get past the police once a week to the shops<br />
And to regulatory musts like licences for gun and dog the courts<br />
the vet and maybe the rates<br />
That prop the System we despise though use for sickness power<br />
the road and the dole<br />
And for going behind the law<br />
But not to confront it<br />
<br />
We are furious in our speed into town<br />
Confident back from our parties<br />
Which sometimes let us down<br />
But our mates are here for support<br />
And will get us back on the road with hawsers<br />
And that interesting instinct for angles and obstacles<br />
Which is of the male<br />
And is why we live in this place<br />
It’s<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 2.5em;">a</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">gift and a choice that we’ve made for the free we call free in this condition of being we don’t examine lest we see the hooks and catches of this choice that set us on the course we don’t want our children to fall to and this is an affirmation so we all feel one</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 8em;">today</span></i></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn4">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn4" name="_ftn4" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">4</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFtP4ptR74atT7DR9OQkPKqftm36qVOW3rxpLSsW48JN4kJVAvb3Hr4i0pNoVqFV8cnC8YPt6P2xtYs_ctHBhCQ_He9zb-Gy0RQPSHIdjIGwdU5jZ5GB0ungQcdiMeoS3eU_aCeGcp0yb1/s1600/w4.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980944152755058" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiFtP4ptR74atT7DR9OQkPKqftm36qVOW3rxpLSsW48JN4kJVAvb3Hr4i0pNoVqFV8cnC8YPt6P2xtYs_ctHBhCQ_He9zb-Gy0RQPSHIdjIGwdU5jZ5GB0ungQcdiMeoS3eU_aCeGcp0yb1/s400/w4.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>4</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">The</span><br />People</i><br />
<blockquote>
It’s evening now<br />
A tawny light is rising from the moors<br />
Reflection stored from the sun of the day let loose now for<br />
guidance<br />
But in clothes as dark as the homes we’ve left<br />
We bring our dusk<br />
<br />
There should be lions and leopards in the bush<br />
And someone ineffable to greet us<br />
As we climb the concrete steps<br />
To stand inside the double doors in ever-widening mass<br />
Moving out and spreading up constrained by expected formality<br />
The men in beards and close-cut jeans<br />
Not showing their impatience for a beer and a joint<br />
They look Irish and about to be challenged<br />
The women wear long dresses layed-over clothes and practical<br />
feet<br />
They make a show in knowing all ignoring some<br />
With influence untidy hair and tightly-held prestige<br />
In part-time jobs and recipes for emollients<br />
Everyone looks forty-ish<br />
That they come from another decade<br />
Of ideals that haven’t happened<br />
Out-of-date sex and <br />
Intimidatory<br />
<br />
Light can hardly penetrate the dust of all these people<br />
The corners stay obscure<br />
As<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">they</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">ought and we don’t want to look for the clutter the made-a-hash-of-it forgotten things time past they represent and dust of ages energy long stored and hope discard those half-attempted put aside and promises which mount in country halls</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 8em;">in</span></i></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn5">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn5" name="_ftn5" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">5</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7UUyTfeO7oAHDccEZf-M_TQzv5l_ab-erF33AisC565Lnb0oNEf_ntM_eKBrpwjM9TdcMmFpJcb6mQ4XqEthgFsVTWDhyphenhyphenE6xov4hnpUj_Gkv78R7LU3obsgEyFxJMd43rViReEtvUWb8/s1600/w5.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980877570991234" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgI7UUyTfeO7oAHDccEZf-M_TQzv5l_ab-erF33AisC565Lnb0oNEf_ntM_eKBrpwjM9TdcMmFpJcb6mQ4XqEthgFsVTWDhyphenhyphenE6xov4hnpUj_Gkv78R7LU3obsgEyFxJMd43rViReEtvUWb8/s400/w5.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>5</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">Our</span><br />Architec-<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">ture</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
This tin box in camouflage<br />
For that great day when nation shall war against nation and <br />
mountains shall be levelled<br />
That end-of-order day beloved by hippies that will make their<br />
terrors and their melancholy cosmic<br />
Painted also as a mark of the crop which must be hunted from<br />
above each new year<br />
Inside it’s pink <br />
There is grit underfoot<br />
That can never be rid<br />
From the sandstone<br />
The stage at the end of the oiled floor the kitchen behind<br />
It’s geared for a film that’s never shown with cinema seats<br />
We sit with our women or mix at the door<br />
Or look for the bar out the side door an old urinal<br />
With a hatch that isn’t serving yet but is a saving<br />
And is sometimes licensed if the Constable’s not grumpy<br />
The convenience near has a notice ‘DUMP HERE’<br />
And another ‘Use With Care’ for the porcelain base is cracked<br />
and leaks<br />
Like the water tank<br />
Like the pipes which tangle on the outside of the hall<br />
Like the zip in the kitchen<br />
For we haven’t much money to keep things going<br />
And just scrape by<br />
From<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">one</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">benefit to another in competence grit teeth set to do our way get goals defy and desperate from obstruction by this fucked-up civilisation grasp at any strength that’s growing for self-maintenance to occupy ourselves for time can hang heavy an hour prolong to drugged sleep or boredom</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 20em;">so</span></i></blockquote>
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<div style="text-align: center;">
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn6">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn6" name="_ftn6" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">6</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPURLnVhLxgMtYfWBNa9UsOJp1TI7yBc6DMTGc0rO5QYoISEvlohwKGqGnOvMv9VvRqox6lwJotB6wl3NIZnhymda0Yx-5GgLr4RxHZPaCojFmu6BK68P2KlfpERwFbvIudeTXfCezg26k/s1600/w6.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980812596386850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPURLnVhLxgMtYfWBNa9UsOJp1TI7yBc6DMTGc0rO5QYoISEvlohwKGqGnOvMv9VvRqox6lwJotB6wl3NIZnhymda0Yx-5GgLr4RxHZPaCojFmu6BK68P2KlfpERwFbvIudeTXfCezg26k/s400/w6.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>6</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Manu-</span><br />factures</i><br />
<blockquote>
Many of us make things in sheds we’ve tacked up<br />
Contrived and equipped by that ingenuity that’s driven us here<br />
That couldn’t set itself to work in city life but here in the stress of<br />
survival<br />
Makes scarves and knives jackets of opossum skin barometers<br />
bone-carvings mats flax kits gin stained glass shawls<br />
And mystic things of beads<br />
Which are sold at the co-operative below<br />
A focus for those negative rays the beads are meant to stop<br />
Which generate in craft breed guile from artistic stress and<br />
politics of pre-eminence<br />
Fears of slight lost income spent prestige<br />
In search for an embodiment of skill that all would see and know<br />
for genius<br />
Then buy and make the maker<br />
Some women turn to ministry of massage homeopathy<br />
Men to stone to carpentry or car<br />
In the shed when it’s raining<br />
Though when it’s added up it’s found we’ve spent more than We’ve made but we don’t mind<br />
It’s good to be good at some<br />
Thing<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">to</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">sell or boast or give away as part of the self that makes me shops and stalls and garage sales the craft co-op and even pain of failure mythic aims perfection falling short laments and might-have-beens the politics of art we’ve brought here for the Bride and Groom and put it</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 15em;">on</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn7">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn7" name="_ftn7" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">7</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxO9fQD24A59cGkaGRnL1-md60qtCE3oXQiDPfhrYb0glBz9PTDi6vUFZS6bn2oZKXy7SaBBDsXbuOP38GCwnoStSlwrGZc09yCVht4N8s_aOE5acs63Zl4W1TPtvosKqwQvtkzcEqSL2T/s1600/w7.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980717750942882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxO9fQD24A59cGkaGRnL1-md60qtCE3oXQiDPfhrYb0glBz9PTDi6vUFZS6bn2oZKXy7SaBBDsXbuOP38GCwnoStSlwrGZc09yCVht4N8s_aOE5acs63Zl4W1TPtvosKqwQvtkzcEqSL2T/s400/w7.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>7</b></div>
