|My first try at poetry, using prose, theme : trees, in three parts of my life.
||By Mike Brosnan 01-06-2006
Macrocarpa ( 1955 )
The stolid mass of macrocarpa trees,
Massive bowels, evidence of time,
Surround our first abode,
Stand out in my mind.
Witch-like tentacles, hang broodingly,
Over the dilapidated farm house.
Fleur and I stand,
Small beneath their boughs,
Meditating on the winding paths
Of our short lives. Fleur not yet twenty.
What quirk of fate.
Brought us here.
Is this a portend of a solid future.
Or will the winds of life,
Blow us about, like switches in a gale.
We feel the strength of the stolid mass around us
Oh, for wisdom.
Matagouri ( 1965 )
That thorny, straggly bush.
Hated by some, loved by others.
Clothes of hot slopes, in the SI High Country.
Its thorny hands, still tug at my heart.
They call it a weed.
Blasphemy! What is a weed?
A judgemental word in someone's mind.
I turned you into a mate, Matagouri.
We found a use for each other.
I listened to you Matagouri.
Nghio ( 2001 )
Oh Ngaio Tree,
Why do you grace my present abode?
Is it because
My memories of you
Are my playful days, beneath your generous shade full boughs
Where I, as a boy, gamboled with my ferrets.
Netting burrows & catching rabbits.
You love the hot, dry, sunny faces,
And the the salt spray from the sea.
You survive and flourish, where others die.
Your tips brush the tide around the harbour edges,
Where we speared flatties,
Heaved in nets full of silver fish.
So, of course, I planted you on the warm sunny heart of my home.
Memories are treasures.