A SUBURBAN SUNDAY EVENING
In the soft, dark light of the cosy cottage
Four faces gleam which in the bright light of day
Display middle-age jowls, crinkly eyelids
With edgings fraying into ravines, and now
They become exquisitely beautiful
Fullness of face has gone
Ah, youth has returned as we laugh and
Talk of the news, the missing plane
Innocent people killed in France
Then to music, family, work, cooking
Books and favourite writers
We eat cannelloni with spinach salad
Salty, crisp olive bread, drink red and white wine
As we listen to the Ave Maria with Kiri
Age will return tomorrow at the office desks
In the silvery blazing light of neon tubes.
© Isha Wagner
Quantum Theory – a villanelle
When we’re swallowed by a singularity —
so reach our end, and maybe start again —
and time goes on, or not, as case may be,
it’s all just quantum waves, impossible to see.
Such gloom to feel purpose is in vain
when we’re swallowed by a singularity!
The belief in world’s particularity
is just our ego shielding us from pain,
and time goes on, or not, as case may be.
We, as observers, make reality
from ripples, fleeting things that won’t remain
when we’re swallowed by a singularity.
We are told a vacuum’s packed with energy.
The truth of this is hard to ascertain —
and time goes on, or not, as case may be.
A lightbulb’s vacuum could destroy a galaxy,
a notion that might come to seem quite sane
when we’re swallowed by a singularity
and time goes on, or not, as case may be
© Tony Chapelle
Powdered path to the musket wars
there are bats in my nest
so I flee Ruapekapeka
Hongi Hika troubling me for a reload
carrying Ngapuhi on his back
missionaries in his pocket
fearful iwi disappearing below Kororareka
and shredded uniforms bleeding red on red
© Keith Nunes
Wooed by a song of concerts
and dance floors seething
when she wore her hair
and dresses long
and was out of her quiet depth
ever acting cool
she was downing coffee
at the Cafe European
when the riffs climbed her spine
to swagger through her head
where all she knew was pleasure
© Leslie McKay
The hardest thing
Was that despite all odds
We’d never be that great love story.
Though there was a time
I was so sure.
Never thought we’d let
Each other slip away
Like water down the drain.
Into different paths
In different directions
In different towns.
Sometimes I think
of what a tragedy it is
for us to build towers so tall,
that we couldn’t see.
That it was not a home
but a barrier of walls.
Stacked so high with bricks.
With my weakened state and
I could not crack
Nor chip away
At aggregates and paste
to see even the slightest trace
Instead of fighting
With power tools and strength
We stepped back
Arched our heads to the sky
Even in a time when all we had
was art and dreams,
We were still able
to construct our
© Tessa Calogaras
I sat on the edge of the bed
The pillow stood up
Notepad in hand
“What flavour Time Fritter will it be today?
You can have dream flavoured
There’s amble flavour
How about space?
Go matrix! Go 3D!”
“On special is staring
With a side of zone out
Writing flavoured goes well with a glass of doodle
People can choose between three sizes of Mind
A small thought, medium worry or large of angst
How on edge would you like to get?”
He sat there waiting for me to make a decision
“Pardon me, Pillow, I don’t mean to fritter your time
But I’ll pass on a Time Fritter
And just take a nap”
The dynamism was a crowded beach bustled and bruised together. Nocturnal on night-time trill, the sand was all blanched electric. The sky was an absorbing satin creased behind the clouds and, as most start trunks, his palimpsest skin should have been made on the shingle of the sea. His poor topaz tongue emerged from a footnote drawn in the sand. It was these rich words that made him the carver of stones. The boy made the azure of the sunset a peach-kissed amaranth and he caricatured the kiss also. Defining himself, he was the fittest survivor in his manifesto of dreams, questioning swerving love because he was just ‘too youth’ to matter. He thought it strange how two teenagers could ignite desire with a caress. How the sharing of spittle savoured promise. So he dreamt on it and philosophised how there was an animalism in it like a hunting great white shark trolling fish. He gazed lovingly though at the ritual. Transposed on a bed of sighs, he dreamt with blood on his knee-caps. Blood on his swollen head too. He dropped off his tea leaf for one last taste of that bastille with those loves he was most partial to: assurance and that wanderlust. We wrote together in the margins & called it: ‘the tomorrow poem’ because that’s how the stars read. We geared-up just to be on the safe side of tomorrow – to make sure he got there in time to read them (wherever there is).
