This message came through from James Croot at The Press on 5.12.15, via James Norcliffe, editor of The Poem in the Press:
"... Just to let you know there's been a decision to discontinue The Poem in The Press. It's mainly due to realignment to be closer to the Dominion Post in terms of layout ..."
I always read the poem in the Press. I shall miss the weekly dose of accessible poetry. Also, publication in a widely circulated paper provided a much appreciated opportunity for aspiring, as well as established writers.
Here are the first poems my partner Heather Matthews and I had published in The Press. I still remember the excitement of opening up the pages to find our poems. It was like being a kid on Christmas morning.
Perhaps there isn’t a homeopathic remedy for this,
For the ache in my heart,
For the pain in my soul,
For the feeling of loss.
No faith healer will ride into this town
To sell a dream
A tonic of truth
A balm to heal my blistered heart
How many pills can I take to ease the pain?
One or a hundred
None of them sugar coated.
My commune with earth
almost always without incident.
The ground below
tap tap tapping
my rubberised soles.
occasionally jump up
when my blood is diluted with gin.
Every once in a while,
Earth throws up a tomato,
turns my tongue sharp
with red dew,
reminds me she is mother of all things,
my ancestors too formed from her flesh.
Just at random, for no reason,
She growls and jerks,
Throws us off balance,
A gentle reminder of the abyss
from which we are drawn.