gannet-ink

It’s a huge and happy surprise to find out one of my old poems with a cricket reference in just one stanza was selected for Catching the Light: A New Anthology of Cricket Poems (Ed. Nicholas Hogg and Tim Beard, Fairfield Books, 2026).

I’m grateful to Mark Pirie, who first published ‘How does your sun?’ in his Aotearoa anthology, A Tingling Catch: A Century of NZ Cricket Poems 1864-2009 (HeadworX, 2010).

Mark writes about the new anthology in his blog, which mentions other New Zealand poets in the book too. Crazy absurd shame that poems by uber-expert cricket poets like Harry Ricketts and Brian Turner aren’t in there!

How does your sun?

In Alison Holst’s sunset
the sea creams like butter
wind serrates the shallows
on the earth’s warm crust

For Daniel Vettori, the sun
dips over a shimmering pitch
knocks out distant island stumps
spins on towards the clouds

As the sun sets for Mel Gibson
Barocca slips into blue Tequila
fizzes like a wave retreating
the night devoid of stars

My sun is a broken speed limit
cycling down Paekākāriki Hill
a red disc burning up the town
plunging into the rapturous sea.

***************************************

It’s such a nice feeling to slip back into poetry mode at the start of the spring school holidays… no marking for a change (smashed it all in the last fortnight!). I have a full-length manuscript from my Master of Creative Writing to finally / finely sculpt and submit!

Poetry Shelf Breathing Room: Opoutere Nest Song by Bill Manhire

I moved to Whangamata in the winter of 1996, when this new-to-me Bill Manhire poem was published. It makes me pine a bit for the time when I would cycle the 20kms up to Opoutere, walk around the flats at low tide and swim, or visit Rosemary, who was a DoC volunteer, reminding visitors and their dogs to stay away from the dotterel cordons – let the little wisps whistle up and nest. Wow, we had some good kayaking adventures too. Then I’d cycle home, at my fittest. 😍

A poem published in Poetry New Zealand Yearbook (2022) that should have been in my chapbook but I completely forgot about it! D’oh. If anyone can remind me of the name of this form where the last word of the second and third lines contains a variation on that of the first line, please get in touch! (I think it’s more of a modern than traditional idea?).

Feeding station

After a time, the gathering birds of various kinds elide
their vowels completely. This morning, the tūī lied 
when it sang chloris chloris and then conk-la-ree – I’d

not be surprised to see the white wattle vibe with the clack
of westerly worried flax on the cold eroding dune. There is no lack
of wind-fallen, knife-pared fruit for the waxeye’s rump up apple ac-

robatics. Greenfinch, blackbird, dunnock, thrush come ravenous
through July while I feast and strain to stay fit, softly venous
in the mirror with my free weights and yogic nous - 

O, sinuous memories of summer grass and berry tongue,
grazing friends toasting in the sun like even-toed ung-
ulates in bare hoof and hemp feather hair. Raise your glass to ngā

uruora, the groves of life. Usher the Symbiocene in its nascent 
stages: seeds and suet set in a lemon cup for the ascent
of bird. Gardeners of the ‘burbs – feed this crowning scent.

Published by Walleah Press, Tasmania (2025)

“A stoic recovery of disordered seasons speaks of quietude and contemplation, both within stillness and in movement. This is a beautifully generous bunch of poems that makes time for meditative close-ups, for remembering and seeing. Nicola has such an enviable control on the page. She is a poet of place as much as memory. Her eye and her ear are as finely attuned as it’s possible for a poet’s to be.”

• Hinemoana Baker (author of mātuhi needle, kōiwi kōiwi bone bone, waha mouth, and funkhaus).

“…such a deft, delicate touch that’s also sensual while packing a punch here and there. I felt as if I was experiencing synesthesia – smelling and tasting visual metaphors etc. An encompassing experience.” 

• Serie Barford (author of Plea to the Spanish Lady (Hard Echo Press, 1985), Glass Canisters (Hard Echo Press, 1989), Tapa Talk (Huia, 2007), Entangled Islands (Anahera Press, 2015), Sleeping with Stones (Anahera Press, 2021) and Standing on my Shadow (Anahera Press, 2025).

Please email me for a copy: nicolaeasthopeful@gmail.com – $25 including shipping within Aotearoa. For overseas orders, please purchase direct from Walleah Press.

An exciting new lit event that “celebrates the people, stories and places of Kāpiti. The festival aims to showcase our rich creative diversity and includes stories and writing for all kinds of readers, writers and storytellers.”

I’ll be away celebrating Al’s 55th b’day that weekend but encourage you to get along!

Here’s the amazing looking programme.

Ngā mihinui ki a Kirsten, Cerid and Keryn for organising this!

Poems on Poetry Shelf: Gaza by Bill Manhire

Two of my short poems were published in January this year – first time in Shot Glass Journal for me. Great to see Muse Pie Press is on BlueSky now @musepiepress.bsky.social . I left the Metaverse and am occasionally to be found micro-ranting @neasthope.bsky.social xx

I recently had the pleasure of speaking with local published and performance poet, Ingrid Prosser, for her Kāpiti Poets podcast series.

Here’s our half-hour chat (includes readings of 3 poems)

And here’s a link to the whole series – some seriously interesting and talented locals on this stretch of land and sea!

Competition News

Last month, I was stoked to be longlisted for The Monica Taylor Poetry Prize, judged by multitalented writer and pediatrician, Renee Liang 梁文蔚. Here’s the fantastic winning poem and Renee’s report: https://www.takahe.org.nz/the-old-man-and-the-tree/

Some friends have asked to read my poem, so here it is. I’m still not happy with the ending – think it’s probably overdone and needs undoing or reworking as a question rather than a statement. Endings are often where my poems lose their energy!

This poem was not written by AI 

I remember the thundering, the air filled
with a gathering pace—hooves, tussock, volcanic dust. 
The mountains cloaked for a moment as the plateau shuddered 
with the muscle of horses. Streaks of colour like the flanks of the Desert Road: 
chestnut, dark brown, dun, bay, strawberry roan. Out of this herd sentience, a stallion 
slowed and reared (of course he reared), 
screamed. I remember the girl 

in love with her mind, her pencils of graphite and pigment,
her pack of twelve for colouring in, baking paper cellotaped to the window.
A wildness formed as she traced him neat from a torn up magazine.
And she knew her horses—the points and shades of them, their gaits
and ailments, how to ride. Though there was no money for her own,
she had her lessons, she had her poem. Mustang. She tamed it real
and rode it bareback into class. With the force of horses in her trembling 
body, she gave it to her teacher. A week later, it was returned—Original? 
in red. There was no way to prove it and nothing more to be said.

Take away I remember and that’s about as close
as I can get. There was the tearing to pieces,
the stuffing in the bin. My child, faceful
of thunder—tell your teacher—
saddle up, we know where this is leading.

I am very grateful to Poet Laureate Chris Tse for publishing a new poem on The Spinoff last Friday. ‘Some boys’ was inspired by rereading my teen diaries and as I explained to my daughter and partner, not all the boys applied to me (but guess which one/s did, haha!). “Very good”, said Savannah.

https://thespinoff.co.nz/books/21-06-2024/the-friday-poem-some-boys-by-nicola-easthope