January 2002
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DOWNS

Once someone brought 
to our class

a storm-stressed penguin
in a cardboard box

it stood bewildered.

  *

Down is a word for the 
tender beard of a young man 

or for the soft 
under-feathers of a bird 

that keep it warm while
plunging in sub-zero seas.

  *

At your age I first 
travelled north

the train slipped between 
waves of velvety hills. 

Down is a word for a mood,
and you descend 

like a penguin 
hold your breath

and rise again. 
 



 

PACIFIC STREET, DUNEDIN

The fresh wind assists you 
to a street with waves in it.

You cling to a handrail
by high-pooped villas 
sailing down a green swell.

The gale rips the last
rags off proud trees and
tears through the Town Belt

whirls to warehouses
where two cranes angle 
at a white flocked harbour

skips the skinny
isthmus to expand 
in the blue 
Pacific.
 


(c) Barbara Strang.  All Rights Reserved.

Barbara Strang was born and brought up in Invercargill, and spent formative time in Dunedin. She now lives at Sumner, where she writes poetry and other things, and occasionally gets published.