#55: Rusty’s Buai Stains and Pineapples

A family goes to a popular community market in Cairns. We explore a particular event through their eyes and see their relationships. 

Continue reading “#55: Rusty’s Buai Stains and Pineapples”

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#48 – Music- Homebrew Crew Sundae Sessions

I first came across  the members of the Homebrew Crew jamming at some random bar in Auckland’s Queen Street many (many) moons ago when they had another concept ensemble called @peace (seriously dope sound). Naturally, the music and their flow appealed to me and has left an impression ever since. Close to a decade later, I still find myself scavenging through the halls of Youtube to pick out their sounds.

This is one particular session I come back to time and time again. A live recording at the Red Bull Studios in Auckland called the ‘Sundae Sessions’. The lyrics are loaded but it goes well hand in hand with a beer on a Sunday afternoon.

Enjoy the listening.

 

Just for the record – I highly rate underground Kiwi Hip Hop. I don’t rate underground Australian Hip Hop sound though, I’ve always found the annoyingly too accent heavy. Not that there is anything wrong with that, it’s just a personal preference.

 

 

#47- Missing pieces of home

In the end,
we all come back
In search
of our missing pieces

– It taunts us every day.

Our bedroom mirrors
Take peace from us.
Reminding us,
That there is another world 

-Inside of us 

We are still looking.

Never quite seen.
Scattered shards
Across foreign lands.

– We are hidden,

In distant lands,
Between what you want to see
And what we let you see.

We see what we remember,
But we forget too. 

So I carry a bilas bilum
And she wears a meri blouse.
Seeking approval from the mirror
Before we head to the day:

 Maski, yu wait meri pinis.
Maski, yu wait man pinis.

Our bedroom mirrors
Are missing pieces.
Reflecting what’s missing
Inside of us.

It takes the peace from us,
Leaving us anxious
For home.

– Hans Lee

Where I wrote this….

Continue reading “#47- Missing pieces of home”

#45 Memories of a city in the Far North

I watch dusk descending
before a mountainous silhouette
casting shadow upon shadows-
a reprieve from summer sweat.

A city flickers on.
In tune – a deft chorus.
Homes light up. Car lights on.
Street lights up. Guide lights on.
And lights
illuminating
the rust-stained sky,
glimmer into the evening
under a sea full of stars.

Or more like cane fields alit
Emanating too much heat.
Twinkling ambers into the dark-
nest-ling the now auburn sky.
But this is the wrong time of the year
in the city in the Far North.

And I,
Am feeling soo hot
Like I need water.
I am Aquarius in January
Though unable to bear
35 degrees
85 per cent
humidity.

Empathising with
the low
glancing over
coral seas.
Another southbound traveler’s passing nod.
As if warned:
“Avoid the summers in the north”.

These are memories of a city in the Far North.

And I am fanning
trickling sweat
breaking between
temp’l and brow.

Awaiting an evening concert.
No sudden moves.
Stillness.
Listen.

In my
slow
swaying ham’mock
a broken met’ronome
forgets time.
The rhythm to a
cacophonous evening choir in the bushes.

Flying fox screaches
to-ambient mosquito hums
interject cicada cries
to cane toad drums.
A slither in the grass
sounds a curlew panic.
A flutter in the branches
Takes off into the darkness.

The soundtrack of
summer nights flickering
from my verandah.

And it is still hot.

This is the city in the Far North.
Waiting for the winds to change,
for long summers to end.
For days below 25 degrees.

For palms to bristle
in the breeze.
To cool the space
between temp’l and brow.
To give me reason to rise
from the sway of my hammock.

But for right now,
It is early evening.
It is the mid of summer
It is the city in the Far North.

 

-by Hans Lee