They have come from everywhere
these people.
They came for the water.
The water flows the valleys and the mountains.
It bubbles underground and out to sea.
They are the land between the waves
these people.
They paddle boats
toward each other’s shores.
And korero among the whitebait haunts.
Sometimes they disagree
these people.
But after storms they stand upon the bridge.
And watch the movement
of the ducks’ webbed feet.
Sometimes they stand and stare
these people.
Out to where the water meets the sky.
How did our forbears come so very far
in tiny sailing ships and carved canoes?
It is an old man’s thinning stream
the water.
And the tears that dribble
down a baby’s cheek.
It strokes the children of the people
the water.
And smooths the eels that swim
between their legs.
For the water is their ancestor too.
And they are the water’s mokopuna.
I wrote this poem a few years ago. I wanted to capture the spirit of the community which is Golden Bay. Looking after each other, and the land, is a vital part of that spirit.
Joe Bell, who died last week in Milnthorpe, Golden Bay, embodied this spirit to the max. Joe was an enthusiastic and well-known live poet. He helped start the Live Poets’ group at Golden Bay’s famous Mussel Inn and chaired it for seventeen years. He is and will remain greatly missed by his many friends. The photo below shows Milnthorpe, Joe’s turangawaewae.
Please return to Tuesday Poets and enjoy the fine mix of poets and poetry uploaded for your pleasure today.
gurglewords 