<i>Imple-<br />ments</i><br />
<blockquote>
The table at the foot of the stage<br />
Under an arch of punga fronds<br />
The Bridegroom wanted money so they could travel<br />
But we gave for the Bride to help them to be useful<br />
To cook to sleep to love<br />
To garden clean to be enlightened read and eat to rest<br />
Craft and decorate mind the crop the weed-in-the-bush or<br />
hydroponically<br />
(within the customs of the tribe)<br />
Someone’s left a rock with power<br />
Agate or chalcedony to channel forces for them both and to<br />
speak to humankind<br />
But there’s no need the family’s here the vibes are good<br />
There are cooking pots and casseroles from down the hill<br />
Sheets towels spades a broom <br />
A slasher for the bush<br />
Tapes CDs a mobile phone some cutlery and storage ware<br />
Designed to set a couple in economy<br />
Loving adults in their nest and <br />
Capable<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">of</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">leadership based on experience of life afflatus of the age feet in the earth and mystic vision the senior has who can sit in the sun and solve things and when it rains then seekers will repair to consult condensed for the good of us all and applied a healing balm for the short time guidance for the long so that every town should have one</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 14em;">and</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn8">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn8" name="_ftn8" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">8</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpaVsADWX_GSA0lRqNV8AEyCXYGYkjO7tjnFr7SIa88DXAc726akfzi2JlsVlp0L_5g_q1-VWgtV01NPH4Hd6TmbWLUFJT5bO6iCJFK0heK900vBoQ8nLo5JvBYmE4RV6UBE_t93xX_F5/s1600/w8.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980393010645986" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLpaVsADWX_GSA0lRqNV8AEyCXYGYkjO7tjnFr7SIa88DXAc726akfzi2JlsVlp0L_5g_q1-VWgtV01NPH4Hd6TmbWLUFJT5bO6iCJFK0heK900vBoQ8nLo5JvBYmE4RV6UBE_t93xX_F5/s400/w8.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 265px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>8</b></div>
<i>Susten-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">ance</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
At length (it’s always lengthy)<br />
Food is brought out and brought forward in casseroles and<br />
covered plates<br />
And put on an island of tables<br />
It’s a pot-luck dinner so we’ve made the meal and know that<br />
there is<br />
Whitebait from the river mouth and free-range eggs<br />
Goat-meat curry in coco cream<br />
Mussels from the Point smoked eel paua from over the hill and<br />
watercress<br />
Blackball sausages in chick-pea stew<br />
Mutton-bird pie<br />
Kewai soup<br />
Christie made the wedding cake and Eva iced it<br />
Someone’s brought some venison kebabs<br />
There’s blackberries-and-cream from the farm at the crossing<br />
And cannabis wine in greenish bottles smelling like spinach<br />
All things from our soil and sea the creeks and greens <br />
And pot-laced cakes that no-one will know<br />
<br />
We patiently stand to talk and not look<br />
And drink a lot at the common bar where everyone’s put something tequila-and-lemon home-made wines rums and whiskies black beers sticky spirits and anything with<br />
Coke<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">for</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">comfort we need the comfort we tell ourselves on this mountain where it gets so wet and cold in the fog and the houses rot and the boots decay and there’s nothing else to do but drugs and television food and sex when it’s around and grow the Weed for all these things while we’re waiting</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 18em;">for</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn9">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn9" name="_ftn9" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">9</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg421rc1PO1E2N6-ROkLMR5yD678Jlfocrx42p-JdTW1GIX0TW5bs7oi5drf10gxmdQi2cQY9GRkwn4NmXpRQgmoaxMcG8-SeaKv25_T6hQXtOqdVhhLycWa9RcJ-alSjtZZN3DyYkW4rZy/s1600/w9.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980319028665554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg421rc1PO1E2N6-ROkLMR5yD678Jlfocrx42p-JdTW1GIX0TW5bs7oi5drf10gxmdQi2cQY9GRkwn4NmXpRQgmoaxMcG8-SeaKv25_T6hQXtOqdVhhLycWa9RcJ-alSjtZZN3DyYkW4rZy/s400/w9.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>9</b></div>
<i>Grades of<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Rank</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
The Bride and Groom to make a show<br />
They’ve been putting things right out the back and come in the<br />
door arm in arm<br />
He’s aquiline she’s Middle East or something of that sort<br />
And paints New Age<br />
They’ve been here a long time are constant in ascendancy<br />
Know everyone and all that does and ought and why<br />
Hold parties people children power and politics<br />
Accept reject direct the course of things<br />
We now and then stage small revolts which let off steam and<br />
startle them<br />
But generally accept their rank with gratitude<br />
For you need someone dominant when you live near the edge<br />
<br />
It’s their night they’ve paid for it<br />
We clap them as they come in with their children and<br />
grandchildren<br />
They smile and wave and lead us to the dinner<br />
There are plenty of plates but not enough tools<br />
There’s nothing wrong with fingers<br />
As long as you choose the right food<br />
Use<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">judgement</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 8em;">no greed good speed don’t push the man in front don’t grab don’t tip the plate nor spill and drop food onto restless feet get combative do smile and don’t mind doing without a dish you want it’s only once and you can have a good breakfast tomorrow so consider it’s only luck and you can be spot on if you talk across the table while you’re doing it</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 19em;">unless</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn10">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn10" name="_ftn10" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">10</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfWkhW845IUA2gnf_u8mLmOi4sWdiMkdIMVEtS_rzGsE5mzBGbp9pqVomjVHGLtr9xg1bu9VWEmAXDAW1cNbwBIaKPgutmBK-upqkyZ49UFinpZhxMfBBACM7c-58FwtViAh9oa64Ekld/s1600/w10.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980250114759426" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQfWkhW845IUA2gnf_u8mLmOi4sWdiMkdIMVEtS_rzGsE5mzBGbp9pqVomjVHGLtr9xg1bu9VWEmAXDAW1cNbwBIaKPgutmBK-upqkyZ49UFinpZhxMfBBACM7c-58FwtViAh9oa64Ekld/s400/w10.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>10</b></div>
<i>Domestic<br />Amenities</i><br />
<blockquote>
There’s crisis and the water fails<br />
It doesn’t matter much because the toilet’s breaking up and<br />
there’s the bush<br />
But it’s bad in the kitchen for the children and the hygiene<br />
For coffee and tea afters<br />
Se we ought to put it right<br />
<br />
Our water comes from up the hill<br />
From a stream that never dries<br />
It comes to us in alkathene pipes <br />
Across the valley and under the road<br />
To house and hall<br />
Springing leaks and parting joints wherever they lie forgotten<br />
Into catastrophe<br />
Panic overtakes us and drought and we search in the bushes<br />
Tangled in the dark the blackberry montbretia<br />
Until someone calls out <i>here’s the fucking cause of the trouble</i><br />
And pushes it together<br />
<br />
We go back in rejoicing<br />
Once again we men have won<br />
But pipes tend to trouble at night it’s the moon<br />
And in our hearts we know they’ve just<br />
Begun<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">because</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">this is the way things go in seasons and in times appropriate to nature and you can sense it if you train yourself up and use your finer parts to tell the way it all blows and rhythms discern that it’s time to be tested and prophesy with a delicate force that it doesn’t much matter</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 20em;">as</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn11">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn11" name="_ftn11" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">11</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhh6nJ1LKAKljGcpdILnYLzj-Ou372KhD4jem8f-s4J9TazpgNpmXkR3iysRy9YbCSAJnZVZtTyWOaS9x4kwKShtVFir1aEUzdZBzDQCM9lhDEWoGgqJEZhB6g9StA3SwTpno4hsz0bE4/s1600/w11.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980176891455698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrhh6nJ1LKAKljGcpdILnYLzj-Ou372KhD4jem8f-s4J9TazpgNpmXkR3iysRy9YbCSAJnZVZtTyWOaS9x4kwKShtVFir1aEUzdZBzDQCM9lhDEWoGgqJEZhB6g9StA3SwTpno4hsz0bE4/s400/w11.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 269px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>11</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Social</span><br />Sentiment</i><br />
