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
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
scent of Glebe
on my fingers
those big trees
around the markets
a place of magic
not always nice
patchouli peanut sauce on
overcooked rice
and you can’t get
there, that feeling
out of reach
around your neck
desire a device
compelling action
did I buy it, did I buy in, did I sell out
then worry about
paying the price
Photo: Claire Doble
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
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.
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
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
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
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
Liquid
in a bottle or pooled
in the sink
limpid
wet eyes
drink the sight
of vast lakes and
muddy puddles
curl of an ocean wave
jaunty froth
a spill of lace
jabot at the throat of a Victorian gent
dried red creek bed
and electric green ferns
tiny glints
water winks
guarded carefully by leaves of sword
fishtank in a bar
with a shark
there’s protests
unheeded, pouring wine
into bodies
getting tanked
watching creatures swim
become one with fluid
gasp for more
return to primal states
float in ultraviolet bubbles
while lodged in our collective hippocampi are
ancient memories
of drinking air for the very first time
clairevetica 