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B L A C K M A I L P R E S S

B L A C K M A I L P R E S S

B L A C K M A I L P R E S S

B L A C K M A I L P R E S S

Clay Mask, Christina Conrad

Last days in Dargaville, Christina Conrad

Carole Nelson Phillips Tui and the Wet washing Smell of wet washing sweet, in the willow basket on icy uncut lawn; rises. Spring comes, the Tui screams in the Kowhai, plunging beak into trumpet cones of yellow. Pegged sheets flap in the wind, bleached white shrouds, to wrap again the shame of another night Untitled for RZ on the window sill voilet polyanthus and a half eaten carrot discarded, while you searched for words. You asleep curled up on the tiled floor sounds from your lips, blue pen in your hand. Mannie Seafont Lifes Song                               for Mary Were I asked, to write the song, 'The celebration of all life' I would dedicate it, to you my love. The one who is my wife. I'd choose a bright day for my stadium, white clouds flying on the breeze. all trees be my chorus, let the wind blow through your leaves. There'd be emphasis on birdsong, and Larry Adler plays the theme. The sweet sound of childrens voices, accompanied by a babbling stream. A rainbow for my curtain. Stars above at close of show. Autumn leaves cast on a zephyr. the softest powdering of snow. If I were called to write this song, I would want it to be true. So it would be the reflection of the love I have for you. Safely locked inside my head High up a gnarled old plumb tree In someone's secret place There sat a tiny figure Either dreaming or disgraced. A little boy of yesteryear With black and wavy locks Grey matching shirt and trousers and mismatched holey socks Full of life and gay abandon His laughter filled the air If some disaster befell the place You would find him somewhere near He knew a bit of magic see! He could put the chooks to sleep Their heads beneath their feathery wings Dreaming; not so much as a peep He dug pits to trap wild animals Lions Tigers too! he had visions of one day selling them to a Circus or a  Zoo He dug a hole to China Climbed mountains in his sleep He once traversed frozen wastelands Instead of counting sheep And then there was the goldmine Yep! he started it about here and several weeks down the track The Wilsons garden disappeared! The little boy has left us now But oh! he certainly isn't dead you see the little boy is me no less and safely locked inside my head. Mike Neale Lady I The Lady had wings She gave one to me Together we soared Contented and free The warmth was enriching The loving would flow We planted a life together that started to grow With one wing each We started to tire The love slipped away and we did not know. She wanted her wing back But I kept mine now she flies in circles I no longer fly Sarah Reed Casacade naked sun exquisite genesis casting shiny pennies endowed with light sentry of minutes a stitch at a time march across calender footprints carved in eternity "behold time is precious chosen ones" time retreats petals tumble see them fall I lean I fumble awkward in this ocean of exsistence too busy, too busy I am thankful sun apon my face son in my heart gentle hands clasping I am not alone these solitary wanderings days uncoiling like string gathered with care a company of two strong arms, still small voice I obey beckonings the whisper I follow this mighty voice, this murmur oceans yield mountains like wax melting I see what no one sees I know these shadows could never diminish the light this destiny sure I follow the path diamond cut through wilderness razor edge ripples the air a light so fierce alpha omega protecting I lean I crouch I crouch under the azure sky gleaming unstained by cloud the naked trees hollow of leaf limbs upraised boney fingers scratch your surface in worship

