Friday, March 18, 2011

UNICORNS AND WILD DAISIES by Pauline Reynolds-Barff

In silence I walk under the stone arch
Pauline Reynolds-Barff
a womb of grey up the path to St Bridget’s
brilliant wild daisies and long shining grass
fill the space between cracked and leaning tombstones
with a graveyard daisy tucked behind my ear
I inhale a thousand years gone to dust
I want to lay down amongst the old graves
cross the divide of time and comfort my ancestors
they are lingering entranced that I have come
no one pulls the weeds here nature is having her way
pushing life between the cracks of stone
the cobbled entrance delivers me
into the church where there is more light inside than outside
the stain glass windows throw coloured patterns on the curved interior
I feel warm blessed loved embraced renewed reborn
I slip in and out of time sitting where they once sat
dealing with their sorrows and prayers
widowed Anne
mourning the shameful loss of property and son
finding solace and peace right here
I notice fruit laid out on the stonework
spotted green apples freshly dug carrots sprawling cabbages
decorate any available ledge
the ladies are preparing for the Harvest Feast
softly laughing all the while quietly embracing my presence
chatting in soft bubbling sounds and flat vowels
their warm voices captivate me
‘Pleased to meet cha’ smiling genuine goodness
explaining ‘It’s all fe the glory of God’
(and to repair a thousand years of
rising damp rotting beams and faded paint)
‘Shame you can’t stay fe the Feast orn Monday’
after tomorrow’s service and after everyone has given coins
they will take what they need no more
‘You must sign our visitor’s book then’
and I do I’m a visitor I don’t belong but I do
I wonder at the utter beauty of it all

on the outside stones and flora tangle
around themselves reshaping the other
on the inside voices of the past and present
wrap themselves around each other

A living breathing chatting smiling Church
where a stone Unicorn
watches them bow their heads
and meditate on their troubles and trials
and give thanks for the joys in their lives

THE CAMELOT PINE by Margaret Christian

Margaret Christian
This tree, here stood before white men
Set foot upon our shore.
Her branches held both food and homes
Of birds and bats we see no more.

The cheeky burnished Kaka
With beak long-hooked and sharp
Nipped its way from limb to limb
Seeking grubs beneath her bark.

In dark sepulchral crevices
Small bats hid from the light
Until emerging, clicking, swooping
On the insects of the night.

In the shady coolness of her roots all mossy
Flashed red legs, white head, purple back, glossy
Of the Ground Dove; gentle seeker of a peaceful life
Ended by cats, the gun and the knife.

Long toes on legs like stilts once bore
The woodland rail from trees to shore.
Their probing beaks in soil and leaf
Won food from forest and from creek.

The only songbird for a thousand miles
Gloriously sang, despite its trials
With rats and Man. ‘Til History it did enfold
The Triller filled the air with gold.

But what’s that now?! A flash of green
And purple in the shade is seen; and ever curious ... it turns…
A snow white breast comes into view
And listen! The Wood Quest’s gentle coo.

This old tree has known them all,
And Sunnas, lizards, hawks and owls,
The ravaging Red-eye in the plun;
They are all gone now, every one.



So when the wind blows and hushed tree-words
Are carried to Kingston, delivered by birds,
Do the old trees remember the small lizard feet?
The rustle of bats’ wings, the tug of the beak?

Do they share their old memories
As the fields yield to plow?
As the green grass grows ‘round them
To feed White Man’s cow?

Are those whispered words I hear as I start?
“It’s soon time to go … we all must depart.
But the next generation will bring forth new vigour,
We can rest our old limbs as we watch them grow bigger.
And they shall remember those tales we pass on.
Open hearts will hear, and  right all the wrongs.”

NORFOLK ISLE by Maev Hitch

Maev Hitch
Have you ever been to Norfolk Isle?
An island in a sea of opal blue
Have you ever met the folks who live there?
Descendants of the Bounty Mutineers.
Did you ever stand in awe upon the cliff tops
with ocean rollers crashing far below?
A sight that most people do not know.
There are fairy terns that dance among the pine trees
While noddies and boobies have gone fishing
And tropic birds with tails of slender red
Cheeky fantails flit – flirt along the road ways.
Ruined cottages and chimneys dot the paddocks
And mansions in historic Kingston town.
You can spend your time in shops or restaurants
Or walk the cliffs and forest tracks all day.
You can swim or snorkel in Emily or Slaughter Bay
I’ve seen basalt platforms where the ocean churns
Or volcanic boulders decked out with tiny ferns.
I have tramped the track from Mount Pitt
Right down to Duncombe Bay
And seen the Norfolk parrot green and now so rare.
Had an island fish fry on the cliff top
And breathed the sweet and spicy island air.
There’s one thing I must do again
Catch a fishing boat across to Philip Island
And catch a fish or two
And some more aatuti too!

