Fleeting Words

The Newspaper is a cyclone of paper pushing words

Lines of words strung between poles that should be Pou

I want more more than these half true lines for which trees died


I know how to swim the shallow water before I sink to the deep end

All these words are filling the air with pollution and noise

Bank balances of the few are the only thing I see improving


Life is a breath away from being death words will not find us

They will not touch us they will not sacrifice anything for us

Stop using them to convince me of a lie the truth is fine


These daily scheduled uncertain lines of fleeting words

That crowd us into thoughts we need not waste time having

I get more from a wordless tree uncut for your newspaper


I get more from the silent clouds opening a portal to the moon

From the grass growing longer and greener and stronger

Even the Spiders mammoth efforts to live give me more than words


Yes I throw them hurtling from a high ridge words on words

Poets take words from places silent in the world and create with them

No apology required if you read this and feel the loss I feel too.


Tracey Tawhiao (c) 2012