Thomas Vincent black trees, naked and blind of the sun ...An ode; Strange ghostly bush My soul I shall allow to seep back into your streams. As the blood of earth As the blood of trees Enshrined forever alive. Unlike mortality; reality. I musy go now, black trees; Naked and blind of the sun. Thousand year child The sea rained down lay down between us as the withered walls chatted quietly about us she aged a thousand years pale bones cold, turned to dust. I giggled as a child again played castles in the sand Traded all my memories away Entombed her bones within my hands. Nothing can ever come between us a ribbon of hard bone tightly holds us quietly controls us as we wriggle as a feotus once again Parone Vincent Open eyes October sun Rising to the scorpion chief Matai's son Talofa, Pepe Welcome young one Hold the river sands will guide you to the land of the dragon tongue sun Hot burning beauty of ages gone and still to come Homeland heart third born, second son. Proud, stand strong cheif, Matai's son Kath 'Benji Babe' Hayward Nathan Ngatai As screams come within walls he arrives from water falling free into arms which hold him His crys are felt His life is born His watery tomb now an open space of uncertainty Hold me to my mothers breasts wrap me in cloth hold me father to your heart cry tears for me and speak my name Ngatai Hararu Murray Tipene If that is what you want I claim it Now bathe me and hear me roar A Healer You may pass me, for I am alone If I were to share the load It may free me, release the weight from off my shoulders and head may ache no more. But this journey which I embrace is that of a struggle, but it is mine to endure and mine of choice, strike me with that of force and you have forced nothing but submission with tall walls. Strike me with that of words, touch my soul with your tongue. Taste the sourness that consumes my mind. Empty it of impurities then I am free to fill it. But first I need a healer A healer of the mind. A feeling, a mood, an emotion so smooth                               to Steven Zeb She falls like the snow the wind blows Separated leaves fall from trees dead winter nights Awakening to a silent bed Focussing him in your head Arms hold nothing instead Time stops, weeks move Sun sets Sun flys to the moon Stars shine Like raindrops that fall from the skys Tears that cry water of water, of water That taste of salt of salt, of salt kiss my cheek move your tongue around my rain you have my body                                         now understand my brain Doug Poole Myth #1 cradle of whale bone she was born like every other, though extraordinarily mother; Made whale bone cradle Father was sunset who ran and hid; His shell necklaces, were acceptable greetings placed around her gracious neck. Scraping a bed for the night with her hands. Far from the whale bones. sand achesthrobs beneath her nails. How mother loved her. How father ran the gauntlet. her heart forming shore beds; within a cradle ofwhale bones Lemon tree curdled yellow nipples gnarled knotted branches  we piss on roots "growth hormone formula" gm food not we please this tree with pissful glee suckle smearing faceful twists of lemon memories last soo citric, soo acidic we sit and think of two lovers Eyes talking flames like waves siva eyes that talk like fire flame tides lick the sure line body fains lost desire eyes that talk like fire devour both sweet and sour the citric hearth rind you shall never be my lover " and should i dare sweet poison apon my lips damn me to soul asylum 'tis not the grave i fear" Carole Neslon Phillips Zoo She remembers being 12 wearing a new dress white fishnet tights, shiny shoes, standing in the long hallway mother behind her hands firm on her shoulders keeping her in place He, coming through the stained glass door She, pushed 'pig in the middle' between unspoken words Closing the door behind her shutting in the sounds of mothers tears leaving for the day trip to the zoo The polar bear cub dead behind glass, the rest of the day empty of memory Later, in the claw foot bath shilling in the gas meter, bruised, sore she hears mother sob as he leaves her remembers the polar cub and nothing else, rinsing blood from white tights Mannie Seafont The eyes of my only son I never would have realised, I'd ever been so young Had I not looked and seen myself In the eyes of my only son. In these later years, I still seek, the answers to lifes puzzles. And pray to God, he'll need never smell, the stench of a smoking muzzle. Perhaps at last we've learned enough, to impress upon our young. That personal gain and glory, are very seldom won. That the gift of life he vests in us, granted fom above. Is a time of understanding, of sharing and of love. We need not condone anothers ways, nor accept the things he says. In order that we understand, the role that he too plays. This is a world of differences. There are no two quite the same, and only when that's understood, will we cease to kill and maim. Only when there is peace at our table, in the sanctuary of our own house. Can we ever hope to influence, the beliefs of someone else. No, I never would have realised, that I was the lucky one. Had I not looked and seen myself, in the eyes of my only son. All contributed work are copyrighted to the poets. Al works used with poets kind permission. Editors note: "I think Mannie ends this issues feature of NZ poets eloquently and words, I hope we all take something from. I want to thank all the featured poets for the bravery, the power, the words. " Arohanui dougpoole