War Baby

War Baby There is so much sadness in this dusty child Not enough skin to wrap around, protect us From such sights as these To which god shall we pray? They say, inevitability, casualty Not ours, so…

Source: War Baby

Advertisements

War Baby

P1170366

War Baby

There is so much sadness in this dusty child
Not enough skin to wrap around, protect us
From such sights as these
To which god shall we pray?
They say, inevitability, casualty
Not ours, so why should we care?

Because his eyes are blear shell shocked holes
Where mirth should play and smiles flicker
Nothing grows or moves…
An unholiness in the broken bleeding baby
That breaks the soul in two.
But he is material fact statistically,
So, nothing new,he’s old.

Like a warrior fresh from combat sees nothing
He is not here, but somewhere out there
With the burning flesh of accursed rain
A mortar  ends all pain, arms and legs and feet
In piles, blocking gullies and drains
Use them as a barