Rescued by a pineapple

The voices of things-to-do
swarm like hornets inside
my head. A swirling eddy
trying to pull me in like
yelping, pesky puppies
piping ‘me-me-me-first’.

Outside the window, light
slides off the surfaces of
leaves like giddy, satiated
lovers. The trees nod in
farewell. As the tui sings
sonorous sonnets to spring.

So, I cut up a pineapple.
From Thailand. In pique.
Tropical sun escapes from
prickly skin in yellow-hued
fragrance pressing warm
against my fingers. As the
knife cuts through the fruit
cells burst in choruses of
lusciousness that trickle
and flow. Sparkly light
turning to golden honey.

Out comes the crystal plate
meant for festive occasions.
I place the discs of the sun
each glowing soft-haloed.

And bite into golden dawns
damp with the smell of
rich earth. The humid air
redolent with the sound
of bees. My brain flooding
with a million impulses of joy.
There is nothing else to do
but celebrate the now.


New Year station


It seems to me
on this train ride called life
every New Year arrives
steaming and station-like

I first feel it from a distance
rushing towards me
gleaming with untold promise
my skin prickly with anticipation

my heart weighed down
by a strangely unexpected sorrow
realising suddenly that
the moments had slipped past me
unnoticed, like the landscape
had rushed past in a blur
that could hardly be called life

and then, it is here
this station so optimistically
and bravely called New Year
with its brightly lit pause
of cacophony and celebration
its perilous air of adventure
its heady attraction of journey

in its steamy air of forgetfulness
I quickly disembark regrets
embrace in welcome
oncoming hopes and remap
my course for a destination
that resolutely stays unknown

as I chug off into landscapes
unexplored, my compass uncertain
I wonder about storms
now sleeping in the mist
and dreams that taste of tomorrow
and if the next New Year
will find a new, improved me
or find me at all.