new zealand electronic poetry centre


Janet Charman

online works

she does

basinetted baby
tucked asleep

wake to unload these rocks
from my chest


knock on me

you are the saboteur
making a blur of Saturday
but never argue with a drunk they say
and i smother up the white spray between your lips

how i depend on you fleshpot
to suck me soft
as the waves rush the bach
then i can sit    prepare for a dayís work
sanding at the sides of the hard wood bowl
bought in the Apia market

the ocean speeds up
and i lay the baby aside sleepy on a sheepie

readying my soft cloth
grit paper
and start cutting through the stickiness of old oils
to a new surface

releasing gold dots in dark wood
on this good drying day
sent from sun speared cold bush

and the truck of television turns over in the room
behind me
where news is happening

but solid walls donít detain me
they are thinning
i am thinking of a salad

in my bowl


© Janet Charman

Last updated 11 May 2001