All Along
the Dark Avenues
of the Soul
Poems
by
Christina Conrad
Copyright © 2001
to my beloved children
miro
paola
krishna
julius
&
to stoneking
who has nurtured me
screamed at me
housed me
hated me
loved me
and to every living creature
though they cleaved there was no way out
locked in finely wrought cages
hideously secured
by the power of millions
timing the race of humanity
in its bruised visage
from the gold lickers
Table of Contents
all along the dark avenues of the soul 1
high walled tomb 2
Agonys claw 3
manacles 5
mandala baskets 6
long sharp type of stick 8
rams 9
speak not in frozen tongue 10
hydrangea 11
glass mountain 12
eskimo baby 15
black knickers 16
coat 17
moving water 18
wrapped stoats 20
hunted beast 22
cracked knobs 23
paolo moses 24
death of paolo moses 25
half moon bay 26
room with black stove 27
white bird 28
black shoes in bed 29
last song 30
fox glove poem 31
the wairau massacre 32
2 thin arms of black wool 33
two pear trees 36
above darkness 37
end of a relationship 38
in a room of women 39
hollow egg 40
the room 41
2 black roosters 42
i tie your black hair with cerulean wool 45
vaginas like watermelons 46
stone image 47
crossed loaves 48
song of a wandering bride 49
song 50
swollen mattress 51
sacred logs 53
fallen moon 54
holey tub 56
shining cockroaches 58
viced in humps 60
the struggle to birth an idea 62
christmas eve night 68
flesh of my heart 70
black cross 71
bear 72
last day of august 73
good friday 74
blue ape 75
white tower 76
melbourne cup day 77
eclipse 79
letter to stoneking 80
viper 82
sienas thighs 83
ego 84
doom prepares to give birth 85
one track mind 86
memories of a vegetarian 87
mexico 88
rubber ear plugs 90
old tree 91
elephants teeth 92
the spot healer 93
sweet almonds 95
glutinous bag 96
rodently nibbled 97
spotted noose 98
straw broom 99
box 100
stonekings birthday 101
ruby eyed moths 102
poem for two voices 103
cerebral trimmings 105
seed rattle 106
badger in spectacles 107
turquoise egg 108
buttons 109
spray gun 110
letter to miro 111
black roses 112
fan 113
white coral cunt 114
love 116
folded dove 117
pink melon 118
conceit 119
lick your false pearls 120
the gold lickers 121
all along the dark avenues of the soul
all along the dark avenues of the soul
you are the one
the one who lays the ghosts
all along the dark avenues of the soul
you plant thorn trees
to commemorate the dead
you are the one
the one who binds the bodies
in labyrinth
after labyrinth
you wander
you are the one
the one who anoints
the one who binds the bodies
all along the dark avenues of the soul
[new york, 2000]
high walled tomb
i dreamed i was floating
in my mothers high walled tomb
the silver cord lay coiled
on the eve of life
i dreamed i crouched within a circle of stones
i dreamed the sun fell into the circle of stones
i dreamed the sun took me
i dreamed i was floating
in my mothers high walled tomb
the silver cord lay coiled
on the eve of life
i dreamed the moon entered me
i lay in a black coffin
its high carved back
the helm of a ship
a blood red wave covered the coffin
[new york, 1999]
Agonys
claw
in the mirror
my mothers
face
on
mine
ancestral
face
totemic
face
stares
into
the silver ice
of
mirrors
thrall
ah! tear it off
tear it off
mask
face
my
mothers
face
pressing close
pressing close
until
one
mask
one
mask
in the mirror
my mothers
face
on
mine
staring
into
the silver ice
of
mirrors
thrall
blood
mask
ash
mask
black
hood
of
ancestors
jungle
tear it off
tear it off
manacles
everything was spinning
everything was made
of particles of light.
it was always there the eye
in its bloody socket saw thru
that which was solidly presented
my lover Obsession & his brother Torment
took me at an early age
a cloak of gleaming stuff hung around my vehicles
blood red rivers ran down my arms
bloody manacles bound my wrists
goading me into a vortex of incoherence
i fell to the floor
screaming
slamming my head
the family gathered to view the spectacle
whispering loudly
in
judgement
i got migraines
my sister said i was weak in the head
the bit in the center of my head
was soft
my head possessed a lid
my eye blew up into a bubble
everything possessed a double
casting gigantic shadows in the torture chamber
of my mind
i could not learn
i could not understand what they were talking about
knowledge possessed a dangerous sound
i made no attempt to decipher
mandala baskets
in late childhood
i pissed
into baskets
i tried to mop the piss up
with balls of cotton
fearful as flood raged
the mandala baskets
could not hold it
long sharp type of stick
when i was 7
i
sat
on
a long sharp type of stick
long sharp type of stick
thrusting
up
out of
dark earth
long sharp type of stick
penetrating
skin
hiding
entrance
to
labyrinth
skin penetrated
by
long sharp type of stick
alone
in
gone
to
seed
garden
i
lost
this skin
i was 16
when
i
was
taken
by
a
man
ah! ah!
stick was sharp
skin
that
hid
entrance
to
labyrinth
gone
man
cheated
by
long sharp type of stick
said
i
was
not
virgin
ah! ah!
stick was sharp
he
left
me
for
another
moaning
to her
i
was
not
virgin
ah! ah!
stick was sharp
he
kept
my
photograph
in her
cutlery
drawer
rams
i am thinking of the rams
on my mothers vegetable dish
fanatical eyes staring out
the dish white and unchanging
my mother rising above it
a caged bird
speak not in frozen tongue
speak not in frozen tongue
of the lost child
of the slow stultified
bong
of hearts dread
minds
tearing torrents
speak not in frozen tongue
of the lost child
of
the rancid nest
stuffed
with falsified eggs
forced
into premature hatching
of
feet in suppurating
separation
from
the legal forging of
hands
plucking at realisms
rot
gathering around
stationary matter
hydrangea
(for the man who i thought was my father
for the grandmother who i thought was my grandmother)
i do not know if this hydrangea bush is real
ive seen these big bruised ones before
when i was a child at my grandmothers
they grew in concrete pots
i never felt my feet falling
the floor was made of rubber
in the hall
a concrete ball
on each side
i could hear the trams passing
it was always dark
as i rounded the corner
i could see the hydrangeas
when my grandmother died
i went back to that place
to live with my father
the hydrangeas were still there
it was dark
i could not see my face in the mirror
i never felt my feet
falling
i sat by the window
i watched the trams
in winter i lit the gas fire
there was nothing outside
except
concrete
&
hydrangeas
the carillon
i could hear it
striking
(waiheke island, 1968)
glass mountain
(for my mother & father)
when i was 33
i met a man
he said
the man who you think is your father
is not your father
the lines on your hand are a map
there is a
secret
surrounding your birth
i crept away
i came to my mothers house
the boat slid between
huge sleeping hills
seagulls screamed
their eyes cruel
i said to my mother
who is my father
my mother said nothing
for a long time
nothing
then she said
your father is
the jewish painter
patrick hayman
i was afraid my father would not want me
i sent a photograph of myself
i looked like an indian
i wore a white feather in my hair
i told him about
my broken marriage
my abortions
my lovers
my children
my self imprisonment
i said
life is a glass mountain
i keep climbing up
i keep falling down
i live in a dream
i turn everything i love
into a fetish
my father wrote to me
he wanted me
i wanted him
he had no children
only me
he asked me to come and stay with him
in london
i was afraid of the world
i did not wear clothes
i did not eat meat
i lived high up in a hidden valley
within a circle of hills
a great river rushed down the valley
met another river
the land was full of foxgloves and stones
i did not show my paintings to anyone
from the age of 26
i hid them in cupboards instead of food
i stood at the airport
my plaits
dying silkworms
my father hovered
unfit for worldly affairs
bound in the still egg of a dream
in his long gabardine coat
curls straggling on his collar
smooth olive face
blurry & secretive
mouth opulent
gentle eyes bespectacled
frightened when he saw me
he cleaved to the wall
as if wanting to escape
he had run from me all these years
we drove away in a black limousine
the tall dark house was full of his paintings
i brought my paintings
to show him
in a head on collision
we recognized each others
queerly mapped territory
wanting each other
yet
rejecting each other
violently
each one aghast at the others
likeness
each one turning away
from
love
offered
eskimo baby
(to my first born miro)
your room is a theatre
your bed a collapsible stage
the siren sings
you wake
rising above crowds
in your satin underwear
your face is lit like a golden eskimo
those golden eskimo babies
made out of sugary stuff
in secret, white paper bags
one devoured them slowly
lollies hung like dreams
silver balls one could never crunch
people said they were made out of mercury
they tore around in ones mouth
even at an early age desire was considered
those all-day suckers one longed to possess
one licked though never tasted
chocolate bears
were satisfactory lovers
their paper auras
rustling
black knickers
(to paola)
down 2 flights of stairs
i
fall
into your room
your jewels of lapis lazuli & amber
lie
in the dust
your black knickers are thrown
