The Wild Word #36 Its a kind of magic

Watching the sky speak

Open to the world

On the wing of light

https://thewildword.com/poetry-piet-nieuwland/

ENVY 7 Deadly Sins Vol 6.

A Parade on Oriental

As the Inter-islander makes its way in the world moves past me and a ferry crosses to Eastbourne

In the oceanic amniotic fluid the biting fish are tiny as One News interviews on the state of the state of the calm beneath which intercontinental tension builds

A child in stroller takes his grandfather for a walk as a sweating grimacing grin of runners pad past, a tattoo of pastel t-shirts and lycra shorts

With pink legs an orange billed oystercatcher fossicks the foreshore amongst kelp and shells and piles of human waste that whales mistake for squid

A pair of purple jandals enviously awaits the return of their bare feet that have wandered off to a Glamaphones concert

I walk the blue arrowed path of an interactive marathon sponsored by Powerade where runners wear earphones and fitbit devices so personal biodata can be monitored and broadcast to a global audience on Netflix

A red hatted kayaker escorts a yellow buoy towed by a violet capped swimmer and this all becomes a variety of mobile rainbow without the usual arc

Ministry of Funny Runs staff, at pace, breathing hard, snake along the path in their unique individual styles, as does a Chinese conversation with a duolingo accent

E-bikers pass with broad it’s so easy smiles and a squeeze of lime-scooters slip on by A derallieur of cyclists zip in a fluoroblour as harakeke pods throb

At the yacht club under looming cumulo-nimbus anvils, race information has not yet been logged in the start box

Office crystals shimmer in tetragonal masses beneath a raggedly torn sky-line

The harbor eyes a frontal molasses of cold air and downpours with hail now

There are still no fish on the way back to the bus stop, just the wet hiss and splash of cars

And the sea still only sees with mirrors 

About Piet Nieuwland

Poetry is not a luxury, it is a necessary part of the creativity of every day.  

 

Piet Nieuwland has poems and flash fiction appear in numerous print and online journals published in New Zealand, Australia, United States of America, Canada, India and Germany.

 

He is a performance poet, edits Fast Fibres Poetry and lives near Whangarei.

 

In a previous life he worked as a conservation strategist for Te Papa Atawhai in Aotearoa/New Zealand 

 

He welcomes email contact at   pietn@outlook.com 

Extinction

Outside the melting window a forest of memories sang

Sang with the delight of Harpogornis mooreii soaring

 

The endless blue sky hit the buildings edge dissolving

Into plastic nano-particles and hydrocarbons of cars

 

At a temperature of one hundred and four the dilated pores

Of the epidermal surface exude a sticky blue serum

 

The morning was all yellow, yellowish and gooey. We walked into the

Painting swallowing bananas tinged with cinnamon, honey and burnt toast

 

Footsteps echoed from the hallway,

A caterpillar crawling towards metamorphosis

 

The floor of polished wax skidded us, slip and fall without

The slightest sense of gravity

A red dart kite attempted lift-off

 

 

https://the-otolith.blogspot.com/2018/11/piet-nieuwland.html

 

 

 

 

In the memory of earth

 

Night is only a dress

 

Wet with the friction of lips

 

On the river bank in bubbles of breath

 

Through the harmonicas sinister slow distant ache

 

Of bit flips and bergy bits, crevasses that vanish

 

And every day is another day

 

Where the rhythm tilts away

 

Over valleys stretched beyond the lucid moon

 

Intimate water eclipsed with yellow

 

Cacti buds on crushed feldspar gravels

 

Geckos luminous as mercury black eagles in solar flow

 

When suddenly In a confusion over Black Mountain a conflagration

 

Of shadows, turbulent vermillion and frenzied ashen waters

 

Spill from the whole vivid sky

 

Violet castanets echo the slow scent of red eagle laughter

 

Upon pyramidal sisters

 

Upon lovers of the pagoda

 

And carillon bells ring

 

Over bloodshot Indian hills 

 

 

https://issuu.com/mojaverivermedia/docs/mrr-vol4no2-fall-winter2018_v24b

 

 

 

 

 

Pacific hypergirls go strut

 

Whispered messages dissolve in rivers of attention and glances

A long sigh exhales through the valley to Kaipara moana  

 

Molecules of sound emanate from luminous branches

A syntax of yellow leaves on black trees  

 

Filaments of falling marked by fluid silvery drops

Accurate shapes, incarnate wairua exclamations  

 

Hallucinations of glamorous echoing veils

Silky clay nostalgias, transgressions of moss  

 

A ferment of revolution in the invisible temples

Vorticies of evaporation on the spidery skyline  

 

Lightning on the fuse of your stare  

 

The moon a flower,

White as a flight of doves 

 

In the black balance

Of velvet night

 

 

 

http://lunchticket.org/pacific-hypergirls-go-strut/ 2017