Friday, 2 September 2011

The Purple Roses of Gore












When I last visited Gore, in summer at the beginning of this year - which actually seems like a long, long time ago now - I took the above photos of the purple roses they have in the Gardens there.


purple roses of Gore

I lived in Gore back when Flemings Oat Mill 
made porridge, not pet food 
and the middle car parks hadn't been replaced 
with hanging flower baskets and a concrete sheep
and the old library 

with its round, brick walls was still the old library 
and not an art gallery.
Gore has always had points of interest;
streets named after rivers,
a hundred-year old ponderosa pine,

an aviary with a kea and a peacock. 
Gore has two theatres and rugby-coach farmers
with heavy fists getting out of dusty utes to punch
in the number of their parking bay.
It has purple roses.

Kay McKenzie Cooke

2 comments:

Tim Jones said...

That poem is so evocative of Gore, Kay. I like the way a sense of menace rises to the surface, and then falls away, in the last stanza. Thanks for posting it!

Kay McKenzie Cooke said...

Tim - Thank you for the feedback - it's like water to a thirsty soul!! :) Yes, I think I wanted to get across some sort of 'perceived' menace to get back at negative media reports about Gore ... they were particularly mean about Gore about ten years ago and I believe there is a remaining legacy in the minds of NZ'ers re the place (NZ'ers who don't know Gore - like you and I do; it's good points, it's bad points; just like any NZ town really!)

Harbour

Harbour
'how this all harbours light'