over books of knowledge
by the legs of your desk
a naked heater grins
a kauri cupboard spills velvet dresses
whispering of love
i lie with you
not knowing who is mother
or daughter
in dreams
i seek your arms
little matriarch
coat
i never wore my stitched coat for you
coat of agony
coat of deep rivers
coat with ears of wheat
coat with protecting eyes
coat with savage teeth
coat with stitches of minute agony
coat i stitched
with my painting, a deep wound
coat i stitched with my bosoms,
heavy in milk
i never walked with you
in red dress & stitched coat
you never felt the stitches
like secret scars
in the sun
moving water
(for miro)
when my first born was three
we moved to a tall brick house
creeper grew on it
it had a pantry with a little crossed window looking out
on a green bank
a kitchen where the sun came
the bedroom was big and dark
the child had nowhere to play
she crouched at the table drawing
the landlady lived above us
she had the face of an eagle
she wore a big fur coat
we paid her a lot of money
when I took a shower
she would turn on the cold tap
i would get burned
i screamed
she did not hear
she collected precious stones
she would go out in her fur coat searching for them
there was a little concrete yard with a tap
where I lay in the sun with no clothes
above me was an old boarding house
where sailors came
and stood on the verandah
watching me
i heard them say
i did not have much bosoms
i did not want them to see me
but i needed the sun
it bared down on me
until i felt nothing
it was at this house
that i lost myself
i did not know my face
i was afraid to go out
i watched people out of the window
my second child was conceived
i did not know why my belly was so big
it was not until the seventh month
i knew i was with child
i felt it lying inside me
i had a dream
of a chair i had made
its back was moving water
it had two knobs like acorns
they opened
inside
was a sculpture of a little christ
his penis lying long
i felt this dream over me
i did not know what it meant
i wanted to paint a man with a basket of bread
waking by a river with big stones and fish
i wanted to paint women with vaginas and bosoms
our landlady told us to go
we could not find a place
i went with my child on a big boat
a storm came
we stayed with a man
i did not like him
the next day the storm went
we found a house lying below the road
it was here my second child was born
wrapped stoats
(for sam hunt)
a letter and a book of poems came from you
as i sat writing
naked in the winter sun
you said you would come over the water
to the sounds
ride through the early morning to see me
i thought of the old woman with the one eyed house
in a garden of cabbages
she dreamed you were riding on a rainbow
i read a poem you wrote my sister
i remembered when i came with my firstborn
to that little red house
by a bridge
where a thin creek ran
where the sea ran into it
it had two long rooms
the floor was concrete
it was here i met you
your eyes long
your feet wrapped stoats
i was dark full of doom
i would sweep the house
polish the desk with it toffee legs
water the floor so the dust would not rise
do the washing in the old cracked sink
where the water ran out into the yard
and made a moat
when the sheets got dirty i threw them away
my hands were cracked
my fingernails turned black
i fed the gulls with my child
she chased them into the water and ate their bread
we made fires together
i read you my writing that the silverfish ate
you did not wish for a married woman
you liked a young virgin
i wanted my mother
i did not want a child or husband
i wished for death
i watched the jagged rocks
where a black shag sat
we would go drinking at a pub
i would drink til i knew no more
i am collecting wood for the fire
its cold by the woodshed
the hills are dark
hunted beast
i came to that house on waiheke island
a hunted beast
the child heavy in my womb
the house lay below the road
the chimney rising huge and red
inside rats skated
there was no bed
here my child was born
i could not see out of the window
i walked through the rooms
my feet falling like little irons
my tears stones on my childs head
he was small and wrapped
he died in that house
that lay below the road
i could not see out of the windows
they took him away
they would not let me see him
i stayed in that red house
where people waited outside
i painted pictures of women
their vaginas glistening shells
i bore another child
the people were outside
i saw out of the windows
I made pots in clay
the women racing around them
amazed at themselves
i slowly knew the tress that moved near the house
i oiled my hair
plaited it into two black horns
the pigeons were heavy and painted
mating in the loquat tree by my bed
i made clay pots and icons
they were baked in a kiln like a prison
some of my pots exploded
there were black holes
like terrible gasps
i left that house
that lay below the road
i left that house
in an airplane like a shaking bird
cracked knobs
(for miro and paola)
inside the red house
was
a long white room
an old brass bed
with cracked knobs
where mason bees nested
at the window hung long sticks of bamboo
tied
together
with blood red thread
a thin door
with pink & green wavering glass
opened on to a concrete path
a
wire gate
where the goat raced thru
her
face
stark
white
on the end of a chain
paolo moses
he was born in the sun
the loquat tree pressed against my window
heavy with fruit
that night
a dark blue bird
with a cruel beak
flew into the house
it stayed
until day break
beating its wings against the walls
the people said
someone shall die
not long after this
he died
his hands clutching my hair
i made a painting
the man & woman
clutching each other in terror
the bird
beating against the window
the baby
stretched out
thin & white
on
a
black
bed
[waiheike island, 1969]
death of paolo moses
(to norman)
i came heavy with child in the fierce sun
the house was blood red
hiding below the road
the front door was shaking
the gate was white
the fallen stars on the path
hidden by mud
near the clothesline
where clothes hung
dry & empty
was a swaying wooden cross
the chimney rose up
in the painted sky
all summer cicadas shrieked
their heavy bodies
glued to walls
rats with shining eyes
skimmed up trees
the swollen pods of nikaus crashed
my baby clung to me
his eyes seeing beyond
when he died
i walked
thru
the wire gate
down the long dusty road
there was a shop
a telephone box
a little crushed beach
where the sea
ran
in
ran
out
[waiheke island]
half moon bay
a silver light lay over the valley
deep in bush
surrounded by 3 beaches
the third was reached by a narrow track
creeping thru
black manuka trees
down
to
the
sea
the entrance was guarded by huge flax bushes
their flowers
red throated
their stamens
flaring
the hills rose
bush covered mounds
running down to the sea
that lay
a lapping womb
opening
shutting
over boulders
like black eggs
sand
white & velvet
[waiheke island 1967]
room with black stove
(to miro and paola)
the room with the black stove
was
small bare
broken
its window cracked
the child played in this room
on a cold night
creeping over the floor
playing
with dried oil paints
under a naked light bulb
in the corner
above a huge mirror
was a hole in the ceiling
shewing the dead leaves
of a rats nest
around the peeling walls
were pictures
by my first born
of people in 2 faces
their hands
exploding fireworks
their
eyes
whirlpools
white bird
(for miro)
on the boat
i sat in a crowded room
you could reach out & touch the sea
many women sat near me playing cards
their voices were loud
above the sea
a young girl with the face of a mermaid
sat with the women
one of the women said
look out
theres a bee on your shoulder
its caught in your hair
it fell at my feet
kill it
kill it
shrieked the girl
i turned away
their voices were loud
above the sea
where a white bird
rose
higher
higher
its
eye
dark
&
restless
[wakamarina, 1971]
black shoes in bed
(to paola)
on the hill behind your house
'mongst pigeons in the karaka trees
you
cut flax
you wove me a basket
you filled it with red apples
you sent it to me
you say you are going on a journey
same time last year
you returned from a journey
you went where they left turtles to die
on their backs in the sun
where people were hungry
you strolled under palm trees
dressed in white
you ate little bananas
you came back in the dying sun
i did not know your face
you lay between me and my child
we both had colds
we barked like dogs
you were surprised to see my child wearing
black shoes in bed
i write in the dying sun
i have made a clay pot
its mouth opens in a gasp
the gasp is silenced by an egg
the egg has exploded
leaving the pot
dark
burnt
looking
[wakamarina, 1971]
last song
you come
you and your claustrophobia
to drop in my lap
you never thought
i could have changed
from a wooden martyr
in a bath of your blood
my feet
thorns
your moon is not in the same place as mine
the river flows fast
over smooth rock
where you lie
that red fish you catch with your hands
gapes from a bowl of rock
i never saw the snakes
that glide round you
your letter comes from a summer far away
you cannot feel the winter
that has come down on me
fox glove poem
it was last year
same time
same time as this
the sweet peas were black