© Jamie Trower
Calling all Trivia buffs – our 8th annual Trivia Quiz is on 7th September 2016, 7pm.
Team “3 Assets & a Liability” (MCI of Dannevirke) currently hold the trophy for this hotly contested event.
Who will take on these five-time winners? Can a team from another town win the title? Even if you’re not competitive, it’s a whole lot of fun!
The (optional) fancy dress theme is “Olympics”. Prizes for
Highest score per town
Best fancy dress
Refreshments provided; BYO beer/wine.
Join in the fun!
Get your team together and register by 5.30pm Friday 2nd September.
Teams can consist of up to four members, aged over 18 years.
You can request an entry form by email – email@example.com.
Go on.. join in the fun!
Beauty and the beast
Her face, so innocent. Her words, so sweet
She’ll have you smothered in deceit
Watch her move, watch her sway
You’ll find you are the perfect prey
Her smell so inviting, her touch, so pure
She’ll only make you crave for more
Watch her laugh, watch her cry
You’ve come too far to say goodbye
Her mind, so complex, her fire, so bright
She’ll cause the pain and bring the fight.
Watch her smile, watch her taunt
You’ll question, whats behind those walls?
Her face, so innocent. Her words, so sweet.
She’ll eat you up within a week.
Watch her hunt, then watch her feast,
Behind the beauty lies a beast.
© Lois Westerman
The great ocean
Quiet in the morning with the day unwritten
And the dawn strangled by cloud,
Lacking caffeine, vitality,
And the keys too loud against the attenuated light outside,
There the wind and rain fight over the few scraps of attention
I can bring to bear,
There the great ocean looming through the glass,
To swallow fear and hope in the same tide.
Among the rocks a small note of discord,
Tearing holes in time which I can’t afford to ignore but neither can I find.
Why have you abandoned me to these modern miracles?
When if given the choice I would drown,
Or at least slip down into some sort of oblivious dream,
Leaving the tyranny of my screen to the gulls.
Their sharp cry is a clarion call to abandon
Such sedentary folly,
Or at least to dress, breakfast, and join the thick press of demands ahead.
I tap on instead.
© James McGoram
The Holding Paddock
She messaged me overnight,
Our old friendship recently renewed
Thanks to Google,
It seems I have a shorter journey than first thought.
Life was a party back then, we dressed with care.
Drove too fast, drank loudly, laughed often
Rated ourselves –
The farm lush in sunshine as I set off
In the corner paddock, our neighbour’s lone cow
Ancient parched skin drawn across sunken hind,
Old eyes turned towards the cattle-yard ramp, waiting.
My friend, hair faded, eyes dull, she moves with care.
Baggy clothes so unlike her stylish norm
Hide tubes of poison swelling her body,
Had it with hospitals, she said.
Tea grows cold, biscuits lie forlorn
They call this seaside town the holding pen you know,
I want to grasp her weak laugh
It’s so good to see you.
Goodbye was a word we never used
It sat silently on the couch between us
Leave as if you’re coming back
Can’t recall the highway home until the last bend
Wipers battling with sudden rain
Seal turns to metal turns to mud,
At the gateway fresh tyre marks curve into the distance.
© Susan Berry
i was still warm. you ran your hand through your hair, said, i’m sorry. i felt my breath
stop and catch in my lungs. stuck, i stood there crying on your shirt until you pushed
me away softly. when i looked up again, the clouds were rushing past like ghosts and
the city couldn’t love me anymore. you didn’t take my hand and instead whispered,
let’s get you home. the wind gave my cheeks a final brush of red before going quiet
like everything else.
you didn’t look back and i began looking for the signs. i closed my eyes and prayed to
the moon and begged her to take me away. she said i would have to take the piercings
out my ears and the white noise out of my heart and then i would be able to find old
me again. i told her all i could hear was your voice and nothing else. when i opened
my eyes, she was already shaking her head and saying goodbye. too tired to do
anything else, i watched the stars move on without me.
