Butchers Creek
From a cloudy parapet I survey wild land
The winds of thoughts choked in my throat
Memories of a year devoid of a hand
Bulls in the heather, a tethered goat
Angel wings are fatal, lavishing praise
A brewing storm, a fresh young face
She wasn't steady whatever the case
I offer my world for patience and grace
But give me the real, and never the fake
Alone I call, and patiently search
To shiver with cold, waiting to break
An alpine seat, I'm still in the lurch
The primus boils timely, I'm thinking of you
But now you are gone, I must follow through.
Snowgrass Flat
Tussocks bend to the will of the wind
A mountainous home to more than a few
Hock deep in snow, forgotten for sin
The chatter of dogs, the curse of the ewe
Weathered by time, the land wears a scar
The bronze of the hillside, aligned in a fan
Striding the slopes, my view reveals far
A rifle in hand, beaten gold mining pan
I'm joined by the kea, together we talk
A friend without vices, wild in flight
My rifle speaks loud, as I was taught
Taunt me with sorrow, high as a kite
Tomorrow I return to the land of the rat
I pray it's not long before I am back.
