An ode to hospitality and the magnificence
of New Zealand’s majestic South Island.*


Pale Granite massif plummets down from snowline to Kaikoura coast
Where white waves seeth in ocean rage atop the green of dark abyss,
Below subducts Pacific plate to buckle mountain mantle’s boast
Titanic forces ****** beneath the wheeling flock of sea-tern’s hiss.

Cold winds blow from seaward swell of glaciation far to south
Where blue whales hunt the clouds of krill and ply this ocean’s constant roar
Through icy currents rich and deep resourced from white Antarctic mouth
Whence icebergs blue shall calve and drift, where seeking albatross do soar.

Frosty on this Winter morn, green rolling hills caress my eye
Deep shadows creasing valley clefts, round sunlit pastures highlit, mound.
From coastal dune transitioning to snowy mountain crags on high
The splendour of it all, my friend, entrancing me in sense-surround.

Blown red tussock streams to windward, ripples in concentric waves
Ripples in the mountain’s flank surmounting to the alpine pass.
Bastion of high country shepherd, striding forth with dog he braves,
The loneliness of isolate in isolation’s clawing grasp.

Tempest in the black beech forest thrashing leafage falls like rain
Rain in sheets cascades from clifftops, waterfalls in grand parade.
Hellish clouds embrace the fiords in hellish lightening flash refrain
Fiordland in majestic style in vaulting might of storm’s charade.

Grey light in the estuary, reflections in still water stand
Of fishing boats at wharfage in a timeless moment’s instant gaze,
Riverton in midday mode as fisherman’s coarse calloused hand
Prepares to launch beyond the spit to brave the sea, to snare the crays.

Comfort in a welcome smile, welcome in a warming fire
Luxury in the steaming sting of shower water piping hot.
Blue cod baked so perfectly with pinot noir to my desire
The sanctuary of “Land’s End”, quaintly, the very best New Zealand’s got.

Marshalg
“Foxglove”, Taranaki
25 June 2015

*“Land’s End”… An exquisite find, a very English bed and breakfast hotel located, remotely, at the very tip of southern lands end at Bluff.
A delightful discovery to complement, perfectly, the utter charm and grandeur of New Zealand’s wonderland....
The magnificent South Island.

M.

The next time we meet, I may be someone else.
 
Extra thick, light in weight.
Resourced to fit purpose.
 
The next time we meet,
I may be a splint. Easy to light.
The next time we meet.
Would silence truly do us justice.
Learning to cope before given reason.
 
Rounded off at the top, rough patterns felt between us both.
A spark that ignites the scrape of when I fell for you.
 
We stood there because we knew how we felt, we never truly understood.
Collecting ourselves in abrupt fire. Only a fool would stand to wither completely.
 
What else did we truly know but to extinguish ourselves in the same abrupt manner.
Breathing in each others essence. Stained in soot.
 
We lived in sulfur, sliming down in the same instance.
 Lighting myself before becoming contagious.
I thought this way because it was all I'd ever know

Fighting an enemy of antique
Whose artillery is rangy and baroque
And whose infantry’s quest for battle is grotesque
Their conquests often leave behind grave plaque  

It’s an enemy with a well resourced war room
Having great strategies to cause boom and doom
And when they operate with seemingly ubiquitous intelligence to loom
It’s an enemy who’s seeking to lock your values in a guardroom

Such an enemy is not fought with simplicity
Be careful you don’t blow the war trumpet with emotional alacrity
Your counterattack tactics fail if they appeal not to the enemy’s perplexity
You simply don’t operate beyond the boundaries of equanimity

An organized enemy must be met with an organized counterattack
You need victory-churning war-room to neutralize such an attack
Ensure all the elements of combat power remain in your war sack

“To keep Satan from getting the advantage over us; for we are not ignorant of his wiles and intentions” (2 Cor. 2:11)

Martin Ato Addison
24/02/21

Survival of one wreath speck table insect,
(poll ease pod din me Elmer Fudd speak)
thus earning hardy laurels
nsync with inxs of standing kudos
ranking as bajillion year old species
scientific name: Periplaneta americana
(Linnaeus)  Insecta: Blattodea: Blattidae)
throve for more than 300 million years,
not surprisingly they constitute
one of the oldest groups of insects on the earth.

Longevity of twittering, skittering,
and buzzfeeding critters survival
witnessed their collective essence being gifted
with best in class adaptation techniques
particularly with debut appearance of naked ape
slowly evolving into modern (wo)man,
(after God - somewhat cagily
took a rib from Adam),
who when not resembling a rolling stone,
nor asking sympathy for the devil
furiously drove beasts of burden
into dire straits down to the waterline.

Much as yours truly feels squeamish
about the the humble cockroach,
(who most likely piggybacked as stowaway
courtesy unbeknownst to people
and hitched a ride across
all four corners
of the webbed wide world
essentially becoming globetrotters),
I chose said topic to broach
as an object lesson how one creature

namely aforementioned adaptable
creepy crawly creature
made themselves quite at home
raiding the pantries and refrigerators
across wide stratification
of income earners,
not exclusively the purview
solely nor singularly
circumscribed and described
by under-resourced people
most often found

living and reproducing
in cluttered city streets, parks,
subway tunnels, and sewer systems—
as well as inside houses
and ramshackle buildings
frequently woebegone tenements
not strictly linkedin
with Norwegian bachelor farmers
but also make cameo appearances
inside the coiffed hair of trumpeting dons
subsequently hobnobbing with glitterati.

German cockroaches are known for their prolific reproduction, with a female capable of producing up to 4 to 6 egg cases (oothecae) in her lifetime, each containing around 30 to 40 eggs. Under optimal conditions, they can go from egg to reproductive adult in as little as 100 days.

Cockroaches prefer dark places because they are nocturnal, so you will barely see them during the day. Hence, you will see them scuttle to hide when you turn on the basement or bathroom lights.

Thus yours truly attests
to become easily spooked
out of his skin,
and prone to utter bejesus
then subsequently and immediately
apt to swoon into a heap
of lovely bones
after espying a fast moving dark shape(s)
videre licet pronouncing exaggerated silhouette
cast courtesy moon shadow
outsize profile shimmying and shaking
across the outer limits of the twilight zone
delineated by structures of silence.

Imagine dragons exudation regarding fiery breath,
which scary scene would not faze me in the least,
cuz I would whip out my handy dandy blue's clues
and extinguish flaming forks courtesy water hose.