Englishwoman

grey flowers

Englishwoman

(Indirah at the Boot Fair)

Such a hot day, a shame to have no one to share it with…

On the crowded field at Victor Beamish Avenue
She wanders to the edges where vetch and dry stalks bow
Blue fades like salt, whites are surreal
As if sharp ghosts loiter, bleaching sullenly
Before expiring, famished by such solstice light.

At the perimeter fence she squints at the soldiers
In their green khakis, scarcely children to be so restricted
Keeping people orderly or something like it
It’s all about control.

Nothing she could buy would add years lost
A ring slipping from the finger into the undergrowth
A kiss which became a bite
Might also be remembered as a kiss…
Did it matter when his hair was so soft and nice?

What happened, happens
In summer we cannot imagine the pain of  winter
In August heat- we long for ice.

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All rights reserved

 

 

 

 

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Fir Green

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Fir Green

The woods are holding the owls deep in their clefts
Their voices hollow out the dark blue void
Eyes shut, you are speaking to me, your warm hand
Enfolding the day’s essence,a  dark chocolate voice
Resonates in my heartwood
I hear it at night narrating some oaken verse
As though a man came out of the greenwood
And offered me a  mossy seat on a fallen tree
To tell me folk stories of golden maids
And violet charms that fall at midnight
A thread of silver seeps into a bird’s call
Bidding the forest to keep its secret.

Good Friday

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Good Friday

beat a million micro-tiny hearts a-ticking for the rising
up of spring newjuice, cells breathing their old time signature
in dense yet springy  yeasty seasoning of mould dough

in skyblues ortolans defy  gravity and the tense wracking
nets to escape with such starfire rectitude that trappers gape
understanding the symbol of their denoument

the fleshly wound

By word-deed I made the birds escape
instead of the pulpit droning remit
Of loving freedom by devouring it.

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All rights reserved

Songs of Innocence 1

Songs of Innocence 1

Up there, the sky is etiolated, breathless
The peaks mauver than the delicate sprouts of potatoes
Falls of  mica schist in serried rows
Glittering  as the scales of dragons
This mind mountain, this hope of rising!
Decisions are made at altitude
Misinterpreted in the heady cold of cwms
How will love ascend? of course it will..
As certain as the humps and foldings
Of the glacier which scoured such valleys
Inevitable as a slow heavy force
Which youth finds ineluctable, enticing
The coupling of ice and clay
Where nothing melts or mingles
The tattoos of maladroit ineptitude
Hiding a geology of  bruised dismay.

 

Veronica Aldous All rights reserved 2016

Forbidden Stitch

me but 1a
Forbidden Stitch

These inlaid patterns, whether tesserae or broderie
Are home to thoughts, to wishes, dreams
Late fragments disintegrate in time, the base net rots
Leaving the winding  lacis peony behind

Such are white flowers hung in racemes
Scenting blue air  naked as a white doll
Mending ancient lace, blind to tears
She sews a fine seam
Red hearted peaches
For Nowhere’s trousseau
Blurring brokenhearts
In  silken tender cream…

 
Texiile ‘ Me, but on a Good Day’.   Embroidery Veronica Aldous
All rights reserved Veronica Aldous 2016

 

Moon fish

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It’s the jump: from flowered curtain to radiant mind
Make sense of the impasse, make sense of nonsense
Indirah is counting her old coins with the holes in
The ones you can hold up and see the value of nothing
Stars, stars and at twilight, one thousand rabbits

Oblivious, because their eyes are sewn on sideways
Blue air – leaning in the gate to the fields
Their white scuts a semaphore of  loving
Wynken and Blynken coax the moon fish
Into jars; she sighs and the single light bulb
Flickers coldly alluding to its demise
Trust can grow from white roots fanning –
The old nightgown, the old stories
Of light, of fireflies, the magic air we forgot to breathe..