Trevor Landers
has been published widely in New Zealand and overseas and he was the founding
editor of The Third Degree and the founding director of The Zealot
Press. He lives in an idyllic spot in Eastbourne, New Zealand surrounded
by verdant native bush which he says is "ideal for reflection, rumination
and writing". His sensual work has previously been published in Mind
Caviar.
Illustration by Claudio
Parentela Visit his gallery
online.
1.
Wadestown on a Sunday Night
~ for Deb
At the white house
on Barnard Street
caressing
your buxomness
my hands feel wonderment
the
lusciousness in your eyes
slushing in my veins, --intravenous lust--
you
have never been so coveted when we speak with arms and legs.
2.
Lie spent and sticky-sweet
lie
spent and sticky-sweet,
Full,
your breasts, beyond youth's pert
enticements,
full beyond the earnest nibble of thought
and
tongue, full with the legacy
of
midnight vigils, primitive comforts
worshipped
the weary work
of
womanhood measured
in
the delicate striations
of
your flesh,
through
the perfect oceans
of
lover, wife, mother you come |
|
3. artichokes and avocados
We lumbered beneath
the slow grind of bones
like an artichoke and avocado
in the same
salad bowl
like uncommon logs,
surrendering ourselves
to the odor of winter;
damp pubis of woollem socks,
and discarded
knickers pungent with
the slick of transient
lovers
& now
the sheets of that passion
billowing, bleached
clean and unspent in this strong sunlight
starched
crisp and blue.
4. The gal in the exceedingly
woolly mauve jumper
The gal with the inviting
glint in her eye
sauntered through the market nonchalantly,
she had to know:
clad only in an exceedingly
woolly mauve jumper
as if Michelangelo himself had sculptured perfection
in the curvature of breast, and later I would confess
my feminist sins to her; contritely.
Such passing glimpses break the kernel of shyness and reserve
that befitted immediate
expressions of adoration
least, that is all
I saw. She looked, edible, then
at me like a fatale in a grainy Fellini, all statuesque and unspeakably
gorgeous
art incarnate in milky flesh and rueful looks
as ensnarements to
poets, philosophers and scholars of aesthetics & movement
a hostage to untamable animal lusts & the strictures of public decency!
5. Ruapehu Song
Be merry always,
for thine
own sake
you said, as gentle tremors rippled Mt. Ruapehu
the white glistening slopes quivered
like hands on expectant, exposed flesh
in a soft bosomed harbour
we were moored until morning
like a lost skier, in snug, snow cave, kneedeep.
6. The House-sitting Lover
In the upstairs bedroom
you undress
in front
of a mirror
your creamy
skin is like milk
and I am the cat with the Cheshire smile
lapping you,
feeling you on my lips
the midday shining
upon your ample breasts
just waiting for a lover's quickening pulse.
Copyright ©
2004 Trevor Landers. All Rights Reserved. Do not copy or post.
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