<blockquote>
This is a family event<br />
So there’s not the sharp edge of sex that’s usual round here<br />
Like at the harvest dance when everyone wants to get laid<br />
There’s a lot of single men in this town<br />
It’s where we come to repair the damage<br />
And find a woman elsewhere anywhere over the hill<br />
With the western mystique the outlaw thing the tough and wild<br />
and fringe<br />
Which a woman likes who likes the rough and the Weed as well<br />
Too much spoils it<br />
A little does a lot<br />
Strengthens and lengthens the pleasure<br />
Of love on the hill<br />
In a big bed by firelight<br />
With the fog and the wind and the rain outside so thick there’s<br />
nothing real<br />
It isn’t done to take another’s<br />
It isn’t done to talk of it<br />
The women may — that’s nature<br />
But we men like to do our job and have a<br />
Reputation<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 5em;">that</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 8em;">goes without saying and become a known entity valued in the community or feared for a certain competence but at least marked out by talent or trait that’s yours alone and may be indescribable a worth which makes for apart a puff a paean of praise is</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">why</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn12">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn12" name="_ftn12" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">12</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4UDy-yJexw4jC_ohPWdsD0gTP7aYC9Yv5dX93obQtlm6gX_4dg4mcSEsfTi6vARLAEUbGpd3PyCSJ46-s7ASwfh_q5_iIXGUKcVf7AtNVzjaU5w_sTTe7Ep4YPcWE43oZVxCZk3OTv1w/s1600/w12.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980115219613170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEge4UDy-yJexw4jC_ohPWdsD0gTP7aYC9Yv5dX93obQtlm6gX_4dg4mcSEsfTi6vARLAEUbGpd3PyCSJ46-s7ASwfh_q5_iIXGUKcVf7AtNVzjaU5w_sTTe7Ep4YPcWE43oZVxCZk3OTv1w/s400/w12.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>12</b></div>
<i>Polygamy<br /><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">&</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Divorce</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
We’re happy today<br />
It’s good they’ve gone straight after all this time<br />
Mostly a man moves in and all’s well as long as he does his work<br />
In the bed on the house round the grounds on the car<br />
And works at the plot for the crop in the bush <br />
So that nothing gets caught by police<br />
That he fits and doesn’t make trouble<br />
That he doesn’t talk and is strong where it counts<br />
It’s the woman who kicks out the man<br />
There’s no need for the law<br />
Some men have more than one which is good if you’re made this<br />
way and everyone agrees<br />
But bitter if you’re not<br />
The old law of one to one is mostly followed here<br />
And if it seems right and goes on for a time and there’s a balance<br />
which doesn’t tip too far<br />
And if they are loyal and want to be<br />
Then they might go legal <br />
Especially if there are kids and there’s money and they like each Other<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">in</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">that mutual way which is easy to see that they fit that they’re down the same street and do the same things are good for society a stable force together whatever else you might say and we do too though some of us think</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 16em;">that</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn13">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn13" name="_ftn13" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">13</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjGoCZG5382uzkaYbAhsdgSe4BySr5u2wpPUUb_maHNots4eeQoGL0l1aoWM-ZVqnv_1BOw9ydQOD_W69yOxd0dBcL1rpVHpvgohpCdv71iJPkrUMv3euF9WuiAnAfI4VDAH_Ku2Q8F1u/s1600/w13.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674980041017064274" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLjGoCZG5382uzkaYbAhsdgSe4BySr5u2wpPUUb_maHNots4eeQoGL0l1aoWM-ZVqnv_1BOw9ydQOD_W69yOxd0dBcL1rpVHpvgohpCdv71iJPkrUMv3euF9WuiAnAfI4VDAH_Ku2Q8F1u/s400/w13.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 259px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>13</b></div>
<i>Customary<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Law</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
There should be a speech or two before the food goes grey<br />
And messages from those who can’t attend<br />
But the best man isn’t here and hasn’t been seen since Friday<br />
When he was at court to change his fines to community work<br />
For all his traffic troubles<br />
Offences of the unwarranted sort speeding and unregistered<br />
But he drove to town and caught another ticket<br />
We’re sorry for him and understand<br />
He was due to go legal the very next day<br />
But now he’s gone bush<br />
He should be at the wedding instead of shooting goats<br />
Though we don’t much think of that for this is the way the<br />
system goes and we sympathise<br />
With his frustration which is always in our minds too<br />
At a law which is made by those who can’t afford it<br />
And doesn’t much help the people on the edge<br />
It’s mostly made for those inside<br />
Which makes us want to irritate the police and the establishment<br />
To tease the constable<br />
Until he gives up and buys a fish-and-chip <br />
Shop<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">for</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">change from strain and security in some other town where the kids won’t throw stones on the roof poke rude things in the letter box cause allergies or drive him into wild asthmatic doubt of what he sees</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 10em;">to</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn14">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn14" name="_ftn14" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">14</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Pc0FaH6-zr0J3EjbwxldKjqf5XlMw0001zL07MypuJIDMocrRBH4lTLuAIfJxW0SB1aKLRmvRPXI_CQqifC36p0dfBsfsNir584fLXVgioGBOWnivcOY7rlq_hVqKnvGJEPgdXLrFjGW/s1600/w14.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979971887655650" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Pc0FaH6-zr0J3EjbwxldKjqf5XlMw0001zL07MypuJIDMocrRBH4lTLuAIfJxW0SB1aKLRmvRPXI_CQqifC36p0dfBsfsNir584fLXVgioGBOWnivcOY7rlq_hVqKnvGJEPgdXLrFjGW/s400/w14.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 258px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>14</b></div>
<i>Imbibe-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.25em;">ments</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
The left of the stage<br />
By the stairs that go up to the kitchen<br />
On a small trestle<br />
Are three kegs<br />
They’re hired from the liquor store<br />
And gleam womb-like in their corner<br />
That invites and is repeated in the glass around the cups and jugs<br />
Which may later be returned to those who own them or be lost<br />
and counted as gifts to the hall<br />
Which is short of utensils of every type<br />
For they get taken outside by patrons who want to drink in the<br />
view<br />
Of the moors and the sea (<i>which goes on over to Australia</i>)<br />
They sit on benches made from railway sleepers<br />
Or lie in the long grass to talk<br />
By that notice nicked from the refuse station<br />
Which says ‘Dump Here’<br />
Which they do with their plates and cups and bottles in the<br />
weeds<br />
To be found a century later maybe and put in a museum<br />
Analysed for period and mistaken for use<br />
But of value to the<br />
Fancy<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">which</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">is use for the past besides discard and the chain of cause and effect the mystery by which we exist the gratitude that fortifies elucidates our state of things build colleges and halls to hoard the artefacts on which we found the notion</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">that</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn15">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn15" name="_ftn15" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">15</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uDHvUsycZ6EW2wOZrOLbmFokPohMh0KPsqKSAjrYpu_tIqE7mFza9G6AURrBBtZHxptpYKMgDXq7Z5-YRGfFDHzW4BZOPgBigNigerKkz3oK75lhJaTHItESGagF9GoXAo5j56fu_FH9/s1600/w15.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979902608551010" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7uDHvUsycZ6EW2wOZrOLbmFokPohMh0KPsqKSAjrYpu_tIqE7mFza9G6AURrBBtZHxptpYKMgDXq7Z5-YRGfFDHzW4BZOPgBigNigerKkz3oK75lhJaTHItESGagF9GoXAo5j56fu_FH9/s400/w15.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>15</b></div>