by the side of the road
i did not know the fox gloves then
last year
same time
same time as this
i was hidden hidden by the walls
dark red
a long road
lay between us
the hills were burnt black
black the manuka trees
black black the sweet peas
by the side of the road
i did not know the fox gloves then
the throats of the fox gloves
are spotted spotted inside
the black storm has passed
leaving the river yellow & swollen
at the foot of the house
the leaves of the fox gloves
are pale fur
between the hills
i shall never know the river
yet i bathe my head in its waters
walk on its smooth stones
i shall never know the trees
that stand on the other side
i know only the fox gloves
the fox gloves
the wairau massacre
(for my sons & daughters)
i have seen the cannon the white men traded
for the wairau valley
its chained to a painted trolley
outside the plunkett rooms
two winters between these hills
the lemon tree still bears
at tuamarina
each winter a different lover
the fruit
falls
into
deep grass
the big kiln does not burn
at tuamarina
by the bridge to the wairau massacre
only the tree remains
the
tree
at tuamarina
in the wairau valley
[wakamarina, 1975]
thin arms of black wool
(for norman & paola)
when we went to wellington
i had
some
money
to
buy
clothes
last winter in this valley
we had
no
warm
clothes
i wore a thin painted skirt
a
jersey
made from an old mans singlet
the sleeves
from
long
underpants
when we got to wellington
i could not remember our valley
i saw people
i
saw
red
velvet
i bought that
velvet
same kind you see on the seats at the theatre
we sat in a place
where they trapped trees
grew flowers in squares
covered the earth
with
a
black
shroud
we ate big purple grapes
out
of
a
paper
bag
the child lay on a seat
between painted rubbish tins
i covered her
with
red
velvet
i said to you
i shall buy you
socks
you
said
youve spent all the money
my
heart
was
stone
between
the trapped
trees
i have hung the red velvet
at
my window
above
it
a hollow egg
on 2 thin arms of black wool
stretched over naked boards
there is only these boards
between me
&
the hills
sometimes rain
falls on my face
as i lie
in
bed
two pear trees
2 pear trees stand by the river
the river is deep & dark
i pick up the fallen fruit with my child
the pears lie hidden in the leaves
2 pear trees stand close
together
the grey sand stretches
on
&
on
[wakamarina, 1971]
above darkness
(for my brother, martin)
i am fearful of the city
where
the sun
is
caught
between houses
my mother
lives
in one of these houses
thru
a
gate
down narrow steps
the house is dark
i cannot
feel
the
sun
my mother watches the sun
thru
a
window
it opens onto the roof
i could fall off
the
edge
below
is a garden
flowers grow tall
reaching
up
above
darkness
[wakamarina, 1973]
end of a relationship
(for norman)
theyre lighting little fires all over the hills
its like the beginning of a war
2 rivers meet
at
the
foot
of the valley
all day alone - painting
at
dusk
when you do not return with our child
i run down the valley
the fear of my childhood upon me
at deep creek
i stand on the bridge
the water is trapped
down a steep ravine
wattle trees cling to the sides
the wattles are smoke
in the water
they are lighting little fires all over the hills
its like the beginning of a war
[wakamarina, 1975]
in a room of women
(for johan heinrich)
my child says
will the hen marry the weka
now the rooster has gone
the frost is thick up here
in the morning
you can walk
on the river
coming out of the frost
i saw you
a wild bird
in a huge coat
your face a ray of light
in a room of women
flowers in your pocket
[wakamarina, 1972]
hollow egg
alone in this room
with the wind
black stripes between the boards
a
hollow
egg
blood red
above
me
room of smoke & wind
winter comes down
with
you
in summer
i beat
dough
for
the
bread
my legs wrapt around the bowl
you never picked the wild pears
winter comes down
with the fig tree
naked
in
thorns
&
you
my body wrapt
in strange clothes
[wakamarina, 1971]
the room
i am dark - dark
between these hills
dark
in
my room
where light shews
between
cracks
where 2 stone penises
move
on each side of the window
dark
at
dawn
when the leaves of the beech tree
are
full
of light
when
sky
is
pale
&
endless
[wakamarina, 1972]
2 black roosters
(a song for the conrad brothers)
a dark man
with
2
jewels
hanging
from
1
ear
brought me
2
black roosters
they
did
not
crow
the river was
yellow
&
swollen
i laid with that man
beside
a
red
bath
i gave him wild pears
a clay pot
with
a
woman
deep
inside
a dark man
with
2
jewels
hanging
from
1
ear
brought
me
1
white
hen
the river was
yellow
&
swollen
i was stitching a red dress
with green thread from the pear trees
when
the
moon
was
full
he
filled
a
sack
with his
salt teared cross
his
worry
ball
his
womb
pot
he
left
on
his
motor
bike
it was
then
i
saw
outside the dark circle
a
white
path
i could not reach
at
dawn
the roosters
crowed
for the first time
[wakamarina, 1971]
i tie your black hair with cerulean wool
(for johan heinrich)
not often i sit
idle
looking into the winter sun
waiting for you
watching the sun move across the sky
until
it
is
gone
behind a black
hill
i walk to meet you with my child
i return
without
you
ice
on my face
crouching by a smoking stove
i hear your motor bike
your nose is like the beak of an eagle
my child
&
me
hang
from your beard
i tie your black hair with cerulean wool
[wakamarina, 1972]
vaginas like watermelons
(for johan heinrich)
on my birthday
i came to you
in the embroidered shroud
i stitched
with savage eyes
vaginas like watermelons
my
hair
plaited
in
2
black horns
the rest
fell
in 2 rivers
my
face
lifted
to
you
in
the
painted
sky
[1971]
stone image
(for johan heinrich)
in my full moon skirt
my blouse
of an eagles back
my
face
a
stone image
on your birthday
a cocks feather
a black sickle
a circle of hedgehogs skin
spinning
above
me
hanging
on
a
rope
my big shoes
painted
blue
[1971]
crossed loaves
(for johan heinrich)
on the day of the wedding
i baked 2 round loaves of bread
each with a cross in the center
i did my hair in little plaits
all over my head
the child wore an apron
i had painted
with a tree wild flowers
stars and a black cross
i dressed in a skirt
its pattern moving in a gasp
the child wore 2 furry flowers in her hair
of the kind that grow by the sea
we waited in our faces
shining
when you did not come
i placed the crossed loaves on the table
with your speckled pot in the center
inside
i placed
the egg necklace
the child made you
i covered this with a white cloth
coming down the valley between the hills
we met you
you wore a black suit
the wedding was in a church
where i often stopped to pick flowers
later
in the church hall
i stood holding a glass
my body in separate parts
i lost my face
at the wedding
you lost your heart
it hung
from a golden chain
song of a wandering bride
(for johan heinrich)
we fell off your motorbike
i fell on top of you
i saw your face
in a glass ball
your eye of a wild bird
shut
on the road
your bed is a white tent
stitched with silver sequins
by your wandering bride
youve painted her on the wall
propped up on a bed
like a swooning plate
i have laid in that white tent
under a dark hat of pines
stitched with silver sequins
by your wandering bride
that pale blue chest
is a kicking baby
under the window
with the salt teared cross
an ear of corn
a pink satin pillow
encircled by a snake
at the foot of your bed
i have laid between those
fur sheets
in your white tent
under a hat of
dark
pines
[tuamarina, 1973]
song
(to johan heinrich)
ive said before
your face is lovely
like a little shark
when you come close
shewing
your teeth
like a wild bird
your eye
in full moon
my legs felt hot & furry
under my skirt
yet
the moon was chipped
&
your
shoes
worn
biscuits
[wakamarina, 1973]
swollen mattress
(to krishna & julius)
the old house hid behind
a barbary hedge
spiky with thorns
squatting on a stony mound
humming
in a high seething voice
under a leaking
pie-shaped
roof
peeling walls exposing
fleshy slabs of blushing wood
baked by sun
lit by moon
her gloating cracks
seeping
sticky with sap
stark naked windows
revealing
shadowy figures
chimney pitching
into skys
netted rose
an ancient lemon tree
bearing
stiff-nippled lemons
hung in grey lichen
ghost trees walked
the gate
heavy with memories
tied together with string
legs
sunk
into earth
under a fading green lintel
a broken door swung
door knob
rattling in socket
big iron key
stuck
in keyhole
one fell into
a dim
spidery hallway
colliding with
a full-bellied
brandy barrel
stuffed with
dried figs
in long yellow wooden boxes
dried bananas
pressing close
as sardines
the interior of the house was
cool - deep
a pentagonal room
struck by oblique light
the black gasping fireplace
full of thin white arms
of wood
the yearning floor
heaved
shimmered
one groped over
knots veins
fell
in & out
of
holes
beneath the crossed window
a black iron bedstead
stood on taut legs
bearing a swollen mattress
and
3 wheezing
feather quilts
sacred logs
(for krishna & julius)
in the kauri kitchen
the smoky lamps
were dimmer than candles
except for sudden
mad flaming
the small black-eyed sons
almost engulfed
adept at handling flame
they swung the lamps
as if on a ship
they wheedled sharp knives