KEEPERS OF THE FIRE ALIGHT by Karlene Christian 1998

It came to me one fine night
on a crimson glowing sunset flight
filled with dreams of Norfolk Life.
Keepers of the fire alight.

Dem lubee ya en we shrep along
to a beautiful Norfolk Island dawn
es deep es clear and oh so bright
shining reflecting in streams of light
our dreams and hopes of da tada life
Keepers of the fire alight.

F feel dem dot en trya put uwus
feet side by side in life’s garden plot
We stumble, trip en sometime heaw up
but da fire inside nor let uwa giw up
still I smaal d decay of laussen uwus way
D let dem embers bun out enay

Do deya, do da, giw all you gut yas
myse heart en den some more
Tek et, mold et, buset up, nor
gwen change wuthing we gut
Es ya en now d time es right f
we digeen en hold orn tight to
d’tenuous threads of uwus birth right

It came to me one fine night
on a beautiful crimson Norfolk flight
Keepers of the fire alight.

RUM AND WATER by Thomas Spencer, recited by Don Brian

Stifling was the air, and heavy; blowflies buzzed and held a levee,
And the mid-day sun shone hot upon the plains of Bungaroo,
As Tobias Mathew Carey, a devout bush missionary,
Urged his broken-winded horse towards the township of Warhoo.
He was visiting the stations and delivering orations
About everlasting torture and the land of Kingdom Come,
And astounding all his hearers, both the rouseabouts and shearers,
When descanting on the horrors that result from drinking rum.

As Tobias Mathew Carey, lost in visions bright and airy,
Tried to goad his lean Pegasus to a canter from a jog,
All his visions were sent flying as his horse abruptly shying
At a newly wakened-something that was camped beside a log.
It was bearded, bronzed and hairy, and Tobias Mathew Carey
Had a very shrewd suspicion as the object he espied,
And observed its bleary winking, that the object had been drinking,
A suspicion which was strengthened by a bottle at its side.

It was Jacob William Wheeler, better known as “Jake the Spieler,”
Just returning from a sojourn in the township of Warhoo,
Where, by fast-repeated stages, he had swamped his cheque for wages,
And for language made a record for the plains of Bungaroo.
Then the earnest missionary, Mr. Toby Mathew Carey,
Like a busy bee desiring to improve each shining hour,
Gave his horse a spell much needed, and immediately proceeded
To pour down on Jake the Spieler, an admonitory shower.

He commenced his exhortation with a striking illustration
Of the physical and moral degradation that must come
To the unrepentant sinner who takes whisky with his dinner,
And converts his stomach into a receptacle for rum.
“Give attention to my query,” said the ardent missionary:
“Do you not perceive that Satan is this moment calling you?
He is shouting! He is calling in a voice that is appalling:
Do you hear him? And the Spieler answered sadly – “Yes! I do.”

“I can prove it is impious” said the eloquent Tobias,
“To drink stuff containing alcohol, and liquors that are strong,
And I’ll prove to demonstration that your guzzling inclination
Is quite morally, and socially, and physically wrong.
When about to drain a bottle, or pour whisky down your throttle,
You should think about the thousands who have perished for its sake.
Gone! To the Davey Jones’s locker, through the wine that is a mocker,
And which biteth like a serpent’s tooth and stingeth like a snake.”

Toby paused, and Jake replying said, “It ain’t no use denying
That your logic is convincing, and your arguments are sound.
I have heard with admiration your remarks and peroration,
And your knowledge of the subject seems extensive and profound.
Yet, in spite of all your spouting, there is just one thing I’m doubting,
But I’m open to conviction, so convince me if you can.
As the iron’s hot now strike it, just convince me I don’t like it,
And I’ll chuck the grog, and sign the pledge, and keep it like a man.”

