Walking in the Rain

Te Ao Hou, July 1973, Page 47

Walking in the Rain It was just the two of us alone, on the Sunday afternoon. We both had leather coats on and long trousers, except his trousers were much longer than mine because they dragged along the ground as we walked. Our hands were clenched tightly together as we strolled along the park. Rain began to fall in a fine powdery mist down over the lake and the bridge we were standing on. The rain settled on his hair and clung onto each strand as though it daren't part from it. Some landed on his black eyebrows and seemed to turn them into a greyish colour, and this made me laugh inside. He seemed to notice my thoughts were about him and asked what amused me so. I told him simply, then a big smirk formed across his face and he said that I looked the same too. We both laughed for a while, but when I kept on about it, he kissed me to stop me saying any more, and next thing I knew we were standing in the pouring rain with our arms about each other. It was a glorious feeling, and how still we stood and stared into each other's eyes. Our hair was drenched and hung down in strands. Rain was running down the whole length of his nose, right to the tip, where it dropped off and spattered down on the lapel of his coat. The pathway through the park was beginning to get slushy so we took care not to slip. Although it was raining quite heavily,

the sun had just managed to peep out from behind a cloud, and it made the park glitter and sparkle. The scenery was stunning as rain dripped from trees into the water and made little whirlpools which seemed to increase in size. The tiny droplets on the leaves were like imaginary crystals and shimmered like diamonds as they reflected the sun. Arm in arm we casually strolled on, absorbing the absolute rich beauty of that day. But that is only a memory now, as I'm at home looking through my window at the rain that dribbles down the glass panel outside. My cheeks are wet — not from the rain — but tears because only he could restore the happiness we shared that particular day. Now he is so many hundreds of miles from me, and when he went, part of me went too. He writes often, and every letter has the words ‘the rain, the park, and missing you dearly’. Only he and I really know what that means, and soon he'll be back, so that again we may renew our memories of the park when we are walking in the rain once more. A poem by another 15-year-old, Jillian Raiha Bennett of Motueka High School. Taniwha With eyes bulging and red he looked at me, His green scaly body flexed, His feet as large as an elephant's stamped the dust, His toes scratched at the dirt and on each toe a claw as sharp as venom, This was the mighty Taniwha His eyes grew redder, anger suppressed within, He opened his mouth and let out a roar, It shook our village and part of it fell, The Taniwha was angry. “Oh Tane you made our earth move, You built our mountains and our streams, You punish us when we are bad, But Oh Tane! What have we done to get this wrath” The Taniwha stood and stretched his great body, The movement made old Tarawera angry — it woke him from his sleep He and the Taniwha wrecked our village, Killed our women and children. Why Tane, oh great Lord! Why did you do this? We have more poems from Annlock Kite, also 15 years old, from Te Kuiti. The Beggar In his prime So small, so sad His clothing is sagged And ragged His eyes are sorrowful And no longer exist As he is partly blind But his handicap Is but a passing pain He moves his feet Beating out the same Rhythm each day His voice is proud With no hint of shame “Money for a poor beggar” He looks at me Three shillings had I only But without reason A tear drops unshamefully Down my face He smiles and says “Many times I have Shed a tear But it gets so that My tears will not shed Again But one day My tears I will shed Not in sorrow But happiness.” He goes on his way Feet beating the same Rhythm His voice echoing “Money for a poor beggar” I run from the scene To hide the pain and

Outlet of tears Because somehow I feel he was my brother And I could not reach Out to help him. Mournful Home There's a vision of you On the window pane I can hear you calling Me in the whispering rain I can see your face Mystically haunting me Your long black hair Is flying so free Why is it I can't Forget you Don't you remember Our love will always be true Why do I still grieve When you're long dead Why is it so true These wasted tears I shed. Cigarettes I light my cigarette And open the booklet On the dangers of Smoking I inhale a couple Of puffs And read on I put my fag aside And read how smoking Is addictive as a drug But unknown to me The cigarette is in my mouth Reading thru all The smoke I see that smoking Can make you very ill So I put it aside again Reading on I see that smoking So many cigarettes A day is very bad indeed Bu without thinking I have finished two fags I push the book aside And get me another book And a bottle of beer And I open the booklet On the dangers of Becoming an alcholic. And lastly … a piece of ‘homework’ written by one of the winners of last year's Ngarimu Essay Competition.