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This is by a Kiwi poet,Kevin Ireland & seems especially relevant to us here just now.
How To Survive The Morning"
You stare out of the window and notice how dawn
blazes from the sea. You can actually smell
the sun smouldering at the edges of the world.
You live in dangerous circumstances. Every morning
someone burns out. Those you love melt away
No one is willing to stay. The dead forget to tell you.
where they are going. You are advised that the best way
of passing the time is to read a book. You have to stick
to the words. Gardening is also useful, for you must plan
And always someone calls on you, or invites you out
You are encouraged towards activities that are designed
to help Create a Structure or Establish a Routine.
Then one day you will find, as you scan the horizon
that it is past noon. The sun has entirely gone up
in smoke. There is a stifling odour of dust and ashes.
Yet time has got you through the hard bits without once
whingeing or groaning. It soon becomes the hour
to walk the dog. after which you will tell yourself
that you have earned a biscuit, a piece of cheese
and a glass of wine. Orderliness has come
to your rescue. You have got through a whole day
------------------------------------------------------
Another Kiwi poet, James K Baxter.
High country weather
Alone we are born
And die alone;
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine
Upon the upland road
Ride easy, stranger
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.
------------------------------------------
And...lowering the tone considerably.
The Streaker by Richard Langston
Vaults the fence
a flash of Christmas hams
Decency startles under a towelling hat
Uniforms awake
He streaks
An idiot, an anarchist
a hairy pink skin--full of beer
Bare arsed cheek
taken out by a headlong dive of officialdom
The march back
to the disappointment of clothes.
How To Survive The Morning"
You stare out of the window and notice how dawn
blazes from the sea. You can actually smell
the sun smouldering at the edges of the world.
You live in dangerous circumstances. Every morning
someone burns out. Those you love melt away
No one is willing to stay. The dead forget to tell you.
where they are going. You are advised that the best way
of passing the time is to read a book. You have to stick
to the words. Gardening is also useful, for you must plan
And always someone calls on you, or invites you out
You are encouraged towards activities that are designed
to help Create a Structure or Establish a Routine.
Then one day you will find, as you scan the horizon
that it is past noon. The sun has entirely gone up
in smoke. There is a stifling odour of dust and ashes.
Yet time has got you through the hard bits without once
whingeing or groaning. It soon becomes the hour
to walk the dog. after which you will tell yourself
that you have earned a biscuit, a piece of cheese
and a glass of wine. Orderliness has come
to your rescue. You have got through a whole day
------------------------------------------------------
Another Kiwi poet, James K Baxter.
High country weather
Alone we are born
And die alone;
Yet see the red-gold cirrus
Over snow-mountain shine
Upon the upland road
Ride easy, stranger
Surrender to the sky
Your heart of anger.
------------------------------------------
And...lowering the tone considerably.
The Streaker by Richard Langston
Vaults the fence
a flash of Christmas hams
Decency startles under a towelling hat
Uniforms awake
He streaks
An idiot, an anarchist
a hairy pink skin--full of beer
Bare arsed cheek
taken out by a headlong dive of officialdom
The march back
to the disappointment of clothes.
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