Author: Claire

Quiet

I don’t dream anymore

I sit and hold my shoulder

wait for the noise to end

when it does, my ears ring and

I gaslight myself, still it throbs

again, again

do I like the quiet

the sound of distant cars and ocean

invades my soul more sweet

than the motor noise of the

selfish pricks next door/ I don’t dream anymore

that reverb has eroded

my light, my joy

a sick trickle

of stale Jack Daniels

sour and tacky it

sniffs

in the back of my throat

an old injury

waiting to flare up

it could hurt me so good

it could, it could

but I don’t dream anymore so

maybe I’m safe

oh, the pain when it goes silent

and those whispers

of how to fight it

 

 

Photo: Claire Doble

origami

unfold my heart like origami paper

smooth out the creases

where tiny red pebbles catch

in cracks

pitched up by a running track

near my flat

in Zurich

I’m broken open

low-key grief the loss

of runs in the dark

we shared so much

I took it all in didn’t I

does anyone else feel

nostalgia for metal grates

in paths that no one else noticed?

It was mine, mine, mine…  my love

don’t know I could ever

go back

you can’t step in that

same snow twice

oh for a drink

drunk-comfort

an old friend

to avoid

all those things

the fear, afraid, scared and cold

like

I fucked up

Turning

At the turning into Autumn

I miss you

the soft thud of my feet

my heart

on pine-needle gravel paths

through forest

criss-cross sideways

up the mountain

swagged like

tinsel on a tennenbaum

a quiet deer sometimes

standing there

watching my ungraceful gait

from its lovely stillness

cool water in a hollowed log

meant actually

a whole system of pipes

beneath the ground of this

not-so-wild place

but I suspend disbelief

bursting out and around

body-singing glory

of movement

it doesn’t matter

if my knees knock and

I don’t look like

an advertisement for Asics

moving like

a lover above and below

worship and own, be owned

mine, surrendered

the exchange of breath and air

only distance

memory

pulls and aches

but cannot break

 

Photo by Johanneke Kroesbergen-Kamps on Unsplash

hot hot cool

electrics, tricks

tick, tick, trickle

heat wavers, waves

stop. And restart

farts

old and out of date

but

aren’t we all

electric-powered today?

renewable future

our fate

fill fill the landfill

juice

running down my arm

gasp- scruffle- snip

catch, latch, snatch

from air, from light, from surge-bright

water push push

show the way

if you can-can

dance

save it

for a rainy day

say, can’t that

precipitation generate?

Oh don’t stop or

curtail

our splendid, slipshod, spendy ways

pump your pool

reverse cycle, hum, vibrate

rave

it’s only

the hot hot cool

you crave

more power, more power, power on

never never off, no loss

no, no, nooo not gonna

break

 

Photo by Gabriel Aguirre on Unsplash

acolytes

her house is like all her houses

stacked boxes stuffed

with treasure and tulle

sparkling, overflowing

shelves full of

paperwork and good snacks

mostly well-labelled

the smell of good cooking

and pots soaking

slightly too long

on a hot afternoon

I’m so well catered

I don’t care

the white noise

of aircon

and water in

green glass, covered in cartoons

her teeth beautiful

even

lip like a falcon

is that

good breeding

and stockinged feet

are always acceptable

here

am I too keen

a mismatched cactus, pyjama queen

wanting more, more

a scene

half forgotten

play it cool

knowing this can turn

sultry, salty, mean

the swoop

of her Egyptian eye

laser, sharpened

shimmerfear

hair’s breadth moment, us

and… still

breathe

we orbit her

dancing, ducking, bowing and

studded about

like cushions, like cats, like acolytes

adoring

pleased

to be seen

 

Photo by zixuan Fu on Unsplash

summerlove – with audio

I carry all these

years

of summers

in my body

heat, light, salt water

ache and split

like an overripe tomato

knees, wrists and shoulders

stained by the sun

and worn

like old pyjamas

soft, familiar

hoping it will last

the high hum

late and golden

overblown

sighs the end

of another

season

it’s already darker

now

in the mornings

but still

the ghost-warmth

in clothes just

stepped-out-of

on the floor

oh

don’t leave

too soon

please

love

another one

almost done

 

LISTEN! https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/summer-love

 

Image: Claire Doble

Marbles

thoughts scatter like marbles

across a cool slate floor

caught in contours

and contusions

picked up and warmed

trailed like lazy hands

from the edge of a boat

the half-wet feel

of touched glass

oiled like eyeballs

what sights

from the eyrie

floating high

surrounded by marbles

and thoughts

scatter-smashed

lost in depths

unleashed, unknown

 

Photo: Claire Doble

The Lash

men who are afraid of me

like you,

because I yelled

unexpectedly

or the ones I seduced

too easily

scared I’ll leave

or withdraw regard

my need

seared by wit

can’t forgive

or forget

that spell

he feels

unspecified annoyed

can’t tell

why

a woman tall

and loud and hoyden

is just

too much

a burden

when you’re built to fight or fuck

coward men

need soft chides

with love

and shimmer

not a simmer

from

the lash of

her storm’s

bad weather

messing all your

ruffled feathers

bound in tradition

that’s conditioned

you’re blind

your man eyes

can’t see

so, so sooo sorry

not sorry me

 

Photo by Jennifer Marquez on Unsplash

Halfway in

bought my house on stolen land

hate the sound of neighbours’ fan

heart half here, half overseas

not sure how to feel pleased

hard to be the one who sees

both sides

it’s balance?

or unease

trying to dive in and believe

life is good, but girlfriend, please

the world’s a mess

people suck

the cars, the dogs, the tat, the trucks

if only we could find some ease

never me, the malcontent

hands up, surrender, fie resentment

stepping through a faded door

shoes off

eye prize

to future shores

 

Photo by Yaopey Yong on Unsplash

 

Kestrel

I lived in addiction

on the brink

clawed myself back

to a safe haircut

and admin

until

I lost myself

like

ocean weed in the sea?

somewhere

in the

midst of

competing priorities

some days

it’s a grey fog

oh come on

it’s just a

job, job, job

Oh, I was soaring over

the headland once

a kestrel

redgold edged

against blue

now I’m

smashing against

the wrong side of right

searching for

whatthefuck knows who

 

Photo by Michael van Gorkum on Unsplash