PIHA

Sparkling waters,
Sky of blue;
Need a retreat?
Piha's for you.
"Te Wahi Ora"
(A Healing Place)
Time to reflect
In a peaceful space.

Close to nature,
God all around.
The sea, the wind,
Birdsong profound.
The mysterious moon
Keeps watchful eye
From her black velvet bed
In a star-studded sky.

Scudding clouds
Momentarily erase
The ever watchful eyes
of Moon's luminous face.
Foaming white caps
Crash on iron-black sand;
This spiritual place
Cradled in God's hand.
When your body screams "rest"
and "peace" the most,
Go visit Piha
On our northern west coast.

by Yvonne Chandler

NIGHT WATCH

Slowly, silently, now the Moon
Walks the night in her silver shoon.
This way and that
She peers and sees
Foam capped waves
Upon silver seas.

Moon's silver pathway
Out to sea;
Could I but tread it
To eternity?
Thundering surf
Races over the sand
Mysteriously guided
By Moon's silver hand.

Black velvet canopy
Hanging overhead
Cradles twinkling stars
Sharing Moon's dark bed.
The Milky Way
Sparkles bright
Galaxy wonders
Illuminate the night.

Cotton-wool clouds
Caress Moon's face,
As slowly she glides To a far distant place.
Fading to a shadow,
Night's end draws nigh
As Moon sinks low
In the western sky.

The mischievous breeze
Plays teasing games,
Wooing the trees
Whispering their names.
Creatures of the night
Scurry for cover
As Moon fades from sight
Making way for another.

A red-gold fire
Lights eastern skies;
Sun rises once more
To gulls' plaintive cries.
A new day begins
As our great Mother Earth
Delivers once more -
A new day's birth.

by Yvonne Chandler

WINTER GREY

The curve of the beach is alone but for me.
In this bleak winter's storm none stroll by the sea,
But warm in their houses far away
They venture not out to this boisterous bay.

The sky and sea merge grey with the sand,
While cobwebs of mist creep over the land.
No subrays break through to colour the day.
And the wind blows wet with air blown spray.

I force my body against the gale
As sand strikes pain like driving hail.
A gull soars high on white starched wings,
And I breathe the freedom that loneliness brings.

Each wave rolls in with crest held high
Onwards for ever, never to die,
Oblivious of their coming fate -
The snarling rocks that crouch and wait.

The shallowing water always wins
And topples the waves like bowling pins.
Crashing upon the rugged shore
They shatter to foam and are no more.

I hear the fury of the sea,
The surf that breaks incessantly.
But in a pause I catch a sigh,
The pain of waves that slowly die.

Are human hopes like transient waves
That rising high crash to their graves?
And dreams that had a powerful form
lie broken, scattered to the storm.

Joan Monahan