In this city of furrows, we fall over ourselves
tripping down
Devon Street, tipping down
Bolton,
and a return trip at such
an angle that
our foreheads kiss
the pavement.
Some days, it’s not furrowed at all,
rather
a flung thing that’s caught
the wind:
a blanket,
a swag of kelp, newspaper balled
in
a good-sized fist. On
a good day, it is
all dimples,
this city. Ample, it dips
here,
and here, and here -
the harbour, the smile (
the place we fall
in.)
Mary McCallum
Welcome to the second Tuesday Poem - an event shared by a growing number of poets in NZ (and some elsewhere) and begun here. Visit the other Tuesday Poets who will pop up throughout the day with their own poems, or poems they've chosen to host. It's the blogosphere's version of the open-mike night - and as stimulating and as fun.
Up now
claire beynon
harvey molloy
helen heath (new)
tim jones
cilla mcqueen - nz poet laureate - who posts monday, wednesday, friday
fifi colston
paradoxical cat
kay mckenzie cooke
vespersparrow
pamela morrison (new)
penelope todd
janis freegard (new)
updated at 11.57 pm (NZT)
3 comments:
Nice! I suddenly feel almost ready for my next trip to Wellington.
I've just visited wellington, and enjoyed being back in its rumpled folds. I loved this poem Mary. This city (and my home town of Dunedin) have forever spoiled me for being on flat turf.
What a joyful poem! Love the alliteration and the playful format
(although "the smile (" looks a little like a frown!).
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