nostalgia

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

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

Godesses

sliding down the mountain

of the second half of life

like a cartoon cat

legs akimbo

tryna stave off the fall

I grab branches on the way

pause and look around

to find they’re just a

cut-price version of

something I knew

a few years ago

it only goes one way

and hey

maybe the memory

flays

scramble into those

rosy lenses

blink and squint

back up Olympus

wishing

we were still the goddesses

of our day

 

Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

amber

put that in aspic

put it in amber

as the long gold

of a winter afternoon

draws on my heart

and the cravings start

to preserve that almost-there

feeling, like where

you dragged your lips

down my shoulder

or the nostalgic

sense of a new

room

in a rented flat

as sun slants

across clean paintwork

dust-motes dance

I would

tear apart

shred the world

just to

keep this

butterfly-bright moment

pinned

to my taskbar

like yearning, like wanting, like chance

but the light just

slips

through my hands

 

Photo by Jack B on Unsplash

Heimweh

Photo: Claire Doble

the tongue is more sensitive than fingers

teeth shift and move

into more conventional spaces

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity?

on a perfect yellow morning

kookaburras outside my window

laugh at me for leaving

and I ache not to go

heimweih

feels like family

sunwarm and delightful

sense of

remembered yearning

from living overseas

all those years

crammed into my niche

missing Switzerland

where I could be anyone

recently

a stranger reassured me

I’m better now

content here

in another heartplace

fitting almost perfectly

conventional

with a kink

do teeth have a morality

or is it just vanity

 

 

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

Autumn again

Photo: Claire Doble

 

the nostalgia of street corners

so ordinary and familiar

little things that stack up to life

one step, step, step

day after day

years, even

and in autumn

when everything’s dying off after abundance

I weep

over a final mundane journey

ragged leaves scuffing my way

a boy outgrown/ growing up

a closing door

era’s end

and like a film, it’s golden in there

that final crack of light

glowing yellowbrick road curling

back to the recent past

even the tough times

I know. I knew, I know

how shit things were/are/were

but they’re already bathed

in the liquidamber of sealed memory

the beauty

of inaccessibility (don’t ever change!)

and what if I’m only now getting used

to accepting the seasons

and it’s all starting to make sense

and I could relax into it

just about

feel the lull of acceptance

a way life could be?

—

and I know every other fucking poet

said it already

but this is mine

 

Photo: Claire Doble