poems

do you

do you, do you, do you

love me yet?

do you, do you

have you

fallen

no regrets

fucking on a mattress

on the floor

you had no furniture

at all

for months

lived in your car

do you

do you

have you

succumbed

you hobo?

staying up late

frantic words

words, words,

type, write, text

don’t speak

the words

afraid

of what happens

next

if

what?

do you

do you…

suppose

the love

still

spills

out

you love

without

saying it

a frenzy

of avoidance

type, write, text

when

my crazy meets

yours

you’re crazy

I’m

relentless

engulfed

obsessed

tie me

to your bed

play games

with our heads

do you, do you, do you

love me

yet

 

Photo by Tengyart on Unsplash

Sunshine

I sat with my ex

in his garden

on a cold, bright sunny day

in Melbourne

we hadn’t

slept together

the night before.

He lived there

with his girlfriend

an arty chick

he met in London

I never knew her well.

She was right to

be uncertain

he was mine

for the taking.

And I blew off

my old best friend.

And he knew

I’d fucked his brother

– my god

I was hungover

we just stayed there

playing Scopa

in the sunshine

it was a nearly perfect day

 

Reading on Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/sunshine

 

 

Photo by Darren Richardson on Unsplash

High hopes

I wake to the taste of

stop n grow

bitter, sweet

with nostalgia

heavy, hot air

laden with Christmas tree

and the dreamsnorts swirl

make me

old, young, like

a glitch between

childhood and progeny

the way your eyes light

when you play a song

beered-up footy men

get teared-up to

singing along

my heart

catches

like a fingernail

in tulle

because I know

what’s inside

you

a betraying all-too-human

love

I guess,

the cynics

would sneer

but you’re 10 and it’s clear

I don’t know

how to explain

like a mirror I see

how you ache to be

understood,

to rise high

above

and be great

in a way

that will

never quite

be attained

in your mind

I just hope

one day you know

I believe

you are

in

every grain of sand

on the beach

 

Listen to it on Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/high-hopes?si=37a6a28f20e24210bc49cee8b7ddcb9b&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Stretch marks

Stretch marks on the ocean

silvery, tired

trying to remember I’m vast

sparkling, a

mother

fucker

more than, enough

can’t be contained, tamed

in a single glass

wine? whiskey? why?

I yearn somedays,

mostly Sundays

afternoons

for self-absorbed

oblivion

a sweat-beaded bottle might provide

those sweet lies

politician in a suit

sneakers and no tie

Modern. Woman.

leaning in

hi!

time to change

time’s are changing

it’s like

holding on to a boyfriend cause

he looks good from behind

only realise

that metaphor

means

he’s long gone

in my mind

can’t win

with an exit-man

start again

if you can

find enough

water in the ocean

to stretch across

exhaustion

make a new thing

never stop

aching

Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/stretch-marsk?si=10a516776fd04d1c9232bb1db7c76e1f&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

Photo: Claire Doble
 

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

Winterise

 

frigidaire air

cold on bottle-green arms

inhale exhale, snuffle-gulp

chill shots, no covid

don’t touch

turquoise face

stretch

alabaster calves

yellowhite, marbled

tight, neat, chocked, clocked

surprised but not shocked

ready to run

here it comes

breath like a vape

grey morning takes

extra

moments

to

arrive

pinkorange imperial glory

of clouds over

water as

ghosts glide

majestic

winter sunrise

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Skytumble

skytumble

and the breeze

tosses me

around

batters my

spiked edges

smooths

the turmoil

of the soul

I watch the

lines of cloud

chased to the corners

of blue

funnelled towards

a far edge, reaching

white, high and fleeting

and below

and beyond

waves rise

out at sea

alarmingly like

the dream

I had

last night

of a tsunami

greygreen

they’ll reach my windows

engulf the house

tight-sealed but

ominous

a trickle

down the wall

all-engulfing

enthrals

colours in a

tropical storm

aquamarine

slides sideways

more like

quiet horror

than fright

 

Photo: Claire Doble

Darksparkle

Dive deep, dark sparkle

serrated frilled

never fulfilled

that feeling

escapes

when I

tin-can my mind

cut-through is zero

once again

waiting

in the wings

afraid to fall

or execute

a lame pirouette

gavotte, garotte

ambition on the cross

of hope

frowned brow

while others float

like eagles so

easy

if I could just gather those

gossamer strings

add kohl to rims

electro-beat heart

ever elusive

a fat black moth

rectangular, irregular

air-float of a burnt thing

swooping black kite

hides

in plain sight

like beauty marks

or scars

scratches, catches, caked in corners

of eyes

the soul

on a Tuesday

oh, where have you been

underground queen

dancing away

to industrial tapes

and screaming blue Jezebel

while anyone can see

she’s a skinny succubus

or merely

a sketch of one

who wished she was

 

Soundcloud recording: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/darksparkle

 

Photo: Eliška Motisová on Unsplash

The Water Tower

The water tower

perched high on the rise

floating world

of childhood holidays

muesli, orange juice

perfect vegemite toast in Penshurst

searching for

unfear

raw

remember

that girl was

always anxious in a way

now wonder if

my addict’s real

or just someone who

found self-harm easy

and crammed defeat

into flamboyance

a proud sham

now soiled

bored

with final flounces

doused in

sanitiser

nostrils flare

that witch wakes up

occurs to me

it’s moments of practicality

when it could be love

instead of flames

a soft patina

murrs pebble heart

like moss

or not

gosh am I lucky

to be so low

the one

who sees

how it goes

stupid mind that tracks and twists

yearning for

the years

of concrete towers

and hours

of unshed tears

 

Soundcloud recording: https://soundcloud.com/clairevetica/the-water-tower

Photo: Mihai Lazăr on Unsplash