Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Mood: color
Listening to: blue miles

I speared an olive and you appeared

 

And the room turned crimson hushed

 

Talk of python young ones and such

Brought alive with your mimic rush

 

World issues and wondering why

When east met west the fountain cried

 

Onto New Zealand and history paths

And the room turned a yellowed hue

 

Communication and conditions human

The mystery of the mystery of life

 

 

Then to mind states and moods dark

Your voice began to waver

 

 

Life colors left and cold blue blew in

 

You grasped a plate and you were gone

 

 

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   

                                                                                       

Mood: black
Listening to: highway to hell

You served me well old friend

I let you go reluctantly

One week later I saw you

Beaten scared and left abandoned

to ruin and rust

and I just ran away

 

!! The Wahine and Barrett's Reef Beloved your young eyes pull back The antithesis of heaven's bow Draws in love's pupils As life loses its mastery Her karanga in flight We dive Raging caves patu stone disembowel Those veins where waters meet The night strums Rising to spheres where nothing resides The silent rigors of sobs rolling White fists on beaches Annointed by her death hand Cupped for rain brushes the reef Misting the wind's screen Mere shimmer of her hand. SONNET: THE LIONS TOUR Send the best of the Lion's footie stock Or will and red sheep off a British moor; Send us the Plantagenet of Woodstock That passions will savour ever more. In common grass-roots fashion we hold hands To entwine scrum green and braid red and black; Of our new youth will show you Brits what stands For our affection and thats for you to crack. So should you English footie pilgrims bleat. No Jonah on the wing then watch our wing, The thrust and bull force of Palmerston's fleet. Bring the Maui vans of British lion's wing, Give us the reserves as best plays best And string up ten guitars with will on line. We hear your roar and see your British crest, Brit-fans aboard and none so clandestine. Don't send us the puff of George's green lead Send Paddy's Will and lion share, life's mead. Tania Butcher

Mood: Farm and wind again
Listening to: moo moo

 first I saw her hair
in the wind, then the wonder
of her smile           

 

getting louder
the calf
the auctioneer