Tag Archives: poem

Northeasterly

leaves

Northeasterly

The windows rattle.

Outside, the lawn is mottled with smashed leaves
from the cottonwood.
Flax pods heavy with rain thud against each other.
A tui clings for dear life, and is whisked away.

The Northeasterly is not kind to my garden.
Branches snap, flowers shred,
hens scatter.

It passes through the mosquito mesh.
Invisible fingers lift the tapa cloth off the wall
then let if fall.
I’m reminded of Nalauaki.

Torrential rain is its companion.
Waves break against the stainless steel flue.
A million tiny coral flecks rattling with shells.

It’s been so long since it’s been windy.
I’d almost forgotten.

Jane Percival, March 2016

 

All is Quiet

misty


Kaipara Winter’s Morning

All is quiet when the mist seeps in
to hold the land close in its selfish embrace.

The twiggy branches of the gingko are decked
with the clever webs of orb-web spiders.
They shimmer in the slightest breeze.

The bright green grass glistens with dew
and my steps form wet hollows.

In the orchard, a tahou hops and flits
on lichen-encrusted bough.
His breakfast a selection of tiny insects.

Jane Percival, July 2015

Flotsam and Jetsam

Yasawa Haiku

shells_02
Shells and coral, collected from the beach

I’ve spent the past week in the Yasawa Islands, Fiji, escaping from the wintry blast that has been afflicting South Head.

I’d originally planned to take my laptop and work on a couple of stories while we were away, but in the end, decided to leave work behind.

I was certain I’d write something while I was there, but I have to admit that I struggled for inspiration, only managing a handful of haiku.

Hermit crab

Tiny hermit crab
scoots along glimmering sand.
It sees me and stops.

iridescent waves...

Iridescent waves
paint a clean line in the sand.
Caramel to cream.

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I see the sun’s rays
push against the comb-like palms.
Grey stripes on the sand.

stripes

Winter

pomegranate

June

The pomegranates we hoped to sample have burst.
Firmly secured to their bare branches,
they are still too high for us to reach.

Corpulent macadamia pods fatten ‘on the vine’.
Smooth brown nuts in moss green shells,
each day I gather them from the ground.

The last feijoas lie scattered, rotting away on the soggy earth.
More than one hundred have passed my lips this year.
They still taste sweet.

Across the road, black and white cows munch away on green grass;
One or two have lain down in the sun.
Beyond, the Kaipara is soft in shades of blue and grey.

Yesterday at dusk I heard the chirping of a cricket,
then a cold wind chased me indoors.
Surely June is too late for a cricket’s cry.

Jane Percival, 2015

Ode to a Prickly Gherkin and other tales

Rain was forecast for this morning, but it bypassed South Head altogether. I had decided to water the flower garden at dusk last night, which proved a sensible choice. There are clouds scooting across the sky as I write, and out the window I can see the neighbour across the road riding his farm bike across the paddock. There were black and white cows there last night, but they’ve moved on today.

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We had an unwelcome visitor this morning, in the form of a wild rabbit. Not that a pet rabbit would be any more welcome. I’ve seen him a few times lately and hope that he doesn’t make a habit of visiting us, or of bringing his extended family with him!

Outside I can hear ‘kihikihi-wawā’ cicadas (Amphipsalta zealandica), named for their loud chorus in the summer months. And there is a new tui hanging around – I’ll call her a ‘she’ although she could just as well be a male. She sings with just the one repetitive call – a sort of sharp ‘qweel’ sound with the first note dropping off to a lower note, not unlike the sound of a squeaking gate. She started calling this morning at around 5.30 am, right outside the bedroom window. I wonder if she’s looking for a mate as she is usually alone, which is uncommon for the tuis around here. She looks too fat to be a juvenile bird.

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On my garden ’rounds’ this afternoon, I spotted a couple of monarch butterflies, coupling on the grass. Then they actually flew away (not sure how), soaring upwards and disappearing over the top of the trees. High on love, I guess.

When I got to the pumpkin patch I was distraught to discover that the hens had scratched up some of our freshly-sprouted melon seedlings. The baby plants had been fenced-in with sturdy sticks, but these had been knocked down, and all that remains is a dusty hollow amongst the wood-chips. The hens are such little monkeys! I had to physically remove Lottie three times or she’d have destroyed several runners on the gherkin vine.

Just the one gherkin ready today, but many more on the way. I know that once they really start ripening I’ll be busy pickling every other day.

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The best remaining plums are either on the other side of the southern fence or at the top of the tree, so we walked around to the back paddock with a ladder to collect a bowl full. Ben will make a plum cake this evening for dessert.

I searched on the internet last night to see if I could find a stockist in New Zealand of electric water bath preservers, but without success. This seems to me the perfect appliance, with all our fruit and vegetables and just the two of us here.

I can smell the plum cake cooking. Yum!

And here come’s my mojito! Time to finish. 🙂

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Ode to a Prickly Gherkin (Hei kīnaki mō te kōrero ki runga)

It lay in wait,
Under lush and scratchy leaves,
Growing from stretching vines,
The curling tips of which reach in all directions,
Towards the sunlight and up and over the old tree stump.
In and out of lush soil and wood-chips,
The tendrils strong enough to forge ahead
Through any obstacle.

It lay in wait,
A fat spiky chrysalis,
Hanging from a woven flax thread,
The flowering tip long dried up,
The skin striped sage and mint green,
Not moving,
Fattening beneath the shelter
Of its mother leaves.

Until I picked it.

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Simple Plum Cake

(Serves 12)

150 grams castor sugar
115 grams softened butter
140 grams plain flour
1 teaspoon baking powder
2 fresh free-range eggs
1 pinch salt
12 freshly-picked plums, pitted and halved
1 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1-2 tablespoons caster sugar, for sprinkling

Preheat oven to 180 C

Beat sugar and butter until fluffy. Mix baking powder with flour and sift into creamed mixture. Beat in eggs and salt. Mix everything well.

Pour mixture into a large greased baking dish and smooth out with a palette knife. The mixture should be about 2-2.5 cm deep. Top with the 24 plum halves, alternate with cut side up. Then sprinkle with the sugar/cinnamon mixture.

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Bake in a pre-heated oven on the lowest shelf for about 45 minutes, or until a skewer comes out clean. Cool to room temperature or serve warm.

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This recipe has been adapted from the Easy Plum Cake recipe at: http://allrecipes.co.uk/recipe/17476/easy-plum-cake.aspx

It is simple and really delicious. It works just as well with frozen plums, which is why we’ve been freezing so many plum halves over the past few days.