This poem got 2nd place in BayLit which I was really pleased about. I've decided to leave it unchanged with its flaws intact, although in some ways I'd still like to rework it and make it better.
Beneath Te Papa
My knee clicked loudly like an out of time fingersnapper
as I entered Te Papa. A museum, as am I, both hoarding
treasures deep on this day of my birth.
I am 50 today as I descend below Te Papa, the oversized
lift looming around us like an atrium, my socks slip
on the floor. A slow motion ritual fall to our past.
The doors weep quietly aside and I find them along walls.
Taiaha stacked supine, appearing settled yet expectant,
as poised as hungry white herons staring at faint flickers of fish.
They watch as years slide by. Discarded weapons now relics,
longing for a warm hand, the lightest touch of emotion, we were
forged for our time, as useful as a steady pay packet, or an edge.
A weapon-less warrior watching warrior-less weapons.
Te Papa and I are the cave mouth open everyday, and they enter
to see, to touch, to feel - the museum, but not the man.
I also received news that somehow two poems from the blog have been included within brief magazine issue 44-45. The editor of that issue was Scott Hamilton aka Maps from Reading the Maps so I believe I have Scott to thank for my inclusion - Kia ora Scott. I am not sure which poems were selected and I'm awaiting a copy to check - the anticipation is intense, I'm loving it!