Don Brian

Then Tobias Mathew Carey eyed the Spieler bronzed and hairy,
But his tongue no word could utter, and the silence was intense,
As the Spieler, slowly rising, in a style quite patronising
Blandly smiled upon Tobias, and continued his defence.
“In your arguments I noticed that the scriptures you misquoted,
But you know, Old Nick proved long ago that two could play at that.
Which has caused the greatest slaughter? Was it rum or was it water?
If you say it was the former then I’ll contradict it flat.

“When Old Noah in the deluge, in the Ark was taking refuge,
All the other people in the world by water met their fate.
And King Pharaoh’s countless army! – Did they drink and all go balmy?
No! You’ll find they died by water if you’ll just investigate.
All the records of the ages, mentioned in the sacred pages,
Only tell of one example, and the fact you know well,
Where a cove a drink was craving and for water started raving,
And that beggar was located – where he ought to be – in Hell!”

Jake then dropped the tone effusive, and began to be abusive,
Swore he’d “pick the missionary up and drop him in the dirt,”
Vowed he’d “twist his blooming nose up, make him turn his blinded toes up,
Sing him for a dusty fiver, or else fight him for his shirt.”
And the air was hot and heavy, and the blowflies held their levee,
And the evening sun shone red upon the plains of Bungaroo:
As Tobias Mathew Carey, a disgusted missionary,
Spurred his broken-winded steed towards the township of Warhoo.

D' KING O KASEDRI by Rachel Nebauer-Borg

Rachel Nebauer-Borg
Hi driim ap’ skiim orn his taala liif throen
En korl orn’ salan wen hi noe dem nor hoem
Hi lew nort faa fram ya en hi s’ kam aas’ mii,
F’ sam’dem fruut orf aa Kaawaa Trii.

Nau Jorj, ai bin luk f’ daa thing ap hai en daun loe
Hepi, eni yorlye noe wesaid aa blesed thing groe!
En ai ya tal em behk’frut hi gu ap gif’ dem
Es uni dem wan orf d’ baeses o lem.

En ef yu thort yu gwen gedap en biit hem yuu worn,
Yu fain hi deya fas lait bifor yu iiwen s’ born.
Hi slep krors em waeli en sluu raun em ben
Es truu es his kraaf en’ kaning kaa en.

Yu bin miit hem ai nowet ko hi orlwes slepen’baut
Tipen or yus shed en muuwen yus thing raun w’laut
En ef aewa yu aut orn’ roed  in’ nait,
Noe es hem d’ wan giw yu daa plari big frait.

Ef yu naewa bin kech faret yu teket fram mii
Hi gat gamshan en chiik – hi es riiyl potagii.
Kaning es kaning es his fas en laas niem
Es truu e’e kaa shiem en kaa dan’ m’giem.

Yu kaa fainet ala faitet en noe yuus yu trai
Hi uni gwen kam baek gat wan baeta replai.
Nau daa King hi es salan mus naewa el sliip
Bat maak mais werds ya, hi es salan el kiip!

Faewa hi pinchen em biebi en drop’ gehls drors
Boelen yus baes baket en loken em dors
Tai yus shuulies agaeda, pat’ solt iin yus tii
Liiw em painpich iin yus saedl f’ yu pilipilii
Sen aa letl skrepa ap f’ melk fram aa wailes nyuu bul
Waili Aant iin wan cheya lorngf’ graenmaas baes wul.

Nau wieh hi el torkbig en miekbig en orlwes hau glehd f’ si yuu
Talen pliis ef yu el, laan’ mii “Wathing ai el kam krors en duu?”
Bat  lukaut en mainaut wenaewa yu tip ap ala flai ap’ wieh ap in’ eya
Bembeya es hem d’ wan orn top o yus kabad ala anda yus steya.

Hi uuli shefen his korth en hi shefen adres
Liiwen’ haewak en wan big pail’ mes.
Hi es haadan f’ kech en iiwen haad’ f’ bliem
Ko hi f’aewa hi chienjen his fies en hi chienjen his niem
Wan dieh hi es Kwentl ala Aedams, Mekoi
Hi es oel mien, en yang mien en swiit biebi boi
Hi es torl mien en short mien en morga en raun
Hi es fishaman, behnka en mien daun’taun
Hi es Stiils Point, en Roki Point en Bambuuras salan,
En es hem d’ wan pinchen yus nyuu siisan malan.
Hi es slaian en sleprian en haadan f’ kech,
En em oel salan bin tal hi es ‘radi griet rech’.
Sam salan korlet ‘poet’ en sam tal es ‘tampaalii’
En yu fain hi es relieted t’ daa fala ‘Ent Mii’.
Ef yu kechet tal’ hem f’ shefap en shedap en shiepap kwik stiks
Kos aa dewl gwen kam f’ hem lorng’ his pichfork en triks.

