Aotearoa

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trees of the long white cloud : part II

the native evergreens
do not rest in winter

kahikitea, karaka, kauri, kowhai
pohutukawa, ngaio, rata, rimu, totara

season after season
they weave and re-weave
their cloak of green
they stay awake, alert
through summer’s drought
and winter’s flood and snow
seasons the least of their concerns
as their roots reach for each other
in the deep underground
and they wrap their long thin fingers around hidden rock
feeling for the slightest tremor, sensing the slightest shift

guardians of the earthmother
they draw life from her tears
from her breath and body
sentinels standing guard
aware, attentive, vigilant
calming her dreaming
holding tight in nightmares
as she shakes and trembles in her sleep
they cradle her head and breasts and hips as she turns
sometimes losing hold
and falling
as she shakes herself awake

 

© Claire Griffin 2016

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trees of the long white cloud : part I

these trees are immigrants
keeping true to their long histories
continuing the customs of their ancestors

sepia, folium
tyrian, madder
minium, cinnabar
carmine, cadmium
saffron, sienna, ochre, weld

these colours are deceiving
unlike flowers, they are not an invitation
rather, they are a sign of loss
and of a turning inward

as the trees begin withdrawing into themselves
conserving energy, preserving life-force
releasing all non-essential elements
leaves lose green and fall

to protect themselves
from winter’s chill
the trees hibernate above ground
they stand naked in the cold
heart kept warm deep in their centre
beating slowly, barely breathing

they stand quietly, patiently
winter – one long meditation
until the sun rings the zen-bell
and branch tips stretch, buds open
and the trees shake themselves awake

 

© 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