
I can suddenly
make sense of the other
voices in the park
Today’s prompt was to play with voices. I struggle to write poems in voices and POV other than my own so this is another take on ‘other voices’

I can suddenly
make sense of the other
voices in the park
Today’s prompt was to play with voices. I struggle to write poems in voices and POV other than my own so this is another take on ‘other voices’

the sense olfactory
of synthetic blueberry
soap suds of mauve and
shadow on pillows
raven’s wing
an Elvis thing
old sailor’s ink and
pale skin,
don’t give in
to grey
Photo: Dean Truderung on Unsplash

bitchy
snitchy
trigger-twitchy
she’s got an itchy… cee
wants to steal
your pitches
swiftly
stamp-trample
fuckshitup
and pee
oh, she notices
your faults and smirks
she lurks
in corners
where you thought
you’d be unseen
picking your nose
or worse
and worst
dirty secrets
she’ll unearth
for everyone
to see
but then
she laughs
holds out a hand
come dance
on podiums
such glee!
irresister
rebel sister
burn life down
with me
Pic: Aeon Flux (snatched from https://formerpeople.wordpress.com/2014/02/28/reflections-on-the-avant-garde-in-pop-culture-aeon-fluxs-tides-and-duchamps-fountain/)

it was pink and curved
it was black thick-pile velvet
it had the tacky floor of a Camden boozer
and it smelled like clothes
in the morning
before
the smoking ban
small enough
to hold in one hand
forearms rest on thighs
an imperfect fleshy sphere
a soggy cosmetic sponge
pink-brown, is that my skintone?
outdated, like a cord-phone
a soaked-in scent of hangovers
fumes of long ago
mine, tongue-smooth, alone…
lazy, comfortable, like home
Soundcloud recording: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/heartplace
Image: https://unsplash.com/@agebarros
The way the clouds hang
light in a heavy sky
ragged fragments of white
at midday, bluegrey thunderhead
harsh mountains behind
stippled in snow and ice,
unwelcoming
chimney smoke that will never be mine
I fit myself into a crevasse
thinking I’d weather a few more years
unexpected avalanche
tore at the façade
shattered fragments in mud,
sharp so you cut yourself,
cold
and I
will never forget the trails I ran alone
although fearful
it’s already a dream
of something left behind

Welcome to 2018! I’ve found it was useful to talk about writing goals at various points in the past so this is my housekeeping/ looking forward/ looking back blog for the year. Partly for my own reference but I’ve also got a question for you guys!
Housekeeping: I was really pleased to finish #26Cantons52weeks in the allotted time. I made a snazzy (sort of) homepage for it here: https://clairevetica.wordpress.com/26cantons52weeks/
I’ve also updated my About me page and added a new pic.
Taking stock: according to my submissions document, in 2017 I had 32 rejections and 4 acceptances. They say you should aim for 100 rejections per year so I only got a third of the way there. Partly this is because I only have about 6 hours ‘writing time’ per week but mostly because I really slowed down on sending submissions for various reasons, including making a decision not to pay for any submissions/reading fees/competition entries. Three acceptances were short stories, one is a poem that’s still in the pipeline. I love my poems but I guess in general the lit journals don’t? Or maybe I’m too impatient and I just publish all the best ones here 😉
My writing plans for 2017 were as follows
Writing goals 2018
I’m at a point where I really need a paid job. Both for myself and due to family circumstances. So I’ll be focusing on that for the next couple of months, which will mean less blogging. At this stage, I’ve had to be a bit tough with myself and decide I won’t even think about novel writing, short stories or poems too much while I focus on the job-hunt. It’s make or break time.
I’m sure a few poems will pop out, and maybe some travel stuff, but I need to give myself permission not to feel bad about putting my creativity on hold (sob!) to focus on finding work. And unfortunately, due to some travel in April, I won’t be able to participate in GloPoWriMo global poetry month this year either. 😦
Otherwise from that, I guess my goals remain much as above… I will revisit it all in May.
A few other bits and pieces:
AND FINALLY…
I made this poll a while back and never published it. I was going to ask you, my readers, what you would you like to see in the next, say, six to twelve months, from Clairevetica?
Since this is mostly a place for me to write whatever, I don’t promise I’ll actually follow your advice. But it would be nice to know what some of you think!
Please feel free to pm/ speak / email me with your thoughts as well
Thanks for reading!
Cheers, Claire

I clip the coupons
shop the bargains
steel myself
for the feel
of cheap shoes
that sweat up my feet
cheat and lie
that it’s working
I’m saving
the planet?
ha ha
steal some time
from myself
spend some time
on myself
me-time
me-spend
me-save
me-fake
new year, new you?
what about
me, me me!
never keep
the receipts
Soundcloud link: https://soundcloud.com/user-808707280/sale

trapped behind bars
and rooms with candelabras
watched over by stone lions
hemmed by iron pylons
you laugh a liquid chuckle
claim your sovereignty
in droplets
human greed encroaches
puts you in a bottle
still you slide away
you are me, you say
I’ll destroy your structures
by the molecule
as you build them
I erode
froth, ozone, fog and puddle
cage me if you wish
I’m the undertow
the overthrow
and more
in every pore
you know
the score
I wanted to use this line ‘the undertow and the overthrow’ since reading it in a poem by Aurora Phoenix, it seemed to fit here on a poem musing about Lake Geneva, how it’s so big and yet people seek to own it and/or make private property of it. How can we own nature? Water is part of us. And yet clean water is a privilege and a commodity. Not sure I entirely captured it (!) but need a few poems to break up the ‘cantons’ …
Photo: the fence of a chateau on Lake Geneva (snapped by me!)

my eyeball is scratched or
there’s a filament of lint on it
and I lie here and wonder if
I’ll go blind
a bit melodramatic
more like think if
I’ll still feel it in the morning, if not
will I remember
the ghost of lint past?
contact lenses
I look better but I don’t see better
And my big toe hurts
at the side where
the nail’s cut too short
maybe it’s infected
or my sheet is tucked too tight
maybe it’s cancer
we don’t talk anymore
in bed because
you’re not here
and
there’s a sort of pride in holding all one’s own problems
inside one’s own head but
oh well
good night.
Photo: https://unsplash.com/@alia_wilhelm

I wake to
your call
in the night
we lie parallel
I I
two, at 2am
asleep
your nose
tucks beneath my shoulder
I’m your lodestone
head buried, body pivots
north
to 3 o’clock
how can one so small
be half my life
how can one so small
rob half my night
how can one so small
take up so much room
in the bed
Photo: https://unsplash.com/@hirsch