Each walk along a familiar route, I look for something new; or to see something afresh.
The changing seasons help, with each one bringing in new colours, plants, birds and changes of mood.
Just now it is summer, but here on the edge of the southernmost regions of the Pacific, on an island that lies pretty close, relatively speaking, to the Antarctic, summer does not always mean hot and sunny.
I look out of the window for inspiration. Unexpectedly, it turns out to be a weed that has something to say to me. I figure beggars can’t be choosers, so I don’t spurn its advance – for today. Tomorrow I may very well take to it with the shears before it completely smothers the fuchsia.
convolvulus
Beside me, the wind is whistling
a fine tune through a gap it has found
in the frame between a window’s glass and sill
as outside, each flower petal bends in order
to survive what I imagine to be their lament
for this present disappearance of warmth;
their complaint
lodged against summer’s cold shoulder.
As the southern rata softly bleeds
scarlet bristles on to concrete;
I choose not to recall betrayals, instead,
attempt a dumb embrace
of a jet’s tumult as it heads north
above this muttering storm
and note the corrupt, white strangler,
the convolvulus flower in its quivering bid
for a free ride towards the coast of light
it was born to reach for, at whatever cost.
Such trials of seeing and listening
to learn again the lessons of why,
here and now, heaven does not reach out
to the twisting weed’s pure flower cupped
to catch the rain, that like me
is on the same rude ride
to wherever we believe the horizon
crashes on to its shore of sky.
Kay McKenzie Cooke
11th Letter In 
“As the southern rata softly bleeds scarlet bristles on to concrete;” How I enjoyed that line, it is indeed just like you describe. We saw a hebe in Moray Place that produced the exact same effect – I pointed it out to Nigel and he took a photo of it.
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That’s so kind of you to comment on the poem. Thank you.
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I had some time at the public library so I have your book of weather poems and I look forward to reading them. I’ve already read and enjoyed the poem about Waikaia, a village which we enjoy visiting very much!
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Oh that’s wonderful! I’m so glad you enjoyed my Waikaia poem. My grandfather was born there. My Aunty lived there and I spent some good times there on holiday with my cousins. One of my cousins still lives there. It’s a pretty wee town with a great climate.
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It’s so cool to know that Kay! I’ve already introduced my followers to Waikaia and it would be fun to do another post and include your poem along with some Waikaia photos but I don’t know if I’d be permitted to do that? If I was, I’d be careful to credit you and add any copyright line that you require, and of course link to your blog.
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That all sounds wonderful and feel free to use my poem, of course.
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Somehow I missed or didn’t receive that last message re the Waikaia poem. Thanks so much Kay, it won’t be soon but I’d love to do it and it’ll happen. This evening I read right through your “Weather” poems. I loved them! Things familiar to me and things not, but interesting at so many levels. Such a treat too to read poems about places I actually know a little bit about!
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That’s very cool. Thank you.
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