Thursday, November 30, 2006

To Oaro M

Heading north by north east
into the nor'west,
all my ghosts
horde behind me.

The dusk is pink dust
rolled over the ocean,
the sun is a torch flame
licking the hill crest.

Everything seems serene
in the hot wind huff
along the shoreline,

but the black rainbow
bleeding down from the clouds
cannot be ignored.

My dead mother's voice whispers
from the brown plastic bowl,
the blue and white tin bread bin,
every fibre of carpet and curtain,
every glisten of paua
and curve of driftwood
in our old batch on the coast.

The moon peeps a blind white eye
through a chinked lid of sky -
like memory
it refuses to die.


Blogger Bob said...

Can I use this for the next The Countdown? Can you record it? I'm getting the next show ready now, and would love to hear you read this poem...

Let me know!

Bob Marcacci

8:20 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

hi Bob, sometimes my computer gets slowed down to dial up speed and when that happens I can't record anything, but I'll have a go tomorrow or the next day and post it here for you if it works.


11:04 PM  
Blogger burning moon said...

'scuse my ignorance, but what is 'The Countdown'?

11:18 PM  
Blogger Bob said...

THE COUNTDOWN? my radio show for MiPoRadio produced by Didi Menendez...

12:29 AM  
Blogger burning moon said...

oh of course. sorry, I hadn't heard it called that before.

3:05 AM  
Blogger burning moon said...

I'm trying to record this. No luck so far, but I'll keep trying. I have a lot of trouble with the odeo site

2:14 PM  
Blogger Bob said...

I did a few guest appearances for THE GOODNIGHT SHOW, but have since branched into this one...

good luck with the audio... looking forward to it...

can you send me an e-mail? bmarcacci AT gmail DOT com...

6:46 AM  

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