poetry

melancholy restless

I want to go back

to a beer garden in Glebe

on a sunny afternoon

where I could sit in half-sun

shadow my true self in

a cloak of booze

you knew all the pretty boys

in sleeveless tops

and the old farts

playing pool, getting sloppy

I’ll pop to the ladies

the moment’s pause

calm darkness indoors

then get more

cool green railway tiles

old wood and stained glass

that chalky pink scent

bath-bombs and lust

threads through

tunes on the decks

starting up

swells of crowd noise

we’re all getting lush

throw myself off

that sledgehammer cliff

of drinking til dusk

sometimes fly

sometimes crash

the worst when

it just goes flat

the betrayal of drink

if it doesn’t click

think I lost something there

or never found it

you know what I miss?

the obliterating wave

to shift

my set point

I want to hide

in the chaos and slide

caught up, unobserved

for I am so afraid

petrified and stuck

that the only way through

a punishing ride

Photo by Liam McKay on Unsplash

periphery

I will live bravely

the life I want

will not be found

between the walls

or compartments

of a salary

it is shining out there

where

the horizon meets the ocean

at the edge

of my headland

and in the corners

of imagination

I will not be defined

by what bulls, bears

and bossy men say

when they think they

know better

than me

I do not believe

the lies

of politics

office or otherwise

I will let them laugh at me

moving

into the periphery

they cannot understand

the depths of how

I think beyond, around

and through

a needle

piercing

their mundanity

Billy?

her claim to fame was a well-known name

she’d fucked him as a courtesan

back in the time of Eminem

who don’t apologise

never explain

there’s no pain with

emotions ambered

in opiates

platinum cornsilk hair in plaits

china-blue eyes, red lips and latex

the perfect doll, with a past

the celluloid unease of her

tried and truly … too touché

while here, in reality

we hedge, we cheat

work our beat

never wanting to compete

sigh softly at our silly feats

and the men

invariably

fell

their tongues aslant

on heat

oh boys

why must you be

so utterly cheap

Photo by Harrison Kugler on Unsplash

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

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

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