© Emma Shi
For the 7th time, Tararua District Library is celebrating the best of New Zealand’s books for young people with our Annual Children’s Book Awards Quiz, held simultaneously in each of our four libraries. Primary schools (and homeschoolers) from Tararua District are invited to submit team(s) of Year 7 / Year 8 children, who will answer questions based on the Children’s Choice finalist books.
Norsewood & Districts School are the current District Champions. Who can knock them off their coveted perch? The Champion Team get possession of the trophy for a year, plus a prize. The highest scoring team in each town also get a small prize. Time to get reading – only 7 weeks to go!
Download the Children’s quiz entry form or collect one from your library, if your school hasn’t received one by mail.
PLEASE READ THE RULES:
- Primary school teams, and homeschooled students, from within the Tararua district are eligible to enter.
- Maximum of 4 students per team. Small country schools are permitted to combine their students with students of other small country schools to make up a team. Schools can enter more than one team. Homeschooled students are permitted to combine to make up a team.
- The quiz will be held simultaneously at each of our four community libraries. Results will be constantly updated throughout the evening. If entry numbers are low, the library reserves the right to hold the quiz in just two libraries.
- The questions will be from the finalist books in the HELL Children’s Choice New Zealand Book Awards 2016 in the picture book, junior fiction and junior non-fiction categories. Young adult fiction is excluded. See this post for titles.
- Each team will need to have collectively read all the finalist books in the relevant categories. All our libraries have copies of the books available for loan.
- Teams will be able to quietly confer before writing their answer down on the answer sheet provided, with 20 seconds per question.
- In the event of a tie, the top teams will compete in a playoff round.
- No adult will be permitted to sit with or confer with the teams until the quiz is finished. No devices will be permitted (smartphones, etc).
- The adjudicator’s decision is final.
- No answer papers will be returned to contestants or schools after the quiz.
The winning team of the Tararua District Library Children’s Book Awards Quiz will be awarded a prize and possession of the trophy for a year – and bragging rights, of course! The highest scoring team in each particular town will also receive a small prize.
One can feel guilty if they know they are the object of another’s desire
Even though there is no rule
“He who loves you
You must love in return”
You cannot force yourself to have feelings for someone you do not attain
You do not want to let the other down
You do not want to be the cause of their pain
Let me tell you this my sweet
Put your weary mind at ease
There is no need to feel guilty
It is not your fault you do not possess the same feelings
Nor is it theirs for falling for a darling man like yourself
No one is to blame
You cannot control who you fall in love with
Who you give your heart to
Life would be so much more simple if we could
How I wish it were true
But there is no point dwelling on something that is merely a dream
© Willa Woodhouse
I have a cat.
I belong to him,
He doesn’t care I’ve sold a book –
Or that an American anthology has taken a story,
Proclaimed it good and paid me well.
I am HIS human,
That’s the important thing.
Where the money comes from doesn’t matter –
So long as it buys food for both of us.
So long as he can sleep,
well warmed against my back on chilly nights.
Demand attention as I type and get it – RIGHT THIS VERY MINUTE!
He doesn’t care my shape is sacklike, or that I’ll be –
seventy-one in April of next year.
He doesn’t care if readers know me.
HE knows me –
isn’t that enough and more –
for any human?
He accepts my human failings. I can’t catch mice,
and sometimes when he howls, I’m slow with food,
and THEN I complain about the noise.
How else is a fellow supposed to get his point across?
But I’m HIS human –
so he forgives me.
Love makes us both belong together, he announces with his voice and eyes.
I’m only a foolish human, but – I do know THAT –
which makes me wise!
© Lyn McConchie