Kererū dawn

by K.V. Martins

with a whoosh of wings
you spread the seeds of kahikatea
            rimu and nikau

metallic cream-green glimpses
in a forest of shining leaves
            where the korimako chimes

they call you kukupa and kuku -
            native wood pigeon.

Flying with the Crows

by K.V. Martins

Wolf-grey sky

                                interrupted

by a whirlpool of crows

                                dropping

like weightless stones
into fields of light.

Japanese maples, sapling thin
slipper into autumn, clutching

                                red leaves.

Wind taps on windows
with her long fingernails.

Sometimes the old shire stallion shivers
on these peppery-cold mornings

when frost scribbles across
water troughs and streams

he warms himself in a slice of sunshine
hears the thrum of wild hoofbeats

and a flurry of feathers flapping,
now rising in perfect formation
going somewhere -

stained by their blackness as they pass
spiralling and curving, the stallion wonders

what it would be like -

                                  to fly towards the sun.