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attention brings connection : part II

coming back
from walking alone
on the empty beach

 
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I see you you there on the bank
settled, quiet, resting
and beside you
stands one of your own, watching
there is difference
in its black head and neck
and soft grey brown body
I am happy for you
that you rest in company

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and then you see me
you walk toward me
quickly, confidently
no fear, perhaps only expectation
that I might be like other people
with a pocketful of crumbs
do I disappoint you?

I have nothing
but my observations to give you
your blue-grey eye looks into mine

I see your rounded, white-feathered body
your sturdy legs
your wide-webbed feet
your solid beak
and orange like the sunset – legs and feet and beak
and the orange ring around your eyes

I’m that close

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I watch as you nuzzle
between your feathers
shaking your head, releasing fluff

you stay long enough
for me to see all this
to start feeling like you want me
to know you

and then
your companion moves nearby
looks at me sideways – as most birds do
a glint of suspicion in those dark eyes

I move away
I give you space

I do not feel alone

I am not disappointed

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attention brings connection : part I

from a distance
one white swan swims among the black

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but as it draws nearer
I begin to notice
the thicker neck
the shorter beak
the up-tilted tail
head up while others feed

swimming from one group
to another
do I imagine its confusion
its anxiety
as it searches for its own kin?

strong feet drive it forward through the water
kicking one, two, glide
one, two, glide

it is not turned away
nor accepted
but space is made
tolerated with calm disinterest
as it passes by

no choice but to continue searching

alone

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© Claire Griffin 2016

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what is black?

The colour of my culture… people often question why New Zealanders have such an attachment to black. It is commonplace in our casual day wear, and highly evident in fashion design. We wear a lot of black. There was even a book written about its significance in our culture (which I confess I’ve never read – really must do so one day). Black features in our art and sports and songs, among other things.

During the recent attempt to change our flag, black was seen as an acceptable option by many.
I was listening to people discussing this whole “what is it about black…?” thing way back in 2011, and wrote my feelings in response. Hearing the same questions raised again recently prompted me to share this.

In this land of the long white cloud
we walk in the colour of storms and shadows.

We walk in black
the colour of night,
of the space between the stars,
the lines of history
we read in books
and on our faces.

We see each other
in the black centre of our eyes.

We walk in the night
with our eyes closed
burning with an inner light
black light
by which we find our way.

We choose the dark.

Ruru call in the bush
Pekapeka hear echoes in the cave
Wheke write warnings in the sea

Black is not the colour of absence,
or loss,
or separation.

We wrap ourselves in shadows
and feel secure.
The colour of night holds us together
and we are solid and strong and safe.

Black is the colour of my heart,
of my people,
of my spirit.
It runs like dark bush water through my veins.

walking from dark to light
black fern
black stream

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

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goldfish

the vibrant golden fishes
swim near like
living persimmon
marigold petals flutter
water lily friends
circling the pond
shifting in and out of view
glimpses of the sun
between the reflected stalks
your world is a liquid mirror
solid and fluid
layers of light

one bright eye surfaces
you see me and dive away
you sense me and come closer
mouth tickles on skin
we connect for a moment
then you are gone

back to your green world
where the shadows paint your sky

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

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liquid love

throughout this long summer
the green world has held on
roots delving deeper
into the dry land

today it rained
slow, steady, gentle rain
falling quietly
caressing leaves
as it passed by
to the expectant earth

now in the after-rain
droplets rest on dry leaf-skin
balancing, waiting
until pores open
surface tension releases
they pool in hollows
to be absorbed

some slide to leaf-points
to hang like so many diamonds
re-engaging the botanical and elemental
liquid love in the silence

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

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figs

there is an old fig tree
at the back of the family garden
and at the end of a long hot summer
it is dripping with fruit

we picked figs today
ripe and soft
some we broke open
and ate
some fell to the ground
and burst

with sticky hands
we filled a bag in minutes
plenty left for the birds

we drank tea and talked
catching up on recent weeks
sharing stories, laughing
supporting each other’s dreams
without question

it took an hour and a half to drive home
and by then
the sky had clouded

I take time opening the bag
and arranging the figs
each one a precious harvest

I break one open

and sunlight fills the kitchen

© Claire Griffin 2016

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discovering who I am

Version 3

I’ve recently seen a photo of me
at about age three
climbing onto the verandah railing
and leaning out
leaning forward
bare feet, toes clinging on

I stand on the edge now
the edge of memory and time and history and loss
seeing my past self
a little girl who was funny
who was adventurous
and loving
and curious
and smiling
and brave

that little girl
looking into the future
full of hope, full of happiness
when I first saw her
I was astounded
I didn’t know that’s who I had been

and now
when I look in her eyes
I recognise myself
its taken a long time
I discover who I am

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

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you find me

You find me
and I am completed.
I had not known
I was lost.
A space,
I did not know was empty,
has been filled.

It was hard to find balance …
The instant recognition,
when I saw you pass the window – I knew you.

But the present now disrupted accepted history.
Emotions surged.
Truths were challenged.
I had to reinvent my entire sense of self.

And yet I knew you –
and it was easiest thing
to be claimed by you
and to name you as mine.

I wonder sometimes
who I would be now
if I had known you sooner…

But it is enough
to know you now
and be loved.

© Claire Griffin 2016

(a poem written for my father and given to him a couple of years ago… with much love)

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milk strawberry

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“MILK STRAWBERRY”
pink and brown
and sweet

a gift from a friend
“celebrate memories” you say
and I do now

I remember the sweetness of first love
I remember the pink blush
of embarrassment, of excitement
of tongues and lips and other bits
I remember the warm brown skin
from lying together in the sun
the brown of the wooden walls
brown hair falls forward
brown tiger’s eye falls forward

and milk
straight from the glass bottle
passed from hand to hand
white and cold and wet
all we ever needed to recover

© Claire Griffin 2016

(With thanks for thinking of me and for your friendship – you know who you are ♥)