A search for poetry on a Friday night. Inspired by V

Thanks v-grrrl.

There's something incredibly mellow about searching for poetry written by writers back home in New Zealand ... poetry that captures something I recognise or miss or simply love.

Waitakere Rain
Ernest Hemingway found rain to be
made of knowledge, experience
wine oil salt vinegar quince
bed early mornings nights days the sea
men women dogs hill and rich valley
the appearance and disappearance of sense
or trains on curved and straight tracks, hence
love honour and dishonour, a scent of infinity.
In my city the rain you get
is made of massive kauri trees, the call of forest birds
howling dark oceans and mangroved creeks.
I taste constancy, memory and yet
there’s the watery departure of words
from the thunder-black sand at Te Henga Beach.
Paula Green

When I reached In my city ... the poet truly won me over. She's describing one type of New Zealand rain in a specific place.

I love that about home - the rain in Tautuku is different to the rain in Abel Tasman National Park. The rain in Fiordland thunders down on tin roofs while in other places it was gentler, smelt different and yet it still felt like a cousin of all the other rains I've known in different New Zealand places.

So I loved this poem for the journey of remembering it took me on ...