slaughtering vegetables
hacking at logs
with little axes
stoking up the fire
until the chimney trembled
flames licking the ceiling
until it glowed
red
bringing the father down the hall
to accuse us of burning all the wood
instructing us to burn
1 stick at a time
oblivious
we burnt sacred logs
gazing hungrily at furniture
fallen moon
(for krishna & julius)
they called me
the Neria-Naria woman
-
the old kauri kitchen
a
womb
stuffed with
eagles' feathers
smoking masks
weeping icons
of
mother & child
great dusty jars of golden honey
black honeycomb
drowning
like millions of eyes
a leaping skeleton
nailed
to the wall
a broken
blue basket
full of eggs
a small crossed window
where our lady - Constantina,
the goat -
thrust her white face
at dusk
the round table
a fallen moon
her wide crack
inviting sticky fingers
her scars
burns
her ancient trunk
her claws
clutching
a slumberous ball
the black-eyed sons
sat tipping on flimsy oval-backed chairs
crumbling homemade bread
calling for shop-bread
drunkenly pouring lemon drink
from a huge salt-glazed jug
her pink throat
throwing up drowning leaves
of mint
they slurped it up in spotted goblets
the kettle boiling spilling
over the stove
the flame
sliding
up the chimney
holey tub
(for krishna & julius)
in the old kauri kitchen
the ceiling ran down to the floor
scrubbed white
pitted & veined
it rose in hillocks
sank
a rapacious stove
flamed
day & night
boiling water spurting
from a ravening spout
in summer we stood naked
before the open fire-door
fierce sun not enough to warm us
we craved
the naked flame
the eldest son raving
to an invisible audience
leaned too close to the oven door
oblivious as numbers burnt
into his arm
the high-backed
holey tin tub
stood
as if on a stage
water leaking
rapidly into soapy rivers
they cried out continuously
for more hot water
precariously pitching from kettles spout
along the peeling wall
ran a hard narrow seat
its broken springs
prodding flesh
i sat for hours
the sons suckling
running lead bulldozers
over my naked body
mapped by apocalyptic
births
deaths
as they sucked
they attempted to open doors
lead bulldozers
crashing onto
startled mound
in open window
eucalyptus trees
lifted their arms
to the sky
bark falling
in reels
of pink flesh
shining cockroaches
(for krishna & julius)
behind the black stove
shining cockroaches
studded the wall
their feelers
trembling
touching
air
in dark wooded rooms
we stitched
needles shining swords
thrusting
in & out
dressed as knights
they beheaded old stalwart bears
in knitted bathing suits
their doomed
glass eyes
glowing amber
poked in on wire sticks
from the top of the hall
i witnessed
stuffed heads
falling
sewed them back on
with blood-red thread
they hacked them off
2 miniature koalas
remained
heads
too
hard
to
sever
they lolled
unwanted
about the house
viced in humps
(for krishna & julius)
each night the father
journeyed up the long hall
to read occult literature
in the smoke-filled kitchen
the sons & i sat reading
cruel fairy tales
when the fire died down
one of the sons
rammed wood down the gullet
of the old black stove
whipping up the flame
with a long crooked poker
every hour one of the sons
journeyed up the long hall
to ask the father to come down
the hall was steep
viced in humps
filled with watery light
a narrow door
windowed in blood-red glass
reflected 2 old guava berry trees
hung in lichen
leaning across the path
touching
in griefs silence
fields yearned
past
the broken gate
the father sat
in the aura of a dwindling lamp
his face
lost in his black beard
the fine lids of his eyes
hooding
fear
the room full of sculptures
a woman in a sigh of wood
hands
covering her face
from the ceiling a stone cunt
hung
on a rusty chain
twisted paintings
bent in anguish
besmirched in paint like blood
heavy veils of old velvet
covered
the shipwrecked bed
the walls
boarded with kauri
gasped between the cracks
in snarling teeth
the crossed window
trembled
the birth an idea
(for del & marilyn)
alone in the tall narrow house
i was the lighthouse keeper
the sea shone into my heart
seals played in the shadow of night
when moon
fell
into silver water
the great trees walked down from the hills
on the eve of life
the sea lappedlapped
our lady of the waterfall
poured her juices
down
her dark cleft
of
stone
boulders lunged
tore
at her
feet
thrown up by eruptions
desirous
her moss
trembled
at night i sat at a long table
made from the rudder of a ship
that caught fire at sea
beached
it lay on the shore for years
until the wood was washed white
the wounds and scars
remained black
burnt
alone, i sat writing
in the naked window
reflected in the arms of the olive tree
her olives
falling
hard - bitter
on the ground
under a full moon
the sea
ran in
ran out
in my 47th year
i sought
my shadow
falling
from ash
to ecstasy
flames shooting
from my head
on my knees
before a rose bush
weeping
over her thorns
i painted "the struggle to birth an idea"
i was called
to this place
to cast off the dross
crystallized
round the soul
the apocalyptic light
piercing the heart
in its rickety case
striking the mind
in its stagnant
pit
night and day
i heard the howl of the world
Horror and Torment
screaming through my veins
clashing with Logic
looming
in his white tower
heart and mind
playing on an instrument
circular
in its intent
ships with white sails
forged through the sounds
anchored
in the bay
from the windows of my room
a pohutokawa tree
stood
at the edge of the sea
covered in red flowers
i painted for my life
one look back
i would
fall
i kept my eye
fixed
on the present
hands blind
over hidden terrain
watering the rose
the secret of life
journeying in faith
paying a bitter toll
for the price of materializing dreams
seared by light
in a tomb
of ignorance
i wrote
i am the bride of the spectre
my veil
rent
besmirched
in
paint
blood of the soul
the spectre does not have a body
he uses mine
groping under Lifes hood
i birth dreams -
paint on illusions shroud
i am the bride of the spectre
i fall into life
in a lidless
coffin
one morning i awoke in fear
my companions
Lucidity and Logic -
had flown
Horror and his brother Torment
closely attended me
i could not call for help
no longer vigilant
quailing in
fumes of turpentine
lead paint insidiously seeping
into the heart
cobalt blue
mad lead yellow
blood red
azure
turquoise
white
black
black
tormenting the brain
multiplying hearts tick
on cliffs edge
i rode a bicycle
chopped wood with a sharp axe
spinning in a vortex
the eye saw through everything
climbing twenty stairs to my room
the kowhai tree pressed against the window
a blue pigeon stared
on the eve of life
the sea lapped
lapped
i must jump through seven hoops of white flame
i cowered
i ran to the glass house to play with cucumbers
long
verdant
swelling on the vine
fat lettuces
rooted
in dark earth
i entered the doorway
tripping
lifting both hands
as if about to be shot
pictures of my life appeared
in a swelling bubble on my forehead
in slow motion
i fell
through a glass darkly
slashing my wrists
blood spurting
hands hanging by a thread
passing in a boat
the caretaker of waterfall bay
saw a fountain of blood
a headless figure
running
screaming
taken to hospital
lying in a pool of blood
in the bottom of the boat
my life
ebbing away
i could not remember who i was
flying out of my body
on a long silver cord
i saw myself
an empty glove
i cried out
"ah sweet death take me
take me"
the sea was
lapping
lapping
on the eve of life
i lay for weeks
watching a vine
climb up a tree
explode
into
a blood red flower
from a wild donkey
braying
before a closed door -
i became a lamb
patiently chewing
eyes lifted
to the painted sky
a man in a boat
came
to take me away
cradling my wooden lute
i climbed into the boat
and
the lute cried out
in one long note
and was silent
and the sea lapped
over those scars and wounds
that might have opened
christmas eve night
(for stoneking)
once i wouldve died
at the sight of wrapt presents
in wet hands
i ripped them open
fingered each fatal object
doll
snake
silver necklace
doll
with staring eyes
malicious smile
bright pink legs
snake shot up
the stick
once
fell
in a heap of damp paper
i longed for a pedal car
red tin body
hanging over a gate
i knew a girl
thin as a sugar stick
said the devil was everywhere
she ate with her mouth closed
hair shaved up the back
lived at the home of compassion
i though it was where they kept
dried up passion fruit
starless
christmas eve night
materialism rages
in the polish house
great cakes are baked
iced in coffee & chocolate
a black stove
with a guilty mouth
gapes
at white
mutinous
mushrooms
tender ears
drop
into blood red borsht
starless
christmas eve night
i call
i hear
the sound of your house
the gold hand from mexico
knocks
i have
been
sweet
i have been
loving
i have been
hateful
i have been
starless
christmas eve night
materialism rages
you do not walk
over
the
water
flesh of my heart
(to stoneking)
in my 50th year
my teeth are still sharp
i
slowly devour
the flesh
of my heart
i was ill when i only ate pasta
it was so
white
under the hood
of
a black dish
i
dreamed
all my teeth fell out
black cross
(to stoneking)
i am jealous tonight
i am jealous of
a white stone
i am jealous
of a black cross
i am jealous
of a moon
i am jealous...
