blackmail press 28
Tina Cartwright              
New Zealand

Kitchen - Charles Olsen

Grave of the sea
in silver cloud light
Why do they not see you?

The hills are dark sighs
Caressing your mirror sides

This humanity of hustle, greed,
grey structure

Must . . .
Absorb you
Drown in your glistening secrets
Be blinded by your silver beauty

Scrape back
the walls of the stomach
Feel you . . . there

You, surging,
strength in the blood
strength of timelessness
strength of tradition
strength undeniable
Deep in the dark belly
of all life.

That Granada Night

Your memory
is the silver lark of death
waiting for love
to outshine time

You are in that Granada night
snaking through sandy alleys
into the underworld
where lament drew blood
and tears formed red stars
to shroud the moon

You were my laughter
Floating down river
Caught by the lip of the cave
Sucked into dark

Where the myths of
openings to the underworld
are real,
I kissed blue lips
once blood red

Take me downriver
where the cave
opens into

To Know

The blackbird on the aerial outside
Knows many things
The butcher yesterday knows
things I never will
The feel of the knife
The peel of flesh from bone
The severed connections of life
The strength of a man
What it's like to wield

I am trying to uncover
the marketplace of my time
avoiding lines in social networking
where everyone's a star
a dream-liver, creator

If the wiry mind
Settles and gathers dust
Sending out roots
in sandy earth
Wait till the sun's low
Cut them off, just
where they are strongest
Pull them out
by their tails

Split them in two

Tether them to the

Wait for the wind
The creaking of steel

Wait for the thread
of night

Looping over buildings,
clots of earth

Wait for the neighbour's
warbling to cease

Let their tails whip
Like eels through water

Then pull them down

Twist and tie them
to spindly, sturdy

Build a shelter
Against the clouds,
the thunder, the
and the sour hills.

I am currently working on a collection of poetry entitled, ´La Sangre Fundamental.´ Originally from Oamaru, I am currently living in Zacoalco de Torres, Jalisco, Mexico.
I see myself as a folk artist involved with the stories of the people and the mixture of stories that people bring with them, especially those that create them, as a mixture of many cultures or subconsciously as impulses, beliefs, and habits that come down through the blood without people even knowing from which blood. I am involved with the truth that lies in this essential spirit, the spirit that is at the root of humanity.