I am running away

I am going some where,

I have my sleeping bag,

I can sleep under the stars.

I am a big boy,

I am not even afraid of those big black things that go Moo Moo,

For whom does the bell toll?

For whom does the bell toll?

I wrote this post couple of years ago.

I went back to this little cemetary and took a photo of the bell.

The bell is tolling for a little baby who was born on Valentine's day.

The bell is tolling for his mother who had him snatched away from her arms.

The bell is tolling for his aunty who shared this sad news.

The bell is tolling for a little boy who had been afflicted from

a fatal disease from the day he was born.

The bell is tolling for his mum and dad, his grandma and grand dad who had been by his side for five years.

The bell continues to toll, but it seems not right, when it is for little angels.

***I belong to the Campomelic families, where I get sad news about Campomelic children, and the grandma of the 5 year old boy is my very good friend.****

A Mother grieves: Ivoni Fuimaono

A  Mother  grieves for her son.

A Mother grieves for her son she carried in her stomach for nine months.

A Mother grieves for her son she brought up for seventeen years.

A Mother grieves for her son so cruelly stolen her.

A Mother grieves for her son while she is due to give birth any time during the funeral.

A Mother grieves for her son only the way a bereaved mum knows.

My heart grieves for you,  Ivoni Fuimaono as you grieve for Halatau.

May he rest in peace.

Fences

Once upon a time,
There were no fences and no gates.
Neighbours popped in and out,
Children came and went.

Then came a time,
When people wanted privacy,
Neighbours respected that.
Children no longer felt welcomed.

Instead of bridges,
People built fences.
No matter how beautiful they look.
They are still cold hard things.

I am glad I live in a neighbourhood,
Where fences are few and far between.
My neighbour's kid drop in to play.
My son feels equally at home in my neighbour's house.

My Pet Taniwha.

My pet dragon is called Taniwha.
He’s my secret and only I can see him.
He dug a tunnel to my bedroom.
He comes when I call him.

I want to go to bed straight after dinner.
I am really tired, I lied.
When Mum comes in to tuck me in,
I pretend to be fast asleep.

From under my bed, comes Taniwha.
Sometimes we fly across the sky.
Then we dive in the deep blue sea,
In icy caves, I play with Taniwha’s cousins.

We fly across hot erupting volcanoes.
Then Taniwha blows fire out of his nose.
We pay a spooky old castle a visit.
Old Igor serves us frogs’ eyes.

He’s my pet and I love him.
I tell my friends my escapade.
Nobody believes me and calls me a liar.
I don’t care, as long as Taniwha adores me.

***Mural at Balmoral School,
Play area of Auckland Zoo, a good memory of twenty two years ago when D first visited the place.****

Dreams

I wanted to go England,
and be a Beatrice Potter,
and write lots of famous books.

I wanted to go Russia,
and be a bolshoi ballet dancer,
and do piruettes.

I wanted to go France,
and be a Claude Monet,
and be awed for my water lilies.

I wanted to go Japan,
and be a Geisha,
and wear the graceful kimono.

I wanted to go Romania,
and be a Nadia Comaneci,
and be a champion scoring a ten in the Olympics.

I wanted to go Canada,
and be in the Cirque du Soleil,
and be a trapeze artist flying in the air.

"Mum! your food is burning!"

Alas, that charcoal smell vanished my dreams.
I am no where but in my hot kitchen,
wearing my old stained apron.
Serving my boring food to my equally boring husband.

Please, dreams, come back.

Thoughts of mum

With Christmas coming up, and the sermon today on Mary, the mother of Jesus, I think of the other Mary in my life. Mary my Mum. My mum who was taken away so tragically twenty years ago.


You wanted me, you longed for me.
When I was conceived, you cried tears of joy.
You went through nausea, you went through sleepless nights,
When I kicked you and rocked and rolled inside you.
You screamed when I came out of you,
But you forgot all the labor pains
And you went on to have a second, third and fourth child.
You changed countless nappies and baby clothes.
You never chucked in the towel and gave me up.
When I scrapped my knee, and cut my finger,
You felt my pain and kissed the hurt away.
When I was at my first school sports meet,
You cheered and shouted till your voice went hoarse,
“That’s my child! That’s my child!”
When I became a stubborn teenager and stayed beyond my curfew,
You stayed up and waited for me.
You did not scream, “Why are you so late?”
Your silence only made me guilty.
When I brought back boyfriends,
You didn’t say, “He’s not good enough for you.”
You prayed in silence.
On my wedding day, you cried and wiped your tears with your hanky.
You prayed that the man I have chosen would treat me well.
When I became a mother, I became you.
It is a circle, going round and round.
God made mothers, resilient and strong.
God made you. My mother.

Andrew's Funeral

Yesterday, an plane belonging to Air New Zealand crashed in the Mediterranean near Perpignan. A chill shuddered my spine and all New Zealanders. You see, it is exactly the anniversary of the Mount Erebus disaster.

On 28 November 1979 the 14th flight crashed into Mount Erebus, killing all 237 passengers and 20 crewmembers aboard. We, the Kiwis were in shock.

Yesterday's news tugged my heart string. It was a week ago when I marked in silence, the anniverary of my baby Andrew's passing. I once wrote a peom.

Losing a baby is like the culmination of nine months of planning a long holiday.