of
a
leaf
bear
(for nigel)
when night falls
i wrap your bear
in
silk
he has accepted the harsh judgement of life
all morning i have fingered
his limbs
gently seeking places
worn by time
& the rigors of love
in reverence i stitch
head bowed
it could be your body i take
in my hands
my needle thrusts
in & out
banishing all memory
last day of august
(for stoneking)
born
last day of august
falling
out of
fire
into
earth
ah how cold
your feet
galloping
over
under
a
mystical body
revered
in
the
sight
of
love
under
darks
cloak
we grope
good friday
(for stoneking)
on good friday
i found a brazil nut
lying on a path that led
down to the sea
i held it
in my hand
its long dusky shell
hid
its nut
blue ape
sometimes he
climbed
14 stairs
to my room
so big
he reached the ceiling
he could look like
a dusky squirrel
a monkey
a lion
even a blue ape
when he looked in the mirror
hed try to press his collar
into shape
crying out against his reflection
erected on Loves Altar
i
held
his
feet
secretly
kept
in
tight
socks
white tower
(to stoneking)
ah, how dark in the labyrinth!
i have lost my way
where
where are the great trees
the 3 azure lakes
ah,
the white tower shoots
erects itself
ah
ah, does it possess a bone?
a weeping eye?
have you
have you
tasted
the crimson jube
under its cursed hood?
have you tasted the darkness?
melbourne cup day
(for stoneking)
on melbourne cup day
old men
surge
down myrtle street
seduced
by memory
i
bow
before restriction
study
cruelty
as i once studied thorns
familiarity
does not make
anguish
easier to bear
each morn i rise
early
in the courtyard
a golden crocus
shoots
out of dark earth
i once lived near a beloved
our streets
ran
parallel
from my balcony
i could see
the roof of his house
between a 6 foot cactus
and wooden teeth
i stared
a solitary prisoner
at night when sleep
did not take me
i ran
in bare feet
thru freshly washed streets
past his house
i never touched
his black fence
his
gate
his
frowning window
eclipse
(for stoneking)
the yarra river
is narrow
hidden
it runs between
dry
land
you sent me a postcard
of the eclipse -
a white sun
stares
a full circle trammeled
by a pungent moon
desolate in shifting power
black crows
scattering
april shall soon depart
in the cruelty of a melbourne winter
i wait for you
leave the courtyard door
open at night
lest you should walk in
& find me shipwrecked
ah! what keeps you away?
has another
closed over your wounds
applying salves
as white bandages spill
from Loves vanity case?
[clifton hill, melbourne, australia, 1997]
letter to stoneking
(from new zealand to santa cruz)
this place
hath
given
me
mundanity
offered
as
if
a pallid
bun
i
have
partaken of...
slowly
slowly
i
die
ah! lift me out
lift me out
i have no power
here
i
swarm
in
multitudinous
nightmare
i am
no
stronger
or
weaker
than
you
so
great
is
plight
i have been forced
to
apply
strength
thru
glass
thru
flame
snake like
up
the
ladder
falling
back
bitten
once
twice
ah! ah!
lift me out
lift me out
i have no power
here
i
swarm
in
multitudinous
nightmare
viper
(for stoneking)
you call out of a hot siena afternoon
into
a dark new zealand night
you say you cannot walk at night
for vipers hiss
at every turn
how? i ask you
can one recognise
a viper
does viper coil in memory
does viper coil at base of spine
a seemingly indestructible mass
is memory
by every stile & turnpike
vipers hiss
to travel by foot at night
could be a danger
yet i swear there is a viper
at every turn
as dark strikes light
in tenderness of morn
i have seen the stuff of vipers hiss
i have eaten crumbs
on loves floor
ah! we are the vipers children
our vipers coats
expensively buttoned
against life
sienas thighs
(for stoneking)
you say you are going mad
between sienas thighs
you could be reborn
or live out an imitation
of that which causes
horror to Soul
on trail for committing
the act
of
birth & death
that skittery stuff
of
loves palace
makes teeth on edge
remembering the fatness
of
an education board
chalk
was it in umbria when siena became
a woman
the stone lodged in the high walled tomb
me thought i heard you singing
calling
vipers bride
i don her veil
flower upon flower
the slime of secretions
adornment
in a decay of seed pearls
a rummaging ruby
to
cover
hearts
hardening case
ego
(for stoneking)
how many times
has
soul
erupted
died
down
in a dominion
ego
exalted
with a galloping concern
for
renown
ego
mounts
fame
seeks
amongst
ash
how many times
has
soul
erupted
died down
played
desultory
in
memory
doom prepares to give birth
(for stoneking)
a bird twitters of cruelty
eternal delay
ah,
how cold
Doom prepares to give birth
to Love
licking up the sperm of artifice
wheedling the stick
smashing the skull of justice
ah, beloved
do you recognize
the flower
the flower
concealed in a dry rasp?
do you remember
the honey
we slurped
ah, let me wrap you in this weathered quilt
stuffed with the fine feathers of
a dead goose
i shalt not harm or possess you
i shalt not fix my eye
there shalt be no burning
the body hollow
for the white flame to leap
one track mind
(for stoneking)
early autumn
the deciduous leaves
have not yet
fallen
you write from mexico
you ask
me
for poems
not ones about me
christina
i do not want my friends
to think
you
have
a one track
mind
one track
i howl
plummeting minds mighty depth
these are the
ones
the
ones
i erect
on dreams
frozen
lake
memories of a vegetarian
(for stoneking)
in your roof top apartment
you
sit
in lotus position
watching television
in an orange sarong
you wave a black
flicker
your blue eyes
behind glass
you call
for
me
to go
to the chicken shop
you
want
2 chickens legs
4 chickens breasts
try to remember, christina
not
to tell people
that
i
eat
chickens breasts
that
i
eat
chickens legs
that...
i
play
pinball
mexico
ah mexico
your
blood
doth
seep
into loves crack
a sewer runs under the market place in relox street
the body
dressed in holey clothes
hung
in
serpentine
and
turquoise
the
feet
embalmed
in
red
dust
ah mexico
your
blood
doth
seep
into loves crack
the day of the dead
hath passed
sugar skulls
still
stare
at skeleton brides
and
grooms
laid
out
on black
velvet
ah mexico
your
blood
doth
seep
into loves crack
in relox street
fat ladies
flap
feather dusters
over
suppurating honey combs
singing with bees
ah mexico
your
blood
doth
seep
into loves crack
rubber ear plugs
(for stoneking)
now
spring
has
come
you do not
shout
as much
in winter
your shouts
shook
Loves cage
your
shouts
echoed
in
Loves labyrinth
your
shouts...
you do not shout
as much
now spring has come
little yellow flowers
tremble
outside
my window
my daughters
always
wore rubber ear plugs
when they came to my house
they
stuffed them
in
their
ears
dont talk anymore
christina
they shouted
old tree
(for stoneking)
i once heard an old tree scream
old trees are not easily uprooted
if you still long to return to your beloved
when i am rich
i shall send you back
on a blood-red ship
i will give you a dowry
of
1 bolt of white linen for swaddling
600 teak chairs that fold
90 mirrors
with shutters to hide your reflection
1 thousand white bone spoons
1 black door with an isolated key hole
1 hundred wicker perambulators
with pressed iron wheels
a hundred kauri cradles with high walls
& enchanted rockers
1 hundred angry seed rattles
if you still long to return to your beloved
when i am rich
i shall send you back
on a blood-red ship
old trees are not easily uprooted
i once heard
an old tree scream
elephants teeth
(for stoneking)
on your birthday
i wipe
tears from your eyes
on your birthday
i wipe
dust from the leaves
of a young umbrella tree
i hold
2 teeth in my hand
you say
these teeth might be
elephants teeth
no cow could have teeth
this big
i keep my mouth
tightly
shut
on your birthday
i wipe
tears from your eyes
i wipe dust
from the leaves
of a young umbrella tree
you read me a rilke poem
life is death
death is life
angels are terrible
on your birthday
i wipe
tears from your eyes
the spot healer
(for burrill)
i have been given a young umbrella tree
she hath a white twisted trunk
in a configuration
of
3
this tree did dwell in the bedroom
of
a
man
who possessed a cellos voice
a quaking bed
3 tall windows that stared at mountains
this man was obsessed by a blue & white beauty
the umbrella tree witnessed long nights
of
betrayal
on her slender leaves
her tortured trunk
spots
appeared
one day i entered this room
the umbrella tree was dying
in her branches hed hung
the picture
of
a guru
at her feet he placed
plant food
white
as a blind mans stick
over the cruel floor boards
her aura reached out
nearer & nearer to deaths seed
my painted eye
i have been given a young umbrella tree
she hath a white twisted trunk
in a configuration
of
3
she doth dwell outside my door
each morn
i touch her spots
i have become the spot healer
tho
my
spots
remain
nesting in souls shade
i cannot remove them
sweet almonds
(a song for stoneking)
sweet almonds are cheap here
the lady will grind the nuts
wearing 2 blind watches
&
a broken ring
where last i dwelt
almonds were expensive
bitter
sweet almonds are cheap here
the lady will grind the nuts
wearing 2 blind watches
&
a broken ring
glutinous bag
bones of memory
cradling
yellow skulls
in soul's chamber
desire woven
into a glutinous bag
of
bloody threads
bones of memory
cradling
yellow skulls
rodently nibbled
(for stoneking)
after a black night
of presumptuous pleasure
Love
is paraded
bound & gagged
the
heart
rodently nibbled
groping in Lifes crack
we birth dreams
in broken handfuls
feast on sweet breads
nightmarishly
crumbed
spotted noose
(for stoneking)
i never dreamed i saw deer
browsing
trading
fur
for treachery
fumbling with the spotted noose
tearing down the moon
with blackened antlers
in harsh daylight
ive seen them running
in
reckless
shoes
do you know
they carry
ticks curse?
