Pukapuka Books

Pukapuka Poem #46 'Pakuranga Lemonade' - Michael O'Leary

Pakuranga Lemonade

(Winter 1986)

put two lemons in a paper bag

add some brown sugar to taste and then …

fill the bag up with water

quickly, before the bag gets soggy, lie it on the ground

and stamp on it as hard as possible with one foot,

this recipe is guaranteed to give you at least one wet leg

and is quite undrinkable

a tree which loved lemons gave it to me

lemons had been the fruit

now this tree had been sacrificed

so that people could have a swimming pool

thick lumps of heavy, dead clay

had clogged its roots and killed its will

death came gradually –

the Polynesian labourer was the only one to see it

because people of Pakuranga had walked by him

as though he was a dead tree in their suburb

and in their white fright they saw him

as a leafless, ugly vision of wild threat

but he looked at the lemon tree and its outstretched branches

and saw that his brown skin matched the brown bark

so that as he lifted shovel load after shovel load

his dreams were of coconut trees and bright flowers

and catching fish in the sea of his island home of light

and colourful birds,

meanwhile, the other people

kept an eye on the progress of the hole in the ground

Pukapuka Poem #45 'Remuera Dreamtime' - Michael O'Leary

Remuera Dreamtime

(for Maria)

Its walking down the road

Where the hedges and the fences

Loom tall, the trees are tall

Beautiful and stilted

The light is the evening

Colours in the unmoving silence

It’s the dream and it’s the time

Of day and of life

Mercedes and copulating dogs

Are the only people on the street

It doesn’t go near them

Because they get angry

And then at night the

Sharp sound of husband

And wife fighting, baying

Like dingoes in the dark

It rained in the morning

And the bus could be heard

Moving and shifting further down

Somebody’s disturbed the Rainbow Serpent . . .

from its sleep in the deep waterhole

Pukapuka Poem #44 Russian Roulette - Michael O'Leary

Russian Roulette

‘привет tovarisch’

‘Hello comrade,’ I reply

as she greets me off the train at Ellerslie station

It is not the stiff, formal handshake

but rather the playful shake of her head

that I notice . . .

sending her hair running after the wind

as we walk together

from the platform

                           towards our usual meeting place

I order two cups of black, strong coffee -

We sit silent for a short time

Then, leaning forward, she asks softly

‘The tapes. Have you got the tapes, Comrade?’

‘As always,’ I reply

‘хороший’ she seems relieved

as I hand her a small package

                        wrapped like a lover’s gift

We talk quietly with easy familiarity

until her eye catches the clock

and she rises and there is tension in the air

                        as there is each week when we part

‘The factory, I’m late for the factory!’

she cries …

we gather our things and walk fast around

around and around the circular walk-way

which leads from the road to the rail overbridge

the motorway sounds drown our goodbyes

‘Mission completed’ I think to myself

- as I board the train I glimpse her

standing on the foot bridge waving and calling out . . .

‘прощание, I’ve just fired

another shot -

your turn comrade’

Pukapuka Poem #43 Otara - Michael O'Leary

Otara – have a Banana

coming back from the Papatoetoe pub

towards Otara in a Japanese car made for two

I am lolling like a sea-lion in the back

the little car turns the corner too quickly and as

I put my hand out instinctively to stop the roll, it moves into outer-space as the window shatters on the road

laughing from shock as we cross the motorway overbridge

I see the clouds and sky more clearly with no window

and the fresh breeze quickens my slight hysteria

we pull into the large asphalt covered carpark

which on weekends transforms into a busy market place

but now is only populated by tin ghosts on wheels

leaving my friends I head towards the town-centre

where people shop and smile and talk, listen to music

and the aiitu of you is around every corner

sitting in a cafe I order coffee and a roll

in a gravel-syrup voice, thinking Tom Waits for no-one

as another mother joins the endless Post Office queue

Pukapuka Poem #42 - A Penrose Pineapple Michael O'Leary

A Penrose Pineapple

(for David Eggleton)

industrial grey

backgrounds this

red-blue bordered

painting as though

some punk Gaugin

gotta hold of

the notion that

the Pacific Ocean

needed some

sorta expression

for its time and place

industrio-tropical

and a real

Penrose high is

resultant, subject to

flecked fruit

red – yellow – green

zig-zag jagged

edges behind which

lies Christmas Island

Happy New Year

on Mururoa

and the pineapple

is number one fruit

on the menu at

Atomic Café, Tokyo

branch-line to

Onehunga via Te Papapa

bullet train, bomb train

no time (fragmented)

like the present

shunted reality

nuclear free, unclear future

“Bravo! Bravo!” its

the U.S. Marshall Islands

playing in the Pacific basin

and the Penrose pineapple

says enjoy your

full half-life

Pukapuka Poem #41 Untitled - Michael O'Leary

Untitled

looking from the train window

towards Mangere Bridge

between a redundant Southdown

                        freezing works

and long ago re-aligned Otahuhu Station

                                                                                    at sundown

see the beauty of the natural cliffs

                                                                                    of the harbour heads

reflected in the stillness

of the Manukau Harbour

as shades of purple

enhance the land and water

the train pulls southward out of Westfield