2 January 2023
© Rangihīroa Panoho, 2019-2023. No part of this document (text or imagery) is free to be copied, plagiarised or shared for publication or for uses neither intended nor agreed on by the author without his express permission. Details for writing to the author are as follows: blueskypanoho@icloud.com
What is this thing that wakens sleep?
It is the rain
pummelling the surface of my heart
It is the click clacking of mānuka and bracken
this quarry rock road cuts through
It is the thundering of Neptune
one upping the TANGI
of the lone karoro
over Tokerau
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It is the clattering blades of harakeke
lining the river
farewell sentinels
as you casually waft your way
down to the sea
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rangihīroa, what is this thing called, that wakens my sleep…?, sketchbook January 2023
And this river is obedient
It opens to the ocean like a flower
Wind whips round mussel rock gargling at its’ mouth
It drives plankton foam down the beach
Launched towards the moon
Lost cross the dunes of Doubtless Bay
Pocked sand and tumbling spinifex
The ‘hau raki’ stings my cheeks
It smells of salt, fresh kelp and hammered shellfish
hauled up from the depths of Tangaroa.
——————————————-
Wind tears, Te Aurere
Lately you have started to tangi
like the spirit of a loved one
Is it you Hekenukumai?
on your last journey paddling towards Rēinga
a star waka, returning
clearing a path, scattering the sand of Tokerau
over a dozen dunes
——————————————-
And here when this storm subsides
And when the emptiness of dead calm gives way
at night
dazzling shark teeth white begins to pulse up there
In an ocean of black, sparkling
Whetū Mārama calls from the highest heavens:
——————————————-
‘It is time…’
‘Time to sail
time to harness the wind
time to cut a path that bends
through the sea
time for wash to fill the air, to dry the hair and skin
time to watch stars horizon dropping like lost souls
time to fill your kete with wānanga
time to find the seed sown in Rangiātea
time to raise the anchor stones
time to release ropes that moor
time to cut the umbilical cord
time to set the prow to the rising sun
time to raise the hand to the stars
time to kiss the farthest corners of Te Moananui-a-Kiwa
time to awaken
this dream, before it passes’.
Te Aurere.
this poem was written adjacent Tokerau Beach, Muri Whenua, Aotearoa, waiting for the January storm to subside