even in moonlight
one must
cover
the feet
straw broom
(to stoneking)
before
you
bathe
your body
i ask you
to
place
the straw broom
with the long red handle
outside
the bathroom
door
i must sweep
Loves
naked floor
so many
crumbs
become
lodged
in
her
cracks
box
night before your birthday
night
without
stars
i have painted
the
box
box of life & death
the night before your birthday
the box
of life & death
is
open
you are afraid
in
your
47th year
torn from waters
where
you sailed
in
your mothers high walled tomb
graven before spirit
Your eye magnified
trapped in a body
you were never sure was yours
she fixed a bonnet
on your head
you tore it off
she put it on
stoneking's birthday
(for stoneking)
i wont be able to go on much longer, you say
look at heywood patterson, i scream
he was convicted for rape
he was innocent
he was innocent
they never let him out of prison
i always think of him
&
all the people whose lives are taken
without love
without justice
i wont be able to go on much longer, you scream
ruby eyed moths
(to stoneking)
i am an armadillo
running between
pillars of salt
once the world had less people
it was better off then
you
say
fingering your computer
what happens to the droves of souls
without bodies
i
ask
thinking of the ruby eyed moths
who press their fleshly bodies
against lighted windows
poem for two voices
if money doesnt come soon well have to leave new york
i hate it anyway
but you hated australia
not the desert
i loved the desert
i love florence. i love paris.
you hated tuscany.
the shops were too far away.
i walked miles in the sun.
there was no bathroom, no water.
i tell you, there was no water.
you never invited me there.
you didnt have any money.
there were too many serpents.
i went to florence
i stayed in a hotel
whilst i was dying of love for you
you went to paris.
i stayed at shakespeare and co.
i gave readings there.
it once belonged to sylvia beach.
you never asked me there.
i went to santa cruz.
i stayed in a caravan park
with my professor from college.
you never asked me there.
there was no room.
there was just enough room
for eds computer
and my computer.
i hated it
i nearly died there.
i was invited to mexico.
i lived in a rooftop apartment.
i couldnt work.
the humming birds hummed all day.
they thrust their beaks
into flowers.
i hate mexico.
you bathed in the sea at mazatlan.
the shore was lined with palm trees
you never invited me there.
the sea was a bitter yellow.
i read my poems to the indians
when you finally came to mexico
i was finished
finished.
the streets were full of ghosts
i smelt blood, death.
you had no bosoms left.
i prayed over my teeth
so they would not fall out.
you looked like a skeleton.
the mexicans loved me.
i hated mexico.
cerebral trimmings
(for stoneking)
i have
no
belief
in
your cerebral
trimmings
between
left
&
right
i
survey
no
meaning
i
know
only
that
water
runs
in a circle
seed rattle
(for stoneking)
laid out under the shadow of a wicker hood
you bang your giant seed rattle
kick up your white perambulator legs
your face
under scrutiny
is
subject
to
tides
floods
your eyes of a changeling
behind a wall of mist
nose
plunging
into
illusion
forehead
assuming
a
stone
egg
your mouth
a
volcano
behind
a
corruption
of
fur
badger in spectacles
(to a beloved)
you have walled up
fecundity
in a flood of mammals milk
you suck
the tit
dry
a badger
in spectacles
you take
Fear
as your bride
swarming her hive
in a narrow suit
you
kick
the sealed door
of
her tomb
watered with bile
bitterness hath grown
climbing egos
trellis
you make the squares
you buy the time
sitting in white socks
you rummage
the
black womb
of
your computer
turquoise egg
(for stoneking)
i read you my poetry
you say
i
have a misplaced modifier
you learnt this in high school
the sky weeps
your black shoes are iron bananas
all your agony is in your feet
you place them on blood-red
velvet
the sky weeps
you drop my 3 faces
out of the window
you drop my turquoise egg
the sky weeps
i creep under the window
i search for my 3 faces
the spokes of my black umbrella are broken
they poke the trunk of a white birch
buttons
in the street
she walked
with buttons
stitched with blood red thread
is this me
she asked
& the night
answered
this is who you think is she
coveting her own buttons
yes
this is she
whom you have fashioned
out of illusion
do not seek reflection
it is without reflection
that you shall become
the night sighed
for everything was reflected
in her buttons
spray gun
(for mr n)
every two years you paint
your car silver
same colour as the sardine tins
i coveted as a child
the key
always
got stuck
in the sardine tin
you park your car
outside my bedroom window
you shut my bedroom window
you nail paint rags across the glass
my bedroom
is
plunged in darkness
outside you rattle your spray gun
the smell of turpentine pierces memory
i grope in darkness
i remember how i first saw you
your tail of gold hair
your coat of corduroy
i was on heat
with a proclivity for crushes
you led me on
hastening away
at crucial point
a friend, startled by my obsession with you
informed my mother
she said
you always get crushes on men
you live in a dream world
this time you shall face reality
outside my bedroom door
your spray gun rattles
letter to miro
there was a storm here
a revengeful spirit entered
black cloak flung across stars
moon dead in a broken basket
in the old blue house
we sought shelter
in the iron teeth of a bed
groaning on its haunches
red velvet flapping
round a ghostly sliver
through nights dark howl
great trees cracked
split
fell in ancient patterns
the cry of lifes warp
bloody stems
bark falling from flesh
in mirrors cruel oval
no proof glimmered
of lifes cause
horror moving close
to sentimentalitys plush
nights wail locked
as light shot
across darkness
we rose
a white morn
took us
black roses
(for alice)
i saw you
up there
up there at the shop
where plants climb
out of boxes
&
die in midair
i got a fright when i saw you
look
you said look
a baby bok choy
fallen
on the floor
in a skirt of leaves
midst the pallor
of
ambitious turnips
in a cradle of sleep
i bring you masks
your gallery
an egyptian tomb
white
forbidden
you keep black roses
in your bathroom
purchase spoons
silver as unconsummated wombs
in a cradle of sleep
i bring you icons
a pink painting of you & me
crucified by our femaleness
[woodstock, 2000]
fan
your blue linoleum
shines
with tears
all day
your fan
whirls on a long stick
you have nailed
Truman Capote
to your outhouse wall
your white dress
is spotted
with blood
you glide down
the long hall
through the courtyard
past a thorned lemon tree
wild majoram in a broken pot
blood red sticks
of rhubarb
your white dress
is spotted
with blood
the light shines
between the cracks
in your
outhouse
white coral cunt
when we were homeless
every house we looked at
you desired
as if
a woman offered
her rooms
spread out
i am just
a figurehead
in borrowed rooms
my flesh
has grown
i cut up cloth
with blunt scissors
thread rusty needles
with blind eyes
conduct fear
as I slice the collar
off a dying tiger coat
yesterday in a rag pickers market
i saw a white coral cunt
on a plastic dish
midst black bowler hats
mens suits
on wire coat hangers
i asked you for five dollars
to buy the coral cunt
too expensive
you said
ive seen lots of these before
alone on a remorseless couch
i fondle
the white coral cunt
put it in
my glow mesh
bag
put it in
my long pink
bag
put it in
my black
antique
box
love
each day
i wash
your clothes
your hard
black socks
your white linen
shirts
slide
through my
hands
your under pants
are
still
blown up
with
your
shape
each day
i
stand
cold
before spurting
taps
folded dove
you move people like pawns
across the broken sky
of your computer
you wear a shirt from an op shop
your white collar
a folded dove
high
around your ears
the light shines
hard
thru dirty window panes
two green trees
shoot
up
you moan
i have
nothing
nothing
your words
sink
into the concrete
that runs
in front of the
stolid
house
pink melon
we eat pink melon
some people i say
have
king size
beds
their pillows
thick
over souls
smother
an ordinary double
bed
is big enough
for me
you say
your feet
sticking
out
6 inches
conceit
(for doug poole)
what a wonderful conceit
she cried
from white lips
as the black car
sped past
high desiccated windows
brick shops
bound close
on leather seats
they held education
between them
like a cancerous cake
candles
piercing
the icing
the one
without education
felt the floor
beneath her feet
too near the road
she had touched
leather bound
books
lick your false pearls
if only you were ordinary
you howl
if only you were the type who
reads newspapers
trifled with academia
you would travel away from me
at sunrise
return late at night
if only you were indignant
before extremes
i could hone
my intellect
on your disapproval
lick your false pearls
play with your wig
ravish your body
alone
in my crumbling castle
the gold lickers
a group of people in the 14th century in southern france
they inhabited an area which is called the agony of the languedoc.
these people broke away from the church
they believed that the self and the world were illusionary.
the following poem is told by a young woman, Mercy.