<i>Usufruc-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">tuary</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
The Bride and Groom are doing well<br />
But we wonder how they’re paying for this<br />
Guest bring food and some booze but a lot of it’s had to be<br />
bought<br />
They’ve done up the house for the guests<br />
And had a water-tank installed an indoor lav and leaks stopped<br />
There’s the cost of hospitality and then of course new clothes<br />
Money here’s not made the same way<br />
It’s around but it doesn’t do the work<br />
A lot of the best is got without it<br />
Is paid for at harvest time with the weed in its various forms<br />
There’s a ledger kept of good turns done<br />
Like a saving from the law a lift a hint in time<br />
Cars and motor bikes arrive and then as quietly move to other<br />
hands<br />
A shed’s put up a hut appears and something’s fixed that hasn’t<br />
gone for years<br />
yet no-one knows how or why the means<br />
And how he’s got the dough to do it<br />
<br />
Will they be in hock for years<br />
Or have they been clever<br />
And traded their<br />
Poverty<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 5em;">as</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn16">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn16" name="_ftn16" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">16</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsu7TC-zptYBGeIIozG9jcvlmHDZc-G9_lbFr4gS_ZYeTPQ9lPvux_rnEQuj1sQc2rmeYXMCki19b2agCf4h5r3G45xKoy-E03kANyDo0A6kfNG28GBMUshej7GkSVrPSiPAPXr9LHIwP/s1600/w16.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979821191045634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqsu7TC-zptYBGeIIozG9jcvlmHDZc-G9_lbFr4gS_ZYeTPQ9lPvux_rnEQuj1sQc2rmeYXMCki19b2agCf4h5r3G45xKoy-E03kANyDo0A6kfNG28GBMUshej7GkSVrPSiPAPXr9LHIwP/s400/w16.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>16</b></div>
<i>Credulity</i><br />
<blockquote>
The Bridegroom bangs and calls for quiet<br />
‘Grace’ he calls ‘We’re going to say grace’<br />
He announces in a cultured tone<br />
At a time like this he camps his style<br />
‘Right’ he says ‘Thank you Helen Clark for all this food and<br />
please give us money to buy some more’<br />
‘Right’ he says ‘You can start if you want’<br />
There’s not much space for religion here it doesn’t seem to fit<br />
Ecstasy’s got by chemical means and there aren’t any ghosts<br />
Now and then someone gets converted<br />
Goes on the radio and rebukes us<br />
That’s usually when there isn’t any grass and comfort’s at a<br />
premium<br />
It doesn’t last and usually ends in bed with a new partner<br />
The sea below and the hills above give us something <br />
Like the tranquil presence of a greater force<br />
And we believe in luck<br />
But not an actual god for that’s all part of the System and we<br />
don’t believe in <br />
Anything that’s been devised for <br />
Dominance<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 5em;">and</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 8em;">subvert like we would another boss we keep our own tradition make a singular service keep a peace of major time for major things and never waste an initiative though that’s alright in its place so now’s the time that we think of strength and sustenance</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 10em;">so</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn17">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn17" name="_ftn17" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">17</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpbkRNvpdBQdly-T0H-_4sAKjblbxqnbDPgk7Kj7QShE6LaWF31_o2VEB0ARRrusrelamBWybi-QpeQQ4nMV7vjFWgvzH4s1OjuUR1Dnh0ZFsJIdyBYGKBb9UzOyfEyftr4lu8XuQXA9N/s1600/w17.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979752349770786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWpbkRNvpdBQdly-T0H-_4sAKjblbxqnbDPgk7Kj7QShE6LaWF31_o2VEB0ARRrusrelamBWybi-QpeQQ4nMV7vjFWgvzH4s1OjuUR1Dnh0ZFsJIdyBYGKBb9UzOyfEyftr4lu8XuQXA9N/s400/w17.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>17</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Fruits &</span><br />Vegetables</i><br />
<blockquote>
We file around at the back of the feast<br />
For plate knife fork and a paper napkin<br />
The tables are crowded with food in bowls and casseroles the<br />
wedding cake and two huge<br />
Vases of sedge and Ghania which blossoms only now and then<br />
and this year’s doing well<br />
The Bride’s bouquet is by the cake<br />
Of herbs for essential oils<br />
We go slowly as some guests can’t decide on their choice<br />
They hesitate as if it is important<br />
As if goat curry will make their day but casserole will kill it<br />
Some argue with their relatives and try to convict a change of<br />
choice<br />
To make ultimate a mussel oyster cous-cous bean<br />
Some not to eat at all<br />
To take a later chance from leavings<br />
But we come to our goal and can sit<br />
Somewhere around the edge of the room<br />
The plate on our knee with care<br />
Not so much from hunger though this does count <br />
As from the need to complete to be part do our thing<br />
In communion with the rite<br />
Which<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">is</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">vague virtue in a pious sort we approach in the usual way by stance and quiet self-conscious look kept dignity not lessened by the numbers of the crowd nor plates of choice which do humiliate if let by those who cook and taste to not come up to this not saying much nor signalling</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 16em;">with</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn18">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn18" name="_ftn18" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">18</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_0qoZCToKIVB3PDBZG5cdRJPvg2Zwr7kDCS-iTrKi5tnDDTU53gwi4Lk6ZP_7e0Y81Rc3Vkw-_eYR0UQ9tK27KSD5Xnm8kpkcyzk40nAnY49RJno0T8Ry8ovZBT5zij-KZ51HI0pz1wu/s1600/w18.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979682731241186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjP_0qoZCToKIVB3PDBZG5cdRJPvg2Zwr7kDCS-iTrKi5tnDDTU53gwi4Lk6ZP_7e0Y81Rc3Vkw-_eYR0UQ9tK27KSD5Xnm8kpkcyzk40nAnY49RJno0T8Ry8ovZBT5zij-KZ51HI0pz1wu/s400/w18.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>18</b></div>
<i>Etiquette</i><br />
<blockquote>
The plate of food in one hand level<br />
Fork and napkin in the other<br />
We look for a seat by sense and instinct not by plan<br />
Unless there’s been the forethought to book<br />
Which a man does by putting his six-pack on the seat<br />
A claim honoured by the men<br />
But a woman will take it<br />
And keep her place with some personal thing that none of any<br />
sex will touch<br />
And then there’s the choice of company<br />
By whom to sit by partner or by friend<br />
Not by Lew who lives in the bush and doesn’t wash<br />
And smells so pungently from sweat and pot<br />
That even the flies go sleepy they say<br />
Nor by Mal who grabs you if you get too close to say<br />
‘I’ve only grown pot and poppies before<br />
But Jeez you should see my supertom now’<br />
Some things are best not talked about<br />
Like cannabis cars and wealth<br />
Which feed the paranoia of the time<br />
And might be overheard passed on enhanced and sped along the<br />
coast the gossip line<br />
To town and police from pubs street meetings jealousy<br />
Wherever we might find ourselves we generally go safe<br />
And talk of local politics the evils of the mine<br />
A folly rain a craft some sports tough times and bikes<br />
<span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Then when tedium grows to</span><br />
Tiredness<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 5em;">we</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">move by excuse or fabricate call by business friend an urgent need out to the wilderness of face in search of ease or entertainment strike a spark but no contention no offence reprise of injury past a pleasure please and somebody to relate in the pub a trophy to distinguish in the mists of time</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 23em;">for</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn19">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn19" name="_ftn19" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">19</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93mnTsbdSwqr98SoUdPtXWyijFnrluDL10jUeL4Usy8zq05rTkfs6r7R6hhzr8whgMFZn0-NUh6cAY98aIsv5qlAM4Js8IBWdqMjIOK9QSL_fTpiSwER8wqMCDesf-RG1poaHb1ipN_3m/s1600/w19.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979612098313682" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg93mnTsbdSwqr98SoUdPtXWyijFnrluDL10jUeL4Usy8zq05rTkfs6r7R6hhzr8whgMFZn0-NUh6cAY98aIsv5qlAM4Js8IBWdqMjIOK9QSL_fTpiSwER8wqMCDesf-RG1poaHb1ipN_3m/s400/w19.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>19</b></div>
