Friday, August 5, 2011

Antipodean Easter

Leaf fires
The soft mud of cold rains
The closing of minds
credit and ambition
for winter.

He who was living is now dead
and will not return.
The stone is open
The word has flown.
Leaving only debts.
And a half finished
video series.

The winding vine of
Poetry sheds its petals
Leaving platitudinous stalks.
The discounts have failed
The offers are untouched.
There are no daffodils
The wind unfurls the flax
Rippling like grasping arms
Begging for bread.
Distracted
Tui forgets to sing.

In his burrow, Kiwi nestles,
Prepares to stump the darkness
Probing through the rain and wind
In the barren bush searching
Like a blind beggar for
what little the land will yield.
Darkness, cold and starvation
Envelopes all.

Now is the hour
When darkness spreads on
Black clouds of snow.
And hope, which once stood
Banner defiant, a glimmer
Shining alone on the crag
Folds away under cover.
Sick with terror.
The earth trembles
The ring is lost
Moloch is coming.

This is not the end of the beginning
But the beginning of the end.
Tides rush forward.
The Earth smokes
And shudders.
Towers
Foundations of lies
Slide and fall.
Moloch is coming.

The grease of commerce
Spreads itself on all living things
Congeals and clogs
The temple seizes
Heart freezes.
And stops.
The heart has gone.
Moloch is here.