AUSTRALIA

grillostone@yahoo.com

http://conradpoetry.cjb.net

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

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

swollen mattress
(for 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 sky’s
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

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

© All Copyright, 06/01/01, christina conrad.
All Rights Reserved. Printed By Permission.