Whaitiri Tua-Warbrick
Page Paepae // Page Courtship
If you’re coming in, make some damn noise. Stomp down the welcome mat, off your shoes,
your socks. Mark my white door with more dark marks: hair dye, charcoal, ash. Make an
impact on the wood. Rattle the doorknob sabre-like. Own the challenge you bring. Know the
presence you are,
’cause if you’re coming — bringing glasses for the view, a pen and pad for the record — you
better remember your voice for the karanga. Whare loves a bit of witty repartee. Coat the
walls with your heavy spectre. Leave some you for the story of us. Bring spittle. Bring a
question. Bring ten. Give whare what you are and she’ll give you what’s us. She’ll open up
the crèches growing my dirt and the folds sprouting my love in the sodium light. This is a
humid affair we are in; the intimate collaboration of mutual observation.
So before you cross the fore, be open with us. Make a living with us. We’re in the raise of
the curtain now and your knowing light will sear us. Don’t flinch and we won’t with you.
We’re giving it all up for you. We’re always bare. Always baring it all.
brotha squall
after Ben Brown
you followed me down from the crook of the EBOP brothaaaaa, speeding past the highest
boughs of the Cape brothaaaaa, bringing the lash of the cruel tear brothaaaaa, bringing the
bash of distant father brothaaaaa.
’s a violence being passed down from him to us brothaaaaa, that you’re passing down to me
brothaaaaaa, that I’m giving right back to you brothaaaaa; thrusting my ’brolly up into
your guts brothaaaaa,
love brothaaaaa. love my ’lectrics more than you brothaaaaa, but y’love to
scour more than make love brothaaaaa, so whats the difference between cyclones and
playfights brothaaaaa, got a fucken eye problem brothaaaaa?
aren’t you loving the rising seas brothaaaaa, the deepening climate crisis brothaaaaa, those
politicians bringing you on brothaaaa, cor they’re in their suits brothaaaaa. they say
manners maketh man but you’re more man than them brothaaaaa, hearty brothaaaaa,
heated brothaaaaa, god.
fuck, brotha.
bash me brothaaaaa, bowl me brothaaaaa, over like I’ve been, like you’ve been, like we’ve
all been brothaaaaa, ake ake ake brothaaaaa. but the muscles ache so much brothaaaaa,
how much longer we gonna ache for each other brothaaaaa, when did this become the only
language we speak brothaaaaa,
bash me brothaaaaa, love me brothaaaaa,
bash me brothaaaaa, love me brothaaaaa,
bash me brothaaaaa, love me brothaaaaa,
bash me brothaaaaa.
Whaitiri Tua-Warbrick (Rāngitane / Ngāti Raukawa) is a poet who lives in Palmerston North and is a multi-modal, omnipresent librarian. He writes poetry when he’s not out walking and trying to be a person. You can find his work in Landfall, Starling, Bloodbath, Best New Zealand Poems and @maoribytheriver.