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Late afternoon, tween twilight but before the dusk
in time for afternoon prayers, ******* followed by
the evening service, The Name reached out unto me
to touch my face, wake me from a lifelong slowing slumber.

My man! My good man, I’ve been numbering those days,
you will have no disagreement that you’re quite the closer,
close by, the chapter finale of our story, your living, a well
thumbed novella, enjoyed by many, and a favorite o’mine.

Do not restless rustle, no busing bustle, the Set Table cleared,
tabulations done, the sums and dividend distributed, in sync,
your words well distributed, remainders to be dearly shared, saved,
showings of great love, valleys of feeling, these your humble attire.

Look how easy the (our) words come, the fluids of a man for which
we have been long patient be awaiting, the company all in readiness,
for confession and days of permanent new creation, fast beginnings,
think on it, to be called child once more, how glorious this unknown!

Dimensions recorded, measurements tailor-taken, silk tuxedo deep bleu,
luxe, a hint of violet, here-presented, patent, the leather for blue suede
winged dancing shoes no airport dare ask you remove, before they beg you, say, save grace, just once, pronounce The Name, the one of Seventy!

To walk, talk, rhyme and theorize, to forget and memorize, refreshing,
knowing nothing lasts, except things that last forever, last never,
yet decisions need completion, choices, ordering songs you’ve loved best, replete all sorrowed pains, uplifting prayers, hallelujah hymns, last rites..

You, a world to us, a microcosm of a triathlon life, juggling the many, last of a lineage who prayed, making it rain, reading poetry to angels, giving comforting absolution for making storms, plagues, tidal waves, volcanoes, concentration camps, death marches, stillborn children, incurable sadness.

Quick when the curtain calls, listen close for the cue, toe the mark,
take position, hands upward joined, eyes down, ahead are fearless words,
a soliloquy lasting hundreds of years, balances aligned, only now you  needed, to make mercy allocations, closing periods in places properly positioned.

then to commence the writing of only love poetry forevermore.


5:00pm
Sabbath May 23
5780
woke from a half-nap, while listening to music heard a certain song, then wrote in a single sitting of thirty minutes
  May 18 Marshal Gebbie
Wk kortas
Consider, if you will, the fullness of all
Which Nature has made, seemingly infinite in variety
Its endless permutations randomly arrayed
In such a manner that science and piety
Would concur that its bounty is to be enjoyed
For nothing more than its boundless, lovely inscrutability
Yet its works exhibit a consistency
To be employed in the service of mankind,
A felicitous though unacknowledged design
Enabling the manufacture of such potions,
Such poultices designed to bend the wills of men
As they are, regrettably, such malleable, lightweight notions,
Not given to steadfastness or certainty of action
The upshot of which sadly proved beyond my ken,
A final, fatal blunder, a failing to sufficiently consider
That man lacks the stability of the simple hyacinth
And what he has created, God shall put asunder.
Dedicated to Victoria Cutelli Caulfield, a true, lover of life.

In fields of weaving wheat, I sense,
The morning strikes a note
Where Capricorn ascends on high
And buzzing honey bees do float.
There’s a gentle spirit in the air
Of quiet, intriguing light
And the rustle of the golden heads
In rows, pervades as right.

Within the clods, bronze beetles creep,
Small spiders spin their web,
Earthworms writhing deep in soil
Aerating their dank bed.
Grey hares from the stubble rise
To graze on patches, green
Whilst, overhead the goshawk glides
Silently, unseen.

Distant hills of rolling green
In patterned fields of grass
Where cattle graze in unison
And time is slow to pass.
In the dale, the tractor
Murmurs quietly at its job
As the mulboard turns the cleated earth
In even rows of sod.

Above the warming, summer sun
Bathes it all in gold
And the farmer wipes his sweating brow
And smiles, as joy enfolds….
For magnificence in any form
Is hard to quantify,
But the luck of Jobe and good hard work
Calls home, beneath this sky.

M.
Taranaki N.Z.
7 May 2020
This poem is a celebration of life, the realization that wonderment and beauty and true satisfaction can be found at your fingertips, at your workplace, at the warm hearth of your home, in the arms of your woman, at the the tiny, seemingly insignificant things of beauty which arise in the course of your every day.
Be it an allotment tilled,  a backyard lawn, freshly mown or a field of wheat, ripening in the sun, the sudden realisation that herein lies wonder...and the joy of life it engenders in your heart, found right here, right at this moment... Beneath this very sky.
M.
When just a lad, I felt my way
Through disappointments fruitless day,
When girls in pretty, frocks, on swings,
Would tempt and do outlandish things….
Flash a leg, then run a mile?
Con me with the sweetest smile?
Then lead me up the garden path
To leave me hanging…with a laugh.

The problem when you’re short and fat
You are really not worth looking at
And If you can’t afford to buy
Her pretty things, that catch the eye
Or ice cream at the candy bar
Or sweeties at the church bazaar?
Then relegation’s hard and fast
Hit the queue, boy, standing last!

Sports day when the flags all fly
Athletes bend and flex till spry,
Leggy limbs in flimsy gear
Students grinning, ear to ear.
Racing competition tough
Discus, javelin, shot putt rough,
Fabulous in shining sun
Corps D’esprit in all, as one.
Chubby me then won the mile
Happily, some ladies smile!

Then joyously, the old school dance
Where every young man stands a chance,
Dance floor marks your battle ground
Where courage prompts the move, profound,
To front up to that pretty thing
To join you for the Highland Fling.
Abandonment to utter joy
With laughter, love and girl, employ
A whirl of movement, synchronize,
In sweaty brow and thigh to thighs.

That moment on the balcony
When all the disappointments flee,
Shyly holding hands, you share
A kiss…that blasts the very air,
The sky, the stars, the night, the moon…
With reeling mind you spin and swoon
For home, as magic thoughts careen
Of soft sweet lips and loves' first dream.

M.
Brighton High School
1958
Serpentine of hard green sheen
Born in hydrothermal’s spleen
Where pressured, metamorphosed plate,
Converged at boundaries’ Vulcan gate
To lay in tumbled disarray
Where octopi and dolphin play.

From olivine and pyroxene
Derived the crystal serpentine
Through Hellfires’ metamorphic fate
Now crystalized to Greenstone state.

There lying in the golden light
Of mountain stream in tumbled sight
Refracting in the morning sun
That glint of green since time begun.

M.
That glint of green, a jade boulder
in the tumbling mirth of a plummeting
mountain stream in New Zealands'
wild Southwest.
Jacksons Bay
Fiordland National Park
June 2017
A explanation delivered to Karinnjinba of the meaning of this poem.

Convergent plate tectonics cause subterranean layers of mineralization to be exposed in the process of mountain formation.
This poem is a celebration of the formation of greenstone through its transitions from from serpentine a glassy green layer situated twixt the continental plate and the mohorovic discontinuity...through exposure to intense heat from nearby magma intrusion and the incredible pressure applied in its upward ****** to the light. The transfer through crystalization, in the heating and cooling of the rock through its passage to its discovery as a water worn boulder in an alpine stream...Greenstone or Jade or Pounamu as the Maori call it....A magnificent, translucent, glassy green rock carved and valued, historically by the maori as cultural taonga and weaponry and valued worldwide as a classic gemstone of metamorphic origin.
M.
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