House of Taonga Maori Art House

A NEW BLOSSOM ON AN OLD TREE

The futures not ours to see but look at it

Covered in hope to witness Love again

Love has magic powers the ceremony is marriage

From it springs new life; a new blossom on an old tree

Every year the flower smells sweeter and looks pinker

The fruits are plentiful and the roots dig deeper

The earth it holds this marriage tree

The changing seasons and the beautiful blossoms

The sunlight dances after a storm

Making up after a fight what a wonderful world

Marriage can be between a good night and a bad dream

But when love is joined it joins families

The white dress and the wonderful wine

This handsome old prince that used to be mine

While every bride has only one first time

I hope in this marriage is your last time too

To the bride …  welcome to our family welcome to our children, welcome to our

homes, our money and welcome to the end of my beginning.

TRACEYTAWHIAO(C)2010

Love at Short Notice

He’s here but he’s not here

He’s mine but he’s not mine

Nothing belongs to me

And I belong to nothing

Not even my children

Belong to me

Not even them

Sometimes the sad me wants to

Fight it, bite it and break it’s nose

Sometimes I do

It’s so easy to mend

The unknowing nose

Bliss is No mind

Not ignorance

It’s only me and some ancients

Te Kore, Te Po, Te Ao

That belong to me

We can never leave me

It is all mine

Passed on by the passed on

Yes dead things live

They love me but they don’t love me

They leave me but they don’t leave me

They want me but they don’t want me

I have learnt to love the torture

It’s the best I can do with love

At short notice.

traceytawhiao(c)2010

UNDOING DOING

Jesus the weather is mighty right now.  If I were allowed to follow my madness I would say that it expresses the universes utter frustration with Man and his undoing Doings!!

The lightning and thunder and rain and hail and wind crying can’t be our fault.  In the weather I must trust. From inside out without doubt

The grey blue is here and the watery milk green sea beneath silent finally. It’s the weepy part of the fight and it’s happening outside in the sky not inside the house where fights can occur with metaphors all over the walls to help us out.

These walls have been made by our imagination at a sturdy pace with nature showing us the way.  Fish gave me paintings on newspaper and still I doubt the magic that chews me up and spits me out.

Without you here there is no one to talk to it is shocking how much good ideas need nurturing to have a chance in this machination instead of imagination world.  I write poetry instead to keep my organs free of man-made disease.

I genuinely love your clarity especially when it’s me you are making clearer I am a floating cloud with everything around…rain then still, then hail then still, lightning then still, then a huge crescendo of everything accompanied by thunder.

Then I read Revelations and it casts the machine as a woman with a Dragon who wants to persecute her.   And if I could follow my madness I would say that nothing oh nothing wants to persecute her except the man she does not love.

TRACEYTAWHIAO (C) 2006

IT’S NOT ALBERTS FAULT

It’s not Albert’s fault that I still do not know how to write a poem

He encouraged me and then I took the art and moaned a lot

Mostly marriage and the miscarriage of justice, then about men

The first lot were pretending to be universal but were personal

Some too personal but life is not a rehearsal so they’re a blessing

I was published quite quickly after reading the first poems in public

Just a journal, then in books on my art and then an anthology

I am trying now to collect enough words for my own life to live on

Is it okay to confess that words seem to come from voices within

Some too confessional but with love there is no hook to sin

It is the seed that angers all writers to write all poets to portray this with that

All my poems twist fiction into fact and the other way from that is also true=

Futures are built on belief in vision turn off the television

Watching others live is sleepless loss from my own life

I’ll make a pact with you lovers I’ll be free and you be too

Albert is it still a poem to say more or less whatever I like however I like.

TRACEYTAWHIAO(C)2007