<i>Causes of<br />Division</i><br />
<blockquote>
Fog is the cause of most of the trouble<br />
And age<br />
Which rolls in like fog and hangs around with time<br />
Shuts out the sun dims sight<br />
And seems like the present to never go away<br />
Until a cold wind from over the hill puts an end to it all<br />
For the future is always someone else’s until it comes again<br />
To be repossessed by the young<br />
So the past is a series of take-overs<br />
For each of which we’re unprepared<br />
But feel better when they do it thinking<br />
‘After all I’ve done it for the town<br />
Who would have done it if I hadn’t<br />
Look at all the times I’ve done it all myself’<br />
We go into a sulk and stay at home<br />
Don’t go to parties boycott meetings<br />
Grumble in a confidant’s ear of thanklessness by others until<br />
The signal sounds of total loss if we stay like this<br />
So we start repairs and saunter back with nonchalance<br />
Wise saws hints of virtue unexpressed so far<br />
But offered now for use<br />
Everyone for the common good says Welcome <br />
Doesn’t mention absence<br />
And lets me<br />
Back<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">within</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">the bounds of trust consensus drawn like a circle of fire with music myth and caution for guidance test tact and learned observation to give the people life to let be the community which mightn’t be the same as other ones</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 19em;">because</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn20">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn20" name="_ftn20" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">20</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMUsLEGX_IYzDnQSdec9dAmwzqJrs39FhWX3nJAhEh1gkKQchu5E5aIsod-zfYSeQkzrGnb3fZD2cNv8S69yEBKHy7bJaU8YzUB2SEdfYy8kE6k72hT_-SvhA90Kua4J8QJTuRHOH-XNU/s1600/w20.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979530799354162" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNMUsLEGX_IYzDnQSdec9dAmwzqJrs39FhWX3nJAhEh1gkKQchu5E5aIsod-zfYSeQkzrGnb3fZD2cNv8S69yEBKHy7bJaU8YzUB2SEdfYy8kE6k72hT_-SvhA90Kua4J8QJTuRHOH-XNU/s400/w20.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>20</b></div>
<i>Origins of<br />the People</i><br />
<blockquote>
We think as Coasters people of the west<br />
Though we’re refugees each one to tell the truth<br />
But don’t tell it we wear our dark disguise dress in beards old<br />
clothes and gumboots<br />
Watch the weather learn the trees tide timetables old sites and<br />
how it used to be<br />
Past episodes of note and how the seasons were<br />
Profess a hate of city life and scoff at Over the Hill<br />
Identify so closely with these rocks and hills we can only be seen<br />
when we move<br />
That we don’t fit in the old familiar world<br />
Of costly pleasures<br />
Rebarbative days and duties without relief<br />
Morals that have no point<br />
Weights no strength can lift debts beyond repayment homes as<br />
dull as desiderata lists<br />
Joyless jobs and loveless domesticity<br />
And goals no society should impose <br />
So we invent our own traditions myths and legends of the lost so<br />
that<br />
Though rootless we might somehow take be epiphyte or sub-<br />
Terraneously thrive without a past<br />
And be entirely in the present day<br />
Indigenous<br />
<br />
Something may take the rest of the world<br />
Ebola plague or HIV<br />
But we of the hill will be<br />
Saved<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">to</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">reseed humanity to bring the species back to the simple life of hard work and vegetables dominance of the male women to the tubs hunted meat no phone nor electricity and authority removed decentralised the police made polite because we know in our bones of</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">course</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn21">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn21" name="_ftn21" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">21</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6g8B8uluzZFa2tu-uzVNFi7FhCaEri-BGEL-ejIoXlCRfsWrQd8-Vl5oz7Xx4sW244b8L6q5ZQr10iXyiHFUjYMGNik7QGrEjU0nSbvRgH-NtO6gs-upMwNoZOyjxdyev8XS1f_6-G4J/s1600/w21.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979447120287634" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhw6g8B8uluzZFa2tu-uzVNFi7FhCaEri-BGEL-ejIoXlCRfsWrQd8-Vl5oz7Xx4sW244b8L6q5ZQr10iXyiHFUjYMGNik7QGrEjU0nSbvRgH-NtO6gs-upMwNoZOyjxdyev8XS1f_6-G4J/s400/w21.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 262px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>21</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Moral</span><br />Faculties</i><br />
<blockquote>
There’s bound to be a threat or fight<br />
And it’s bound to be the Bridegroom who dominates the scene<br />
It’s in his affect as they call it or his psyche<br />
His nature or whatever to start a fight or threaten but not let it<br />
out of hand<br />
As this with Steve who’s always hearing snatches seeing glimpses<br />
of rare things that haven’t been around for years<br />
Like kiwis which he says he heard down by the bridge last month<br />
He tells the tale with vigour wide arm gestures loud and long<br />
We heard it too a weka<br />
But we let him have his fuss<br />
We come to his defence<br />
Gather round and loudly claim that kiwis come here often<br />
Make a row that others stop to listen join in<br />
Until the Bridegroom overhears and in new shoes and feeling<br />
great comes over to the group<br />
Is tempted to be patriarch protector cantor stentor<br />
‘You Flatlanders’ he bellows ‘Out of it Get out of it<br />
We don’t want you making trouble<br />
Kiwis come here all the time’<br />
Which stops the trouble makes them quiet<br />
Not leave nor<br />
Believe<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">for</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">they have that respect for the lawless which binds our society together a creative commonality sense of success beyond the safe short cut to achievement that no-one else would take for fear of fine and confiscation public gossip</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 19em;">which</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn22">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn22" name="_ftn22" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">22</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7dAaHdFKE39uK-dIE491kPY5IShorYEaFSyEqW5atRzbpKyom1sPaGirLAwnI3C0kjuk69hEPO-CGmhHgsIzOeGsBbgcHD2LdWonX-d-Cxtb6f8ROYBtOfJfmKf634gZghHwr71jQeG_/s1600/w22.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979375245536290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiw7dAaHdFKE39uK-dIE491kPY5IShorYEaFSyEqW5atRzbpKyom1sPaGirLAwnI3C0kjuk69hEPO-CGmhHgsIzOeGsBbgcHD2LdWonX-d-Cxtb6f8ROYBtOfJfmKf634gZghHwr71jQeG_/s400/w22.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 270px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>22</b></div>
<i>Natural<br />Propen-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">sities</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
Is a curious thing over here<br />
That everyone wants to know and to be known <br />
To yet retain their privacy a city thing though contrary to natural<br />
tact and needing to be sorted <br />
For with the knowledge of the good there goes the bad<br />
Of things of ignorance and will to dint one's self-esteem <br />
And prompt the talk we fear from over the fence the bar outside<br />
the shop at bowls at working bees and power groups <br />
That make us interesting able to be diminished or exalted by<br />
good will or prejudice <br />
Laid bare at social dinners like snapper from the rocks bones<br />
only left to pick on <br />
The thought alone breeds dread so we manage by judicious<br />
choice of contact group and friend <br />
Drop hints make trails and heroise if we can <br />
Unnatural trials cruel pasts hid skills that only need the call for<br />
Use and open play for betterment of self and this society that we<br />
so long to love and flourish make <br />
Distinguished in our likeness <br />
Nothing we are able to have is what we are searching for we say<br />
While what does seem the real thing remains beyond our reach<br />
Yet there is a dignity <br />
Perhaps it's from the sea that bursts along this adolescent coast<br />
Its rhythms in our hearts light eyes <br />