Bat shuwa es ai ya, ai noe gwen’ bii,
Daa King hi s’ plieh d’ laas jok orn wi thrii
Kos jes yestedi mais kasn kam or f’ himii,
Laan hi s’ fain wan wi Kaawaa Trii.
Bat nort orn yus Nele, ai nor mus el agrii –
Kos dem es thing uni groe orn’ kadesrii.

Nau anieh!

DAA DUUFA YAAM? by Rachel Nebauer-Borg

”Hieh, huu d’ wan’ yorlye s’ groe daa duufa yaam, mai werd shi es’ byuuti.”
“Wael es ai domain f’ tal es mii d’ wan plant em uutaatau” aa mien spoek ap fas kaina mieken aut big.
“Nau es yu dana stohli”, tal em dot, “es mii d’ wan kawaret kwikstiks en kiipenet waam.”
“Oe du tal’ laan em klaud, ‘es mii d’ wan spil daun orn et.”
“Iinoe”, tal em kaetls kiek nor mesen aut ya, “ent yuu, es mii d’ wan kiipen et gwen orl dii taim.”
En aa san, wael aa san s’ haew naf s’ bloe’ haad win en paip ap neks, “Wael es truu Nele, ef nort f’ mii naewa gwen’  bi s’ kam’ enithing.”

Bat yu noe waa, yorlye stabet en dan’ maalo kos aitaliwaa haes d’ tuuthowet
Ef nort f’ daa mien aa yaam wud naewa bii s’ plantet,
En ef em dot nort s’ kawaret en kiipet waam aa yaam gwen bii s’ kaali ap en kaaket
En ef nort s’ brekworta orn, daa jes gwen’ bii d’ enowet,
En kaetls kiek, wael tal noe mor anieh, dem thing es haendi es’ haendi
En yeh, es truu thing ef nor gat’ san kaa ekspekt’ thing f’ kam’ enithing
En daas daa, soe d’ baes thing f’ duu es dana umiya en giw’ kredet said kredet es dyuu kos es orl’ dem d’ wan s’ groe daa duufa yaam.

En iin d’ en ai s’ up en staan ap tal’ orl’ dem puri en tek mais neks Daa Duufa Yaam?

”Hieh, huu d’ wan’ yorlye s’ groe daa duufa yaam, mai werd shi es’ byuuti.”
“Wael es ai domain f’ tal es mii d’ wam plant em uutaatau” aa mien spoek ap fas kaina mieken aut big
“Nau es yu dana stohli”, tal em dot, “es mii d’ wan kawaret kwikstiks en kiipet waam.”
“Oe du tal’ laan em klaud, ‘es mii d’ wan spil daun orn et.”
“Iinoe”, tal em kaetls kiek nor mesen aut ya, “ent yuu, es mii d’ wan kiipen et gwen orl dii taim.”
En aa san, wael aa san s’ haew naf s’ bloe’ haad win en paip ap neks, “Wael es truu Nele, ef nort f’ mii naewa gwen’  bi s’ kam’ enithing.”

Bat yu noe waa, yorlye stabet en dan’ maalo kos aitaliwaa haes d’ tuuthowet
Ef nort f’ daa mien aa yaam wud naewa bii s’ plantet
En ef em dot nort s’ kawaret en kiipet waam aa yaam gwen bii s’ kaali ap en kaaket
En ef nort s’ brekworta orn, daa jes gwen’ bii d’ enowet
En em kaetls kiek, wael tal noe mor anieh, dem thing es haendi es’ haendi
En yeh, es truu thing ef nor gat’ san kaa ekspekt’ thing f’ kam’ enithing
En daas daa, soe d’ baes thing f’ duu es dana umiya en giw’ kredet said es dyuu kos es orl’ dem d’ wan s’ groe daa duufa yaam.

En iin d’ en ai s’ up en staan ap tal’ orl’ dem puri en tek mais neks tan 
Kos es mii d’ wan s’ giw wieh aa u’au en siew aa kune - en baeta yet es’ mii d’ wan s’ it et swiit!!