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W. Andy Meier

Sandringham, Auckland, NZ

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If you have comments or suggestions for Simon Meiklejohn, you can contact this author at:
simon@netsoft.co.nz (Simon Meiklejohn)


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Talk

by

Simon Meiklejohn

Our conversation, candid, arid,
powered, vapid, censored, rapid,
ponderous, good natured,
accompanies a feast,
our mouths move like chewing carrot.


a storm is coming

by

Simon Meiklejohn

The hot wind of these last few days
becomes a storm somethime tonight.
A friend says the sea forecast
is for eight metre swells. That is
more than four times my height.
The winds sixty knots, gusting eighty.

This heat has given me a headache.
For days now the christmas food has
sat in my belly. And tonight there
is a storm.

At midnight i could drive to the harbour
and count the boats washed up on the
shore. Maybe i could cross over the
bridge, above the wild harbour, and
watch those waves throw themselves
at the front gardens of the rich in
Devonport.

But i am tired and the rain falling
now tells me just to sleep. Let the
storm throw itself around the sea walls
and drum its raindrops on a thousand
or a million tin roofs. Let my christmas
food give me uneasy dreams instead of
lovers i forgot to take.


fables, cables, labels

by

Simon Meiklejohn

figures in a carnival,
gaily masked and barely real,
perhaps are human neath their masks,
who can, or wants to, tell if they are

fables (reaching out from a youthful education)

an actor with a rugged jaw,
his dame clings to his angled form,
their path to me is straightly drawn by

cables (paid for by subscription, installed by a technician)

to place a sticker on a jar,
unpack a sentence and placing its contents
in a mental larder, all involve the use of

labels.


Megan

by

Simon Meiklejohn

At five years old
we walked barefoot down a hot summer road
our hands linked, your right, my left,
linked, our littlest fingers hooked the other's
a slight touch, denying the connection
but undeniably
holding hands