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broken glass

more picnics mean

more broken glass

it’s not me

or any of my

friends

we wouldn’t do that

who would

stare out to sea

and ask

if the rusty anchor’s still wedged

on the island

where waves attack

shipwreck litter

you’d be stuck

with a fine these days

for that

and I heard the sailors were

all unvaccinated

in 1870

selfish pricks, I wonder

was their captain schooled

by Opus Dei?

someone who

eats roast koala

for tea

picks his teeth

with the constitution

casts icy eyes over

the cash flow of

stamp duty to

developer, it’s only the poor

who choose to buy

on flood plains

my Hilux explains

I’m OK

burning finest quality

trees in aspic

4.2 litre diesel

smash the plastic

P plates

in the car park

by the boat ramp

someone will

tidy up

for you

black water laps

against the morning shore

faint tang of petrol

in the air

it’s safe for kids

so clean

because

our land is

rich and free 

Photo: Claire Doble

Grown ups

My thumb was her thumb

this morning

against the phone

tapping back

to a curtain-pulled room

on a corn-chip couch

where the hallway

smells like hair dye

with an undernote of

roasted veg

warmth of blankets

on a cold afternoon

watching tv

wondering what to wear

tonight

and if this is grown up

well, how

I call her up

to ask

if not then

surely, now?

Image nicked from https://fuckyeahrobertsmith.tumblr.com/post/130968493770/queen-siouxsie-sioux-and-king-robert-smith

Nightclubs in Russia – poem published

My new poem Nightclubs in Russia and accompanying spoken-word (also by me) was published this month in the awesome Canada-based Galaxy Brain magazine.

Head over and take a look, as well as my own piece, there’s loads of fantastic content there.

Link to Nightclubs in Russia by Claire Doble

Claire Doble

Aurora

 

remember emerald grass

and the hot sky zinging

above a field laid out

to the left of a train line

a cloth unfurled

that curls to a valley

steep-walled with bergs

feels like the bluegreen ocean

in that it’s hard to know

whether the strongest desire

is to be in it, or observe

back once again

emotions shot through with

brine-cool air from outside

the world full of birds

and vines across the window

like it’s been a hundred years

Undertow

my sands are shifting

and the tides

always the same but

look at the minutiae

different every time

so how

do you justify or feel safe

always, it vibrates

buzzing with life or at

mechanical pace

like the train rattles by my place

at night, dark speedthought tangles trace

catch and drag

that undertow when sleep

is lying backwards

underwater and

looking up at the light

nowhere else to hide

and no place to return to

do, do, do, do

ideas massed like kelp piles, stinking high

how do I…

where is, why,

just write.

Bookend

It was like a soft night in Melbourne

Or like trains or distant trumpets

Up early to hear birds sooth

A gentle grey sky that sounded blue

I thought about the mountains in my heart-window

How that bright cloud flowed down the saddle

Of the Jungfrau, the real Jungfrau of one thousand poems

Cumulus sitting white and low and lit

Like a lazy dragon’s exhale

I won’t forget

The cow-flavoured, blacksmith-woodfire scent

Noise of building-works nearby

And an early morning’s nostalgic lament

Farewell

Larkspur

There’s all these

small purple flowers

in the forest and the bowers

of neglected front gardens

behind bins and mowers

and I feel like I never saw them before

they probably don’t last long

brave little shoots

growing away insouciant

are they larkspur?

symbol of love, ardent

Life

Goes

On

Leaves

What will I do

with the view from my window

my own slice of building-behinds

and trees, the Catholic church spire

in the distance like a giant watch

on a pin

and the way the air shakes

every quarter-hour

vibrates

from the Reformation church nextdoor, out of shot

my white room

my tower, not ivory but

maybe sometimes I feel like

I’m in a precious high-up spot,

far from the world

like the empress in Neverending story

flying through space

with warm lights on and

Give me a name, Bastian!

so my domain is remade

I’m really here with dusty piles

of books that may be read

notepads filled with ink

spilled through with words,

lists, oh they just keep flowing

no matter how afraid or sad I get

I have built my life anew

and when I look out at

those trees and backs of flats

the kindergarten playground

where the foxes live

must remember that

it’s all mine, all mine, not owned

just like I carry the Pool of London

turbulent, tea-coloured Thames

strong, with still a whiff

of Elizabethan sweat and

Dickensian toil

the thriving grime of unwashed success

grit of an ancestor locked in

a prison hulk perhaps

so too, this Swiss scene is kept

inside

and yesterday, the trees so green

the fresh young leaves of spring

and did my heart ache with sadness

desolate, or was it merely glad to see

that once again

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Jargonmeister

My professional competencies

Easily stretch to jargon

And going forward

I’m glad you reached out

There’s some latency

In the system

We’re aiming to exploit the synergies

In 104-word sentences like:

In turn, this should translate into, on the one hand, increased value of the physical assets which are being developed or redeveloped – measured as actual increase of house/office prices and rents and of investment in the area – and, on the other hand, into increased competitiveness and inclusiveness of the area, measured as an increase in the number of people willing to move in and visit, in the duration of their permanence, but also, not less importantly, in their diversity (including in terms of economic background and educational levels) and in the number and performances of high-value businesses and service providers located in the area.

Best, warm, kind, sincere regards

Claire Doble