It was going to be a joyious time of watching the celebrities at the Cannes festival.
Instead without notice, the plane crashes.
You are alone on a Meditteranean island.
You are alone holding your dead child.
For the rest of your life, your life is like a puzzle.
One piece is missing, life will never ne the same again.
If you are lucky, you will have friends to hold your hands.

My Andrew: 29 September - 22 November 1989.

http://groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies/

Moo Moo Moo 2

In New Zealand, there are cows all the place even in the suburbans.

In parks where there are tourists, the local authorities rent out public parks to farmers. The cows eat the grass, the council doesn't have to mow the paddocks. It is a win-win situation.

"Pleack!" lands the cow pat. And if you don't watch your steps, "Yukk!" you step on a warm squishly cow pat.

My friend was a gentleman farmer, his cows were indeed fertilised " by a farmer with a long-sleeved rubber glove" using a frozen straw. His poor calves are separated from their mums and auctioned off. They become choice veal in some high class restaurant. I am not sure if Gordan Ramsay or Jamie Oliver would use them.

Moo Moo Moo

Cows have milk, and man have used this milk for their own consumption. But when some scientist discovered that colostrum is the best thing since sliced bread, that's not right. A friend from Malaysia came to Singapore extolling the goodness of colostrum, and selling it at an exobitant price. I put my foot down and wrote this poem.



Moo Moo Moo
Where is my mum?
I am a bobby calf in New Zealand


Moo Moo Moo
The big two legged creature in gum boots,
removed me before I am weaned.


Moo Moo Moo
My mum looks for me
Some tanker came and took away her first milk which is meant for me.

Boo hoo hoo
I was deprived of my colostrum
I am designated as choice veal in the USA

Boo hoo hoo
I hear Fontera is in trouble,
All for the greed of some men in China.


Colostrum (also known as beestings or first milk or "immune milk") is a form of milk produced by the mammary glands of mammals in late pregnancy and the few days after giving birth.

Effects in infants

Colostrum is high in carbohydrates, protein, and antibodies and low in fat (as human newborns may find fat difficult to digest). Newborns have very small digestive systems, and colostrum delivers its nutrients in a very concentrated low-volume form. It has a mild laxative effect, encouraging the passing of the baby's first stool, which is called meconium. This clears excess bilirubin, a waste product of dead red blood cells which is produced in large quantities at birth due to blood volume reduction, from the infant's body and helps prevent jaundice. In humans and mice, colostrum contains immunoglobulins such as IgA and IgM. IgA will be absorbed through the intestinal epithelial, travel through the blood and will be secreted onto other Type 1 mucosal surfaces. Colostrum also contains a variety of growth factors (IGfs).

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colostrum

God's creation

Now you know why I enjoy the great outdoors.

On a lovely spring day,
The sun is up, the temperature is just right,
not too hot, and not too cold.

The lambs are eating the grass.
The beautiful flowers bloom.
Their scent can be smelt miles away.

The children play,
The laughter you can hear.
The parents relax.

Come, bid the Domain,
Come and bask in the sun.
Come and hear the Tuis sing in the trees.

Lone Kite flyer

Yesterday, November 22nd was my late son, Andrew's anniversary. He would be nineteen but he is a nineteen year old angel.

The water engineer took me for a walk/climb at Mt Roskill extinct volcano.

There was a lone kite flyer.

He was trying in vain to fly his kite.

My heart is as lonely as him.

For who does the strong wind howl?

It howls for my sorrow. It churns in my heart like a tornado.

It howls for all the mums whose babies have been snatched from their wombs.

It howls for all the mums whose children have been snatched from their arms.

Blow wind blow, take the kite up high.

Soar kite soar, take my sorrows up with you.

Howl on, oh wind, despite your anger, you give me comfort.



http://health.groups.yahoo.com/group/campomelicfamilies/

Koru

On Labour day, my husband and I and our twelve year old son headed out west to Bethells beach. The drive is an hour and we had to drive through the windy road to the other side of the Waitakeres.

The sand is black because of the iron, and the surf is strong. The life guards have set out their tsunami equipment just in case the sea gets hungry and swallow up our home like it did to Sri Lanka and Thailand the Boxing day of 2005.

I saw silvery tiny Koru shells basking in the sun and pick them up as teaching aids for my lessons. I teach English to speakers of non English speaking children.

Together, we talked about the Koru. The most famous would be our Silver Fern, the national plant of New Zealand, and our formitable national net ball team.

I asked my kids what the Koru reminds them of, and here are some of the ideas.

The Koru reminds me of:

A graceful ice skater swirling on the spot on one leg.

A beautiful ballerina spinning a pirouette on one spot.

The unusual ethnic logo of a double koru on the an air New Zealand jumbo plane.

A caterpillar curving inside the chrysallis.

Fast whirling helicopter's propeller blades.

A slithery snake as it curls under a rock as it hybernates.

A mad ferocious gigantic tornado zooming across America.

A swishing old fashion washing machine going swish-swoosh.

Mr. Whippy's cold delicious mouth-watering yummy icecream.

A gianormous big black hole whirling in outer space.

A candy floss seller making delicious candy at the county fair.

An armadillo curling up as he hibernates in winter.

A zillion legged millipede after a thunder storm.

A pin-mill I just made, making a whirl whirl sound against the wind.



*Koru is a Maori word for the spiral shape.*