And yolo doves

Glissades in glissando series

     Sattva guna (mode of goodness)

    Samara (cycle of repeated birth and death)

    Raja guna (mode of passion)

Ruxandra

At Puwera

https://www.erothanatos.com/copy-of-v3i2p2-4

This is the river

CRYZANTHENUM BOUGANVILLEA CLEMATIS ZINNIA

TOTARA RATA POHUTUKAWA TANGO NEPHRITE PLUM

this is the river that flows through me,

khaki surges whirlpools + splash

rolling sinuous + tensile,

a taniwha breathing fogs + mist

pouring from valleys ignited by tui kotare kakariki + swan

loaded + heaving, stained into ignimbrite + clay,

the colours squeezed kokopu phosphorescent inanga

translucent trout neon arcing a flamenco haka

of petals leaves feathers wing + fin

they dive flick + twist

aerobatic sculptures + putangitangi

trumpeting

WAIKATO WAIKATO WAIKATO

shedding vortices of polarity + discharge

magnetic fields that pulse + kick

electric + luminous.

Watching the sky speak

Open to the world

On the wing of light

https://thewildword.com/poetry-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 

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