She was burnt at the stake with others of her kind heretics.
rummaging amongst balance
i found imbalance
striking the confines of reality with a curious clank
i did not fall
held up by the stiffness of my linen
my naked body resembling a washing board
unlubricated by time and space
a powerful potion secured me of
release from those torpid areas
i had recently inhabited
beyond pleasure i cried out as
the veils of time threatened to choke
that which might have passed as a white streamer
catapulting into space
the hat of the fool vibrating
each point of his hat a precipitous mountain
verdant in the deepest crevices
unbeknown to the seeking of any hand traversing pastures
earthly passion a thing to be reckoned with
beyond the confines of the mind
the heart spun
colliding against the force of reality
spinning in the power of its own glory
smoting the tallow-like substance which fell
before it was touched
groveling in moth dust
all might have dissolved
except that
which had been erected in stone
and sang at such
a weird pitch those who perceived fell
flattened by tones of Memory
absconding
crouching before a specimen of service
bleeding before the totem
unclaimed as a token of love
unrenewable in vast quarries
where stone smote against flesh
unbidden in the final hours when all might have vanished
tho a seed remained crying out piteously to be fed --
fornicating on its own image
setting fire to all
reflecting in a mirage resembling a fountain
those who drank howled in the maddest thirst
pressing closer closer to an oasis
umapped by familiar hand
the glitter of golden cages
cage upon cage
in profound complexity they played on the soul
twisting contorting as the strings of a lute
the vibration throwing those who sought escape
into the labyrinth where bitterness visited
deceived again & again
forged on the anvil of life death
their cries unheard
their dusky treasures strewn around
exposing jeweled interiors
unlicked by compulsive tremor of tongue
belying the sordid plunge for life
a wilderness led into a valley of thorns
to be handled until one learnt their secret
crying out
for their thrust tore at the dross
clung around every particle
fear upon fear abysmal in its stench
the cry for freedom echoing
a hectoring of the finer vehicles ensured
a brief rest
the soul rose from the body
flew briefly
fell
tangled in its own cord
howling over limitation
without regard for the flesh and its untimely cravings
it gorged on stagnation
the mind at last recognizing its seductive devices
let go Memory
vomiting out all it contained
held like a miser in a vault
exposing a door to a hidden chamber
not to be reckoned with
the door was stuck
Ignorance stood vigilant
clad in such eccentric attire the heart sang
the perfume of the rose
overwhelming
unsmelt by those who tore
thrust at the door
it remained closed and the heart
freshly watered
wept
at its palpitating image
perceiving bloody strings which bound
close to truth yet unreachable
two great trees moved forward
bending in supplication
pouring forth a green potion
singing of death
of desire
its poisonous roots devouring
those who lay in broken promise
wept
at the great deception
doubled-edged the sword
driving deep into the tenderest parts
dissolving all memory of union
grating on the crack of knowledge
it opened and shut
exposing a fire not to be quenched by multitudes
reveling in the ever-blackening smoke
a balance hung upon heart and mind
a curious mixture of colors
untranslatable in earthly hue
a cry broke out
an imitation of a cry for truth
welling up in the throat
an ancient instrument
unstrung
gleaming through the blackest night
a curious gold
shimmering towards whiteness
unsettled by its own cause
divining the depth whence it came
unnoticed by Obscurity
tending her own proportions
those who knelt tasted earth
secrets grew complicated
animals walked knowing they would be slaughtered
devouring the news without interference
those who watched
observed
that which they thought already shaped
was unshaped
without the deadly flash of will
it could be used to harmonize
to eclipse
shades of love encircling the soul
ah Lucidity! this morn i have pursued you
traveled over hidden landscape
seeking the edge of madness
consumed by a particular violence
unrelated to a sense of balance
Death of the more solid vehicles
threatened in the sight of love
it was a sense of decay that stayed a travelling hand
lifting the lid off the top of the head
in curious headdress
the phantom rose
naked under a cloak of lies
mosaiced in close proximity to a shadow of truth
infallible to those who sought the crimson vehicle
harnessed to the darkest hour
reins of applied gold
serving to enhance a deadly fall
the crystal path serving to crack Ego
in its multiple elements
bending backwards to serve as a wedge to freedom
undaunted as the erection toppled
on to the stance of its victim
a victim embroidered in wounds
suitable to the untimely sighs of Love
wedded to a belief outdated by history
they wove
a harbor of debauchery
circumcised by circumstance
unwittingly chosen as the hour struck
reason pitched by deadly intent
hanging in the balance
fortified by Pretence
legalized by fruit of Fortitude
tended by Vigilance
characterized by a multifarious will
reacting to a masterful urge
careering towards a wall
erected in the sight of Memory
shaking the past like a lead money box
spilling its outdated contents
rooted without consequence
spleening power in its hideous fall
with no apparent out-come
it loomed
teetered
crying out for news of its own shadow
plucking at the stuff it was made of
tearing the veil
splitting the personality
selecting victims with a tendency towards durability
pounding the pestle
deep
into the earth
a rumble evoked
what appeared
as the final hour
in sleep
flowers spoke
humbled by secretions from which they fed
the seed split
re-split
until stagnation hung
more heavily winged
than a trance in flight
setting fire to all it had known
thumbing the present
riding with such force that
the chariot on elevated wheels
spoke
in a rattle of communication
splaying its devices
without justification for what was to come
unraveling streamers of crimson and viridian
they wound about the victims with scrupulous intent
enabling those to leap
that might have crouched
drawing in the dust indecent pictures
where horror seeped at the foot of the temple
swaying in a caricature of love
fumbling over a terrain
one could not tell what it behooved
from back to front
one never knew the color or intent
such was the purpose of Miracle
in cypress groves
no leaves fell to expose the plan
divinely settled by promiscuous union
fouled by base intent
back forth
over under
crying seeking
the rapt distiller
a beggar came forth
unfolding from an envelope of the system
smelling of device
torn from a seed bed
heated by passions of those who smote on a door
slammed over aeons
catching fingers of grief
cry upon cry
they built an edifice
uncontained by continuous thought patterns
heralding mercy in regions of lunar madness
encompassing the circle
its contents stuffed within an ill fitting square
a hawk bringing news of felonious instability
croaked its revenge
devouring his own feathers
fluffed out by fate
the content of his belly telling an ugly story
they concocted an oozing beverage
too telling to drink
for the passage of the throat was closed
they could not afford to die out
when so much was offering in the more heady regions
where growth could be ensured at any price
though hard labor was imminent
the cock crowed
making a pattern no one had seen before
breaking over the land
covering that which they had no time to examine
in duplicity
they were unable to peel back the waves
there was nothing there
beached on shores of the self
fumbling at the feet of truth
in multiple anguish
they peeled wisdom like a green apple
indigestible in its deadly pallor
they applied to the gods for something to hang on
it was slow coming
in panic for justification
they tore
applied strength to buttons
in fickle servitude
they displayed what was once theirs
the stones in an ancient pattern
danced
heralded by Mystery
streamers of volatile glory
passed from hand to hand
beyond choice of merit
the apple was too green
those who sought immediate settlement
could not taste it
they sought a way to measure standards of behavior
they plagiarized every deed
driving the senses to distraction
idea upon idea
piled so high
only a juggler could balance
seeking light areas
between the sway of logic
and its foolishly merited fiction
they planned a course of action
stapling themselves to a charted course
plummeting them out into space
they were not securely tied
they shot up
resplendent of an eternal hiccup
they could only fall
the vice of crystallization
reaping of an ignoble choice
between heaven and hell
shuttling between self-laceration
and self-inflicted heredity
within sight of the chosen
they sucked on there own extremities
collecting dust
it had weight and voice
it could be precious
the journey so esoteric
how were they to claim it
a craft was forged
relating to a lengthy pattern of sighs
nailed so infamously
no one could tell what had struck it
they knew they must follow their plight
the bloody thread unwound
they could not unattach themselves from its fervid intent
it coiled around them
they plunged deeper and deeper at every cry of desire
swarming up the glass mountain
they shrieked for a savior
in the final hour Beauty fell
unrelated to wormwood
eaten out by the snake
feeding on memory
turgid in the sight of the arena
where those who lived and died
spun in recognition of their winnings
bedecked in the maddest jewels
vacuuming over their bodies
without decorum
