blackmail press 35
Paula Frost
New Zealand

Taipari O Maraea - Penny Howard
My name is Paula Frost; I live in Taranaki and I am born and bred in New Plymouth.
I have been writing poetry since I was in my 20’s. I have been fortunate enough to have just completed a three day creative writing retreat at Taupiri with amazing facilitators.
Forcing Love

Forcing love’s blueness into pink makes shadows hover.
Morning’s forgiveness releases mists of red breath.
Shards of human bone offer sprouting blossoms to the debt collectors’ memory of tomorrow.
Grey hopeless longing drags wearily the screeching vulture.
Lyrics frozen by the lost valour of old wounds arrive at the altar of decision.
The spirit broken falls into the moonlit dunes, devouring the fragrant night’s whispers.
The vulture bombards the vengeful tongues of merciless strangers and seeks the blood of stolen remains.
The debt collector arrives with an army of promissory notes.

Silent Babies

Bony girl picked up the ladle from the fireside and fed her silent babies coloured sand.
She filled the wooden cup with crushed ice and fed her silent babies melting water.
She filled the metal plate with rocks and fed her silent babies crushed pebbles.
She packed the torn canvas bag with fresh air and fed her silent babies dreams.
She lay beneath the starlit night and fed her silent babies moonlight.
She closed her eyes and covered her silent babies with the garments of her suffering.
She filled her lungs with the hunger of her forefathers and gave her silent babies a chance to leave.
She crammed her mouth with rough sand and joined her silent babies.

The Quandary of Angels

The quandary of angels toughens as we worship our earthly gods.
Our demons leave us bereft of daily fodder.
Winter clicks its fingers and we remain lost in the tempest of hunger.
The fires of repentance, the joy of life are taken aloft by the eagles piercing talons.
Repentance is an apple.
Joy is a peach.
Everyone lives in their favourite season eating the chosen fruits of their just desserts.
Wild winds spray earthly wisdom with exploded nuclear warheads.
Your peace silenced by the frozen life of the poor.
Poor is the spirit of absence.
The poor have the absence of peace.
The soaring eagle drops the poor at the doors of the rich.
The poor remain to help the rich keep tabs on the doors of power.
Hunger leads them blindly to the fortified door and the wealthy rejoice.