Breath of the hills in our lungs and minds <br />
With clarity of vigour to make space for perspective and<br />
Attention that small matters need that skitter in a random way<br />
Before there's a chance to identify <br />
Like knowing you're alive before you die<br />
Which gives a small nobility <br />
An edge beyond the city cousin's<br />
Knowingness<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 7em;">we</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">hold and nurture in our hearts to dignity pleased that others envy us because we're getting older and soon must settle down or join a bikie gang stop living in rotting houses get warm and well fed and lose a bit of weight before the joints seize up but just</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 11em;">now</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn23">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn23" name="_ftn23" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">23</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5CHrdCxKFoilwkv1w2OrhVgHqrXqMsSsmkZyNk6jKPHHL70LfJc8VQpaYu1UWMkfHaRAoste2jzjSWtUBsjTrRDJlN6olLlGDYSs0w-AptihjJX3LQrNiHGeJVrl3sg_7mio4mbdv34W/s1600/w23.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979287760627698" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi5CHrdCxKFoilwkv1w2OrhVgHqrXqMsSsmkZyNk6jKPHHL70LfJc8VQpaYu1UWMkfHaRAoste2jzjSWtUBsjTrRDJlN6olLlGDYSs0w-AptihjJX3LQrNiHGeJVrl3sg_7mio4mbdv34W/s400/w23.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 271px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>23</b></div>
<i>Are We<br />Autoc-<br />thones</i><br />
<blockquote>
Our hosts move round encouraging us to eat<br />
They have some time for each of us<br />
We are their family neighbours friends past lovers<br />
And they in their stability our core a pivot on which to turn to<br />
face whatever comes<br />
For the village is like the bush it grows to fill in every space has<br />
sun and shadow<br />
Leaves no place untenanted<br />
We’ve now no thought of never having been here<br />
Our time and permanence is made from this<br />
Of coal and wood and water and the plants we grow in it<br />
Strength for the long dark days of fog the winter sleets the winds<br />
that wear us<br />
That burn the greens<br />
That bruise our sleep<br />
The lightning strikes and black-outs<br />
There’s no-one else and hasn’t been<br />
Moss and creeping things will move to cover the road and rot <br />
When we go<br />
A flood will take the water pipe<br />
A wind will take the hall<br />
And one by one each house will fall to the adventitious <br />
Tree<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">which</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">grows among the vegetables like weeds in cracks in the path the edge of the lawn the chimney round the chopping block the garage so fruitful is this place that we keep ourselves dry lest we get lichenous and envy none lest we stay green though they might envy us</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 13em;">who</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn24">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn24" name="_ftn24" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">24</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuI9rF_MZHCADgHeKl1fBGROWpdDjXidMz9_VxYKhqEyPX0940Dz4iUuxUIqHFIRmAUMb97wLtoR7pFBWnicZNq6WLq-pqDGJeJGA9NIZA1ZioLLV4ILt_HTWgzGvPIDKyG9bW9UKXMoR/s1600/w24.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979207201291186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQuI9rF_MZHCADgHeKl1fBGROWpdDjXidMz9_VxYKhqEyPX0940Dz4iUuxUIqHFIRmAUMb97wLtoR7pFBWnicZNq6WLq-pqDGJeJGA9NIZA1ZioLLV4ILt_HTWgzGvPIDKyG9bW9UKXMoR/s400/w24.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>24</b></div>
<i>Oratory</i><br />
<blockquote>
Are elitist and we overlook the other towns<br />
Down there by the sea<br />
A thousand feet down and eaten by the sea<br />
<br />
It’s time for a speech<br />
Our hosts to say the usual things<br />
We like to keep the customs to make use of them<br />
As we now do with jeer and wit<br />
They being at our mercy if only by tradition<br />
Smart-alec sex is not much use<br />
They’ve been together two decades and can’t pretend to<br />
innocence<br />
Nor surprise at complexity and consequence<br />
Some young lads try<br />
To their shame<br />
For the Bride grins<br />
The guests grow apprehensive<br />
The bridegroom stands in panoply<br />
His tongue a sharp sword<br />
His fists intimidate<br />
And we hope he<br />
Doesn’t<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">lose his cool for reason of drink or nervousness at the occasion be caught on the hop and an awful scene blossom out like fire in fat in the pan a catastrophe where peace was set so common here at things like this no don’t don’t we say to ourselves through gritted teeth and brace to do we know not what</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">then</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn25">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn25" name="_ftn25" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">25</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9XBhR6lbWdqTrbgPju8f0wKbANx168KmehlDi-aCZpuMiBxGZvMqleicwctb0P4iK5JZESjv7ZV5k6SsN4HL3dgyt7C4_bPszY138XT_iXQhtr552Zr2cKI_063lJdQQ0lAzdyVRdobn/s1600/w25.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979128287937138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi9XBhR6lbWdqTrbgPju8f0wKbANx168KmehlDi-aCZpuMiBxGZvMqleicwctb0P4iK5JZESjv7ZV5k6SsN4HL3dgyt7C4_bPszY138XT_iXQhtr552Zr2cKI_063lJdQQ0lAzdyVRdobn/s400/w25.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>25</b></div>
<i>Division<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">of</span><br />Labour</i><br />
<blockquote>
To our surprise it’s the Bride who speaks<br />
It is usually she who listens with an interior grin unnerving<br />
To a man who is serious in his words<br />
And she welcomes us with nothing new<br />
Formalities well put and pleasing<br />
For those who like the niceties observed and graceful<br />
For her friends and family from the north in kiwi-fruit<br />
Intimidated by our hill and heaviness our freedom with it in these<br />
spaces ours<br />
This rock wilderness tapped springs old shit-houses tin-backed<br />
shacks old cars and jobless<br />
Is our richness<br />
We can move in it<br />
Which shows in her authority<br />
And in her self-<br />
Respect<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">as</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">we appreciate it’s us our place we’ve pride in and defend as I’ve already said and emphasise to those who think us shameless in a bourgeois sense no decent middle values fond of anything that undermines the future past and isn’t now keep losing things forget them when we</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 16em;">note</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn26">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn26" name="_ftn26" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">26</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCZAYKXkPilagc7ydR_wSTviBxrnajXdQpat8a-JHgS8VEzOSPi0sCQGQLLXEy9nKMazRSjJ77WZZqWl3GMmkWeNnT6suamB_54kgM5SBbNFPuxyQDw6-sKTyaWve-F_7TsyC5gbMsfXJ4/s1600/w26.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674979055439711362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCZAYKXkPilagc7ydR_wSTviBxrnajXdQpat8a-JHgS8VEzOSPi0sCQGQLLXEy9nKMazRSjJ77WZZqWl3GMmkWeNnT6suamB_54kgM5SBbNFPuxyQDw6-sKTyaWve-F_7TsyC5gbMsfXJ4/s400/w26.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 276px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>26</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.25em;">Games &</span><br />Diversions</i><br />
<blockquote>
The Couple move to centre<br />
Where they stand before the cake <br />
Which is baked into a house-truck by the Brothers Grimm a joke<br />
upon us all <br />
Who fear the gypsies and their unaccountability<br />
And their own past <br />
Before they settled here and stopped their wandering for the kids<br />
They hold the knife with one hand each together <br />
Poised above as if to lunge to kill <br />
And smile at the photographers <br />
Who call to them to heighten the occasion<br />
For a smile and a look at the lens <br />
The nearest thing to an action shot <br />
Unless it be at the dance to follow <br />
Or a fight <br />
Or something else wild with alcohol <br />
And the younger lads who stand staunch at the back<br />
With their hands in their front pockets and dark glasses <br />
<br />
The cake is sacrificial <br />
To be distributed dismembered<br />
As a symbol of the past <br />
Of contrary affections <br />
Though no-body takes it for<br />