titillated by ghostly secretions
murmuring for Mercy
juxtaposed by raving elements
struck again and again
as the hour turned
in recognition of its defeat
screaming
screwing
as the lock turned of its own accord
never disclosing content
to the tortured eyes of the condemned
the gigantic wheel tearing them asunder
though they cleaved there was no way out
locked in finely wrought cages
hideously secured
by the power of millions
timing the race of humanity
in its bruised visage
tis here i pause
methinks the stream doth run too fast
the soul cries out
competing with its own error -
refusing to disclose what it saw in the labyrinth
the eye in tune with the lie
belying the belated cause
stifling the cistern
whence the gushing stopped
devouring waste matter
the outcome of coupling with illusion
raking over skeletons
imitating Belovιd
in a dance without end
the poker raised in an eternal threat to multiplication --
instincts heavily scented
in the gentle light of morning
they knelt
regarding that which they had turned upon themselves
they hacked at the wild acreage of Ego
plucking at weeds
poisonous flowers with walloping stamens
grating against confines
they tried to empty the human vase of dead matter
silvering the interior
in vain
they grappled for the life of the candlesnuffer
seizing the 7 candled candelabra
watching the circle spin
like a hoop of flame
spanning the dark hours
an eye of light
pierced by recognition
they entered the chamber
seeking union with the impossible
the body no more than a temple
at the foot of self
coupling with nothing
reaping nothing
hollowed for the flame to rise
spitting out desire in its multifarious elements
without comprehending they crashed through aeons
the fall echoing in the soul
like the clanging of a bronze bell
in Dooms doorway a white sheet hung
in shadow
the stain of union
at the crossroads
a chariot was sighted
carrying a swaying cross
that swung into a barricaded edifice
shooting up
into the sky
piercing the veil
beyond point of vice
it could not return whence it came
slithering out on the other side
where Reason fell
Logic struck at full force
the weight of balance
shuddering over the ground
rooting out secrets
scathing the senses
they crushed leaves from ancient books
slamming
unhinging
entrails streaming out
as if in a great cup to be drunk
they created a lie of perfect faith for the doggιd to interpret
raised on an altar
reflected in the hallway horrors swayed
belonging to the headless
they dined on presumptuous fare
marbled veined
applied on every level
a gyrating of categories
sanding vicing
with ill intent around gold edges
a sudden flickering illuminating particles
sucked out by millions in the choicest hour
the bronze bell
fearing its clang
subjugated its voice
a peal of laughter came from a darkened courtyard
where shadows fell
one on top of each other
in sight of tongues thirsting for innocence
crying out for crumbs
they sought a way
to overcome the dread of repetitiveness
they seized memory banks
consorted with time
tried to pin a face on the faceless
a mad wind swept
taking those for a ride
who might have walked on quiet roads
Love forsaken
the chariot drawn by invisible steed
bolted
requisitioned by a bridegroom
bound from head to foot
the caverns of his eyes lit
like flaming torches
he lunged ahead of the chariot
spilling a wave of gold
it patterned the ground with such eloquence
they howled to own
seeking riches looted from the earth
mounting
remounting
the forbidden steed
a hawk swooped
feeding on its prey
with savage ferocity
in cypress groves
they wept
found solace in ponds
water lilies sucked them under
seeking advantage before they drowned
remembering the talons of hawk
how they might apply them to the ripping
hearing heard from afar
scream upon scream
preparing to leap
through hoops of white flame
hanging in mid air
screaming to land
too faithless to risk dying
preferring to fill the vessel with jewels
they sucked them
artfully secreting them
examining that which they had chosen
powdered in disbelief
smelling of malice
they pulled it down with a festering cord
hand-woven
the rape
without regard for consequence
they sought to spear
rip stagnation
in a parody of paradox
howling to cool
the heat of desire
for thieves to pick the lock
stooping in the undergrowth
thorns assaulted them
causing immediate blindness
fed on stale buns by a bear in chains
clanking in the courtyard
a bloody ribbon tied to his tail
eyes threaded on silver sticks
heralding the plight of Cruelty
a manic sun spun black and red
changing the hue of recognition
a harvest reaped on immediate payment
an eagle screamed
the message undeciphered
a pattern of cruelty spreading
nailed and dressed
as if for a party
hovering in midair
they grasped
as if to catch a particular point of view
how could they be chosen
when they could not choose
a rat crept near
bigger than they could believe
with bloody eyes
marbled by horror and canine perfection
in the power of his teeth they saw
he could rip that which haunted them
crying out in the name of Mercy
to give them the cool dark they longed for
to secure them to Oblivion
nestling in the shade of human shadows
thrown up as if by an eclipse
elements weaving deadly patterns of singular intent
to be forced upon the naked mind
scars too insidious to trace
relief came
altering their course
unfastening the clasps of an ancient book
which appeared to be made of lead
on handling
it disclosed a finer form
page after page covering grubby shapes
piling plight into a vortex
an ardent stream flowed into stricken areas
frocking union in crumpled disarray
followed by a discourse on how it could have happened
harrowed by invisible results
they tried to possess knowledge
fear of being blinded by truth
caused them to drop that which they longed to hold
sending documents of indignation to men of justice
hankering over the red seal
they tried to pull it off
before it had set
a vibration started up in the heart
exposing a flower of unexpected glory
too light to hold
too ethereal to beat to their plan
they tried cover it before it was too late
for memory to squander
they seized on anything to stop truth from penetrating
merciless
they applied the heaviest objects
their eyes taken by a useless weeping
a sheet of clear water fell
guillotining the debris
freshly hung and washed
an even light displayed the cause
Mercy distributing a tenderness
longed for by millions
cordoned off as if in a bank
they purchased expensive carpets
woven from suffering
built temples for the mighty
erecting altars marbled in scorn of poverty
a plan was salvaged from an ancient map
fallen from a box
flying out of a forest
landing rather too quickly
slamming someone
of secondary importance
causing him to die faster than he might have
he sang briefly
the contents of the box spilling in a cascade
those who knew
sorted rapidly
acknowledging the value
remembering in sighs of dust .
a torpid note
evoked between a material assumption
that a secret had been divulged
whilst Mercy skimpily clad
shivered at the price to be paid
they despised poverty feared irregularities
it must be dealt with
in such a hallowed place
they could not be allowed to disfigure the cause
before a settlement was made
heavy curtains were woven to cover a situation out of hand
dated and filed for a purpose of mighty indignation
that such apparitions could defile art
built for the purpose of worship
incense was burned
setting fire to hope
a hideous sweetness prevailed
fanning the flame
creating a flickering light
insidiously licking the truth
omnipotent
it remained
in gardens watered with blood
siphoned at low pressure
to hide Villainy in the sight of Love
they drank from golden vessels
weighted by pomposity
handles wrought over ages
heavily jeweled
if handled too victoriously
they sliced off various parts
two great trees walked down from the hills
thirst raged
in cypress groves they were laid
tended quietly
by invisible hands
failing to understand that which could not be understood
they vowed to take a course
open to the naked eye
noting nails driven in the name of justice -
they prayed for renewal of fantasy
the cypress trees were darker than they expected
pressing desolate bodies
the tide of fate drawing in
nearer nearer to the sweet breath
immortal longing
streaming
lucid
in denial of desire
creative function gnawing on indigestible profundity
they wheedled before bread and wine
seduced by the specter of renown
taken by millions of lovers on a night
when the moon wept
stars fell
her body so full
it could not be compared to any vessel
capable of holding flame
in cavernous valleys
Death strode
putting Desire to use
between the iron fence of a graveyard
Caution squeezed
pummeling into shape
deeds forged
pitching into the light as one dead
unable to receive Love
an entire body subjugated before the wheel
in leaves they knelt
stone cooling the pain of blood
spilt uselessly over aeons
the heart slept
untouched
by Cruelty
like a rocket
penetrating the brain
it had taken continuous form
indigo blending into the soul
diffusing light
needed if one was to survive
realms where Ego trod
blinding masses
who sought a shooting star
as a savior
wringing out the hours on an iron mangle
crying over the handle
the wire strung for the hanging
by some trick of light the victims were not visible
Mercy was without shadow
ah see how the curtain breathes
beyond Desire
Torment cackling
ah let me kneel
i have battled with the elements too long
I am weary now
dying out from my own cause
thrown from realms
shadowing the soul
as long trees divine the night
For information concerning this manuscript, email Christina Conrad at grillostone@yahoo.com