18 - Birthday Poems
A Birthday poem.
18 / eighteen
I remember it,
Or not so much.
I was a tad tired,
Depressed it turned out.
An over achiever running aground,
Stalled - before sailing
To healthier shores.
I got 7 As anyway.
18 / one then eight
I think of you everyday,
Or rather I try not to.
Surely I cannot speak -
You are too far off, out of reach -
Out of speech.
My bravado carries me in company
Much like now.
18 / Ten and eight
A year of transition,
From here to there.
Tamati Makaurau - A wrenching away.
Otautahi - A moving toward.
I stand up in my own skin,
sit down in yours.
Breath out -
Tehei Mauri ora!
18 / tekau mā waru
I fold into you,
Leaning into this offshore breeze.
Warming my spirit.
The glow of truth chimes,
Returning me to my insides.
You are my place to stand.
Hau kāinga - Ihu Karaiti -
A poem by Amber Suckling
Space—muted, subtly, by the
congregation of people, the softness
of the air, and the presence of
holiness. A blanket, a cocoon, a hut
on a hill for the weary to rest. A
yellow hazy glow, the breath of
inspiration. A vibration through ribs
and throats and lungs that both
screams and whispers praise at the
same time, causing no conflict but
the collision of a human heart with
the heart of God.
The divine hand holding mine when I
can no longer stand on my own two
feet. And where do I meet her? It is
here, on this worn carpet. At this
altar. On these seats—mine two
rows back from the front on the left
side—that's your left not mine. But I
don't own it, I just occupy it more
often then not because I am a
creature of habit.
These faces, the faces of family, and
though I do not know all the names I
share a commonality with them. We
are all aware, all seeking, all
wrestling, all loving, all breathing in
We call it—this place, this square of
holy ground—Edge. And we return
here, pilgrims, every week, thirsty.
We leave here, pilgrims, every week,
quenched. We stretch out our
hands, we stain our cheeks with
tears, we speak, we listen, we stop
for a moment and regain composure.
And we are better for it.
Into the future we speak resonance.
And it echoes into my life and yours.
This place where I rest my head,
plant my feet, sow my seed and
reap. It will be here that the lost find
home, it will be here that voices
swell until the walls cannot contain
the sound—taste and see that the
Lord is good.
And we will be better for it.