A Poem in Memory of Chairman Mao

The Red Sun
The Red Sun has lit up the universe
Red thoughts burst into eternal brilliance!
Guiding us, oppressed people on this world-
Strengthen us to smash these chains of oppression-
Transorm us into invincible red soliders
Advancing wave upon wave to final victory!

Mao Tse-Tung

weeks of rain, hail pattering windows.
-sun oblique, transitory;
all birds silent in mourning prayer.

800 million stand,
a man has died here.

weeks of rain and national flooding,
-tears are heard sweeping the valley.

"E pa to hau he wini raro

.........

kia tangi atu au i konei."

800 millions and many world-more stand
(amid the pouring constant rain,
the pattering fickle hail,
and moaning lamentation.)

sun oblique, transitory;
beaming all glory upon the simple face of man.
the birds singing chorus to sigh
with 800 millions standing.

we all stand in silence and mourn that man.

Anon.

I Love even you, Evangelists, Singed God

The walk through the
life-rioting spring
with narrow blinkers
the walk is just a step
to afternoon tea
afternoon tea is merely
a time passer till tea
nothing is enjoyed
for its own sake
but only as the means
to ends that are also means....
they bargain their stunted
lives (lived according to the golden rules)
for life eternal
heaven on earch
is not for them
life is hell
a series of temptations
resisted until
the senses fail no more
their winds
have their wings clipped
they peck at crumbs
and never see the sky
never ask why oh why
never realise God is
dead for them
because God is life
and they have doused
that spark within
with blinding ignorance
so conditioned that
their choice between
right and wrong
their free will - god-given
is destroyed
only one side is seen
that which has always been
and always will be
because of them.

- Rosalie Webster

Kitten

A stranger wanders through the household
Grinning and yawning; crystal eyeballs
Plead for explanations;
He sends body in advance,
A clumsy gait-sprawling
Over armchairs, books, complacent thighs;
Clubs at blowflies, wipes his nose
Across your arm, then cries for attention.
Wriggle, won't you, puddle
Down this harmless wilderness
Where wind and blinding rain are only
Children playing games;
Wallop down the hallway-
Arching back and crook of

Tail, skid round the corner:
A mythical beast has hatched,
Quite suddenly, from under the bed.

- Stephen Sinclair

Rangataua

(for Rachel)

Johnson and his slide guitar
-Throat sobs and scratchy finger picking
As a freight train passes through the town.
The cold air bites my lip.

Through an open door, the mountain,
Grass as pale as an old man's beard.
I can sit and watch the sun rise
As the girls are brewing tea.

— Stephen Sinclair