Real<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">yet</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">in a deeper sense we probably do in that deep sense where images work unquestioned mixing melding re-aligning while we don't think deep floods the road fires burn the bush white horses charge the sun we float invisible know it's a dream and</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">that</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn27">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn27" name="_ftn27" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">27</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdGMx1u7fFrrxedvCNf1PCyfC1s9MtjVmwLC3CYV2tAlq9Yd3qa1lNyGEyx2dAVuFg0oIuXhTqTZZqD8Z_ETNi8-HWSEpRKlRFGPYVWMS192o5Z8jBc6lB1Gze6RMZv4x0-OqI8y0rdN_/s1600/w27.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978973970177666" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxdGMx1u7fFrrxedvCNf1PCyfC1s9MtjVmwLC3CYV2tAlq9Yd3qa1lNyGEyx2dAVuFg0oIuXhTqTZZqD8Z_ETNi8-HWSEpRKlRFGPYVWMS192o5Z8jBc6lB1Gze6RMZv4x0-OqI8y0rdN_/s400/w27.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 252px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>27</b></div>
<i>Acquired<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">Habits</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
There’s not enough<br />
For hospitality<br />
We need space<br />
The fire at night<br />
Freedom for the television books and habit episodes of peace<br />
Regain of strength for patience for<br />
The next day’s self-control<br />
There’s also possession of time the need to make the water run<br />
The cold at bay<br />
The leak in the roof the chimney clean the veges grow<br />
For life so hardly earned there’s nothing spare to share<br />
Nor much to show of refrigerated skill<br />
And culinary<br />
<br />
The home is kept<br />
and private for<br />
Survival<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">and</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 6em;">a party now and then to keep in trust in knowing and in speech and not too feared it’s easy to fall into fear at harvest with the bong and the bud to see the police in everyone more threat to growth and sale and the skin-heads coming but</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">now</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn28">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn28" name="_ftn28" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">28</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQH_GFzMvnkf8MrN1L3X6lh20-7iELnOt_aMZDf2OKiio0WUVkxT6gCfKtUQATO-gkgKWEz1sUkWweaQN3fZDq_KAfpWwULZAEWfvs-rdOrIeKkOol-eQKyRce0CZqk48OjBWOWihnoUbW/s1600/w28.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978903112259026" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQH_GFzMvnkf8MrN1L3X6lh20-7iELnOt_aMZDf2OKiio0WUVkxT6gCfKtUQATO-gkgKWEz1sUkWweaQN3fZDq_KAfpWwULZAEWfvs-rdOrIeKkOol-eQKyRce0CZqk48OjBWOWihnoUbW/s400/w28.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 255px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>28</b></div>
<i>Musical <br />Instru-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.25em;">ments</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
The Bridegroom calls the band<br />
Whose leader is the saxophone<br />
With cap moustache sophisticate<br />
And a bend at the knees with suede shoes and looks cool<br />
Though this one is of interest and a concern<br />
For buying land up further north<br />
Eighteen grand<br />
He paid cash<br />
His wife’s he said from Australia to cover<br />
So they wouldn’t ask where it came from<br />
<br />
A man likes to flash his cash<br />
And we all understand but<br />
He was so innocent so impenitent<br />
And it doesn’t go with the saxophone<br />
A good little band with no drums to dance<br />
And doesn’t drown the talk<br />
Everyone wants to talk he knows<br />
About him<br />
<br />
He feels like doing a Charlie Parker<br />
Playing to the<br />
Cows<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">but</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">not for long he doesn’t grudge he likes the crowd and knows them almost everyone but likes the music over all and likes the instrument would play to himself if there wasn’t a crowd a band or an audience and knows his place and function</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">that</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn29">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn29" name="_ftn29" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">29</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2Zlqx343GXxu6vRAQVwORJKWELRlBG6pIM6tKptM9En66MmS3egybaNzL7vkBs7lPsNLO6XalxYo436nKO1lockYW8Nu6mFcrPmNU6S93lWRaeYq3jH6aaxUZdw6O6cJb3SbCc7oM8Su/s1600/w29.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978824904749170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2Zlqx343GXxu6vRAQVwORJKWELRlBG6pIM6tKptM9En66MmS3egybaNzL7vkBs7lPsNLO6XalxYo436nKO1lockYW8Nu6mFcrPmNU6S93lWRaeYq3jH6aaxUZdw6O6cJb3SbCc7oM8Su/s400/w29.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>29</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.25em;">Social</span><br />Manage-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">ment</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
We’re mostly of the couple’s age<br />
Been married once or twice ourselves<br />
And want to talk a lot from the complexities of life<br />
Pressed close in small places<br />
<br />
We dance or we talk<br />
The band plays our tunes<br />
And the youngsters go out to the fire<br />
The police won’t bother as they know we police ourselves<br />
But they’ll be waiting at the bottom<br />
In their cars at the crossing<br />
<br />
The party trots along and does its work<br />
There’s plenty of room and plenty of food<br />
The couple move and mingle<br />
Beer is free<br />
Here and there a fight breaks out<br />
Like leaks in a dam we think<br />
Is stopped patched up and soon put right<br />
there are ancient animosities<br />
But this is a gathering for<br />
Friends<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">that’s</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">drawing near its end for tiredness mostly I suppose we’re getting tired seen all our friends said all we have to say have heard it all have done it before have eaten and drunken and flirted a bit to test if we have still the knack a few will want to stay till dawn</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">they</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn30">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn30" name="_ftn30" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">30</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEwrO0U7RATSOsGAO926qHdpW-Py2pdYXaQRYMTRlv7cypnybRyODs-g2V8-LzfhyEW5beykFNFEcEJmrWscSDm0KWmkADvEgTEFwNztqkqt-dTFJQQxH14i_YZHsySQLGI8FHqNZsg9v/s1600/w30.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978749075777586" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbEwrO0U7RATSOsGAO926qHdpW-Py2pdYXaQRYMTRlv7cypnybRyODs-g2V8-LzfhyEW5beykFNFEcEJmrWscSDm0KWmkADvEgTEFwNztqkqt-dTFJQQxH14i_YZHsySQLGI8FHqNZsg9v/s400/w30.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 268px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>30</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 0.5em;">The</span><br />Taboo</i><br />
<blockquote>
Already are looking for somewhere to sleep<br />
They roam around the hall as if they want to confide<br />
Dragging and restless<br />
Some are curled on the floor<br />
Or outside under bushes<br />
Bobby is urgent and mutters<br />
‘I want to crash man give me a place to crash’<br />
In an Aussie whine and creepy<br />
Looking in corners under tables into others’ spaces and private<br />
places<br />
Until he can’t be born and he’s put out <br />
But he wanders around to the women’s room<br />
Where they find him asleep and make a fuss<br />
Then two of the blokes go out to get him<br />
Truss him though leaving his legs<br />
And run him sobbing down the hill<br />
To hitch his own way off the Coast<br />
Never to<br />
Return<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 4em;">which is probably in his character he’s always been like this it might be drugs or something someone said his missus might help whoever she is it’s hard to tell or a new car but he drives with one hand on his dick the other on the wheel they say or it might have been the wrong brand of booze for him though that doesn’t matter much</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">because</span></i></blockquote>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br />
<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<br />
<div id="ftn31">
<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn31" name="_ftn31" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">31</span></b></a><br />
<br /></div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KnVRS3T5d4ppGyL45cz1UgA7CtiB1KrFF02Qk5ykEyAqpt0NsrQmaKEfxjhvT5-5ds_1Df2cukdJRB_no2D0ocmvHEgObR9m8_CX7nR6GjZaFqNhDbZJU2O0gOk6QNk7b3Ig8nVgVeXN/s1600/w31.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978668851202898" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5KnVRS3T5d4ppGyL45cz1UgA7CtiB1KrFF02Qk5ykEyAqpt0NsrQmaKEfxjhvT5-5ds_1Df2cukdJRB_no2D0ocmvHEgObR9m8_CX7nR6GjZaFqNhDbZJU2O0gOk6QNk7b3Ig8nVgVeXN/s400/w31.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 267px;" /></a></div>
<br />
<div align="right">
<b>31</b></div>
<i>Intoxi-<br /><span style="padding-left: 0.25em;">cants</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
We like our beer<br />
Bottled draught cold<br />
Ice with spirits<br />
Tequila with lemon<br />
And cactus at parties<br />
The clear brew that’s boiled then left<br />
From the pith to settle and ferment<br />
It lets you level with the others<br />
It opens your mind to social things and doesn’t make fear or<br />
suspicion<br />
Like pot or a rush like speed<br />
Which puts you into a faster lane than anyone else with<br />
difficulties<br />
It’s the best at parties where you want to meet and talk<br />
It doesn’t interfere with your eyes<br />
It’s a cool male thing with<br />
Mescalyn<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 5em;">it</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 7em;">doesn’t touch some the sort who never go drunk who knock it back and still stand still with their hands in their pockets smoke their whole stash and never get runny eyes scoff a tequila and look for another and just get calmer as the night goes though</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 9em;">others</span></i></blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn32" name="_ftn32" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">32</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aa2ArC_8USzUKDyMrabYC9VVJLXcVoycpWAYLXWVFfM8SPb-k0Qkkaah-6R6g62b3PF7_NBpxXSJ8HGUeb-cNLZB3-KEQp9ZEf2RFBy0au0k-IzlNitoTwlvBg6v6qG-kGgATp09ROyp/s1600/w32.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978591565469362" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7aa2ArC_8USzUKDyMrabYC9VVJLXcVoycpWAYLXWVFfM8SPb-k0Qkkaah-6R6g62b3PF7_NBpxXSJ8HGUeb-cNLZB3-KEQp9ZEf2RFBy0au0k-IzlNitoTwlvBg6v6qG-kGgATp09ROyp/s400/w32.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 263px;" /></a></div>
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<b>32</b></div>
<i>Morrie</i><br />
<blockquote>
Like Morrie get locked in the chiller<br />
He’s had to go home to get warm<br />
Because he made himself an irritant by arguing all the time<br />
A big man and Neanderthal who pushes into groups<br />
With a loud voice for challenging those ordinary things that are<br />
said in social ease<br />
Not logical sense to keep the talk flowing<br />
So he’s always out of place when he’s drunk<br />
At parties like this<br />
In greed for drink<br />
That got him into the chiller<br />
Where we found him blue and <br />
Asleep<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 3em;">like</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 5em;">a lot of people not responsible now acting off the tops of their heads and dim trying to do the right lurch to the left and getting polite and talking a lot and putting it right over and over</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 12em;">until</span></i></blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn33" name="_ftn33" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">33</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviUnNPYV2tXO8gOT9sKQ9GPdELQ2xtMmFIfctf6uMUpoj1crhia4yMNhOjTHhy1XfKTvx-lPK364HJHgZz7j_4Ynr2d0MMgY_At8krIwBp6UKQAppW-ZMxIPYA19k5Lh4nhoyD3PvmmVf/s1600/w33.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978520380703122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiviUnNPYV2tXO8gOT9sKQ9GPdELQ2xtMmFIfctf6uMUpoj1crhia4yMNhOjTHhy1XfKTvx-lPK364HJHgZz7j_4Ynr2d0MMgY_At8krIwBp6UKQAppW-ZMxIPYA19k5Lh4nhoyD3PvmmVf/s400/w33.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 261px;" /></a></div>
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<b>33</b></div>
<i>Nan</i><br />
<blockquote>
Someone goes off with Nan’s wooden leg<br />
She’s got herself into a scrap which she often does at the end<br />
Because she drinks hard and stays on till the beer runs out and<br />
bellicose<br />
With the little group that’s going to the Rehab.<br />
Ron and Jennie Jo Bernice Dave and Pete and Benny who are<br />
nerving themselves<br />
They know what’s got to be<br />
It’s a nice leg and she’s proud of it<br />
With a lacquered foot a flowered shank<br />
She likes to go shoeless so people will see<br />
But she forgets when she’s drunk and starts pushing around and<br />
Cast hopping and cursing and<br />
Frantic until it’s returned<br />
But she’s <br />
Still<br />
<i><span style="padding-left: 2em;">helpless in her disability not standing now on two legs crying in her drunken rage crouched on the floor to hide her face a lumpen in a red dress but she’s alright and doesn’t get moved we just go round round go round it’s the end of the</span><br /><span style="padding-left: 22em;">night</span></i></blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn34" name="_ftn34" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">34</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfi0Du_8SQxAqxD-4LkZ3n5XbRKyLb2La1kRc6CZsso-Z4hLnuOZg14YzuYR4kQPfaJz6tIrDpjeIDVUyg751f4pjvcG-XTI4Ehu5Y14_IVbYZbO3bK549EaxQ5f2wOTCBk5yHgp-hun2/s1600/w34.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978143944846850" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVfi0Du_8SQxAqxD-4LkZ3n5XbRKyLb2La1kRc6CZsso-Z4hLnuOZg14YzuYR4kQPfaJz6tIrDpjeIDVUyg751f4pjvcG-XTI4Ehu5Y14_IVbYZbO3bK549EaxQ5f2wOTCBk5yHgp-hun2/s400/w34.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a></div>
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<b>34</b></div>
<i>Pets</i><br />
<blockquote>
Mal’s percussion in the band<br />
He’s brought his kitten with him<br />
Very small and black and white<br />
Confident as no man would<br />
It likes the sound or at least is used<br />
For it hangs around the cases and the music on the floor<br />
And then goes off oblivious<br />
Under the tables and under the chairs<br />
To the big side door where it strays<br />
To the light of the bonfire lit by the bar<br />
Of driftwood trunks and whole small trees in a wigwam of wood<br />
For the youngsters who lie there<br />
To smoke the local Weed and drink and dream<br />
To make the softer sorts of love that fires evoke<br />
One finds the kitten at his feet<br />
And throws it over the flames to his mate<br />
As Mal comes to look<br />
And boots the kid on the head<br />
Who cries right man yeah man that’s all right man right</blockquote>
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<a href="http://leicesterkyle1.blogspot.com/2011/03/wedding-in-tintown-2002.html#_ftn35" name="_ftn35" title=""><b><span style="font-size: 130%;">35</span></b></a><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZz7tGbQ6tVmDXlc6qAB3qRJuiptPG6p_NFPACrY9GTxgkbrXFA8ViyxpLOePamRSaWTCje7B9CJsmDyuKJkh7vK5JAPJv8gLw3GN0kcQu19UMbNuNwezbM9u432lSQ719ANKOPNtEIRT/s1600/w35.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5674978065472802786" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZZz7tGbQ6tVmDXlc6qAB3qRJuiptPG6p_NFPACrY9GTxgkbrXFA8ViyxpLOePamRSaWTCje7B9CJsmDyuKJkh7vK5JAPJv8gLw3GN0kcQu19UMbNuNwezbM9u432lSQ719ANKOPNtEIRT/s400/w35.jpg" style="cursor: hand; cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 260px;" /></a></div>
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<b>35</b></div>
<i><span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">Our</span><br />Manner of<br /><span style="padding-left: 1em;">Dying</span></i><br />
<blockquote>
At two o’clock the fog’s still in<br />
The dark is thick<br />
I say to my friend Let’s go<br />
So we cross over to my house<br />
Through the fog the wet and swirling fog<br />
I turn up the fire<br />
Where we take our tea and talk<br />
Of quick light things that interest<br />
<br />
We can hear from the party the drums and the yells<br />
By-play at the cars outside<br />
The incompetence<br />
<br />
It’s a bond between<br />
Sympathy that speaks<br />
A voice<br />
<br />
Of light and bright containment touch<br />
And all’s released<br />
We’re here in bed<br />
Pleased with ourselves to have had the sense<br />
<br />
Of lotus sweet<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">flesh and rest</span><br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">pleasurable haste</span><br />
Joyfully we soar aloft to the exalted skies<br />
<span style="padding-left: 1.5em;">then sleep</span></blockquote>
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<b><br /><span style="font-size: 130%;">•</span></b><br />
<b><br />© Leicester Kyle, July 2002</b></div>
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Jack Rosshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05425132051451808832noreply@blogger.com0