Sam Sampson lives in Auckland, New Zealand. His poems and reviews have appeared in Stand, Ariel, The Listener and other journals. The author of Gauguin's Poiesis (1999), he has taught ethnomusicology at the University of Auckland and worked as a freelance musician and writer.
Nave Nave Fenua
as a confusion of flesh / leaf / flower -
while a brook called absolute silence
intones a plaintive wailing:
as not to awaken desire.
Somewhere Mr. Bernstein?
Somewhere (half-decent) there is a place for us
an open plan, of peace and quiet, and space
for us; an anchorage of blue plague
realism: to spare, to learn, to care
for us; but what of time
to spare, time to learn, time to care
a new way of living?
Oh, cut to the chorus:
somehow, someday, somewhere, somewhere....
A Blue Lighter with Chinese Characters
Your body tossed as flotsam is empty
but for characters: lucky - star - high - shine
each a celestial halfwit wrestled
between good fortune and a tidal bulge.
where the green. green seaweed spools tangle;
where I found you. blue. discarded.
A fleshy soul
gingerly, in step - tiptoe
through a field
where peacock blue
- on top of the hard sand
is deposited everywhere.
strung-out. Keep the
- grid-locked cells
underfoot, bare-reflex -
flash! a sudden touch
of gentian violet
to the sting of salt, of tears
flinch at the words:
'it's for the best'
then the heave of sob
- mouthing, that graze of flesh,
the first encounter:
mountainous blue / blue mountainous.
The Dirty Monk
After the pixels were fixed
we all shouted Seurat!
To be reading Stein
Isaiah / Jeremiah / Isaiah / Jeremiah
with the blue guitar. I had in mind to pose in profile.
Ascetic an(d) irty and angular. inverted
in the old sound-hole of a singing star.