From Six Great Barrier Elegies: 4. On Medlands Quay Poem by Rob Dyer

Who visits the old tin boatshed, now that the fish are gone?
the runway broken, in the storm of '69, they say,
the pulley rusted, one boat done for, the other -
I boot it, feels sound enough, just needs paint and use.
There was once a quay here, traffic of ships and men.

But there are no fish in Oruawharo Bay.
The big trawler, bought on Government loan, came by
and cleaned out what there were two weeks ago.
Here Martin of Tours and all the ghosts of unredeemed men
come as tourists to cover their pale skin with summer tan.
What do they care why the shed is derelict?
'Fish come from fish shops, filleted, headless, gutless.
Who cares how they grow? They must grow somewhere.
How silly! Otherwise we wouldn't have any to eat! '

Up in the rua wharo on the cliff line, staring seaward,
the old canoe captains rattle their skeletons patiently,
whispering to each other at night in soft vowels scarce heard
through the mewing of the petrels cosseted in their bones.
They have foreseen that these proud shades would enter the Bay,
for the killing of the innocent and the broken tapu.
They have come back from the descent at Te Reinga-o-te-kuku,
and wait for the cycle to be renewed before they leap
upwards at Whakaaea-a-Rangi on course to Rangiatea.
The tangata porowha came greedy as locusts, tearing the forest,
ravaging the hills, emptying the seas, with guns as Gift.
They are the rushing people, their words hissing
like storm showers kissing the raupo huts at night.
Tane, Tu, Rongotai wait till the avari-a-Tawhiti pass by,
the tears of Ranginui are dry, and the sky is blue.
Sooner or later Dukes Guido and Publius, circling the pa-paths
on Sugarloaf, will be settled in Paradise or Hell.
They will ebb like a spring tide after the Easterly dies,
when the grass is gone like the fish, the butter piles rancid,
the banks have foreclosed the mortgage, auctioned the shed.
The canoe captains watch the signs, gorse, kikuyu, greenweed,
and chuckle, for the tapu of Oruawharo will not be broken
forever, the burial grounds will be given back to Tiwakawaka,
the daughters of Zion return to the marae.

They are very patient, those old sailors.
How else could they sail the far oceans, suspended
between Hawaiki and Aotea like the heart between lovers?
Still they map the galaxies for the longest voyage,
when the fish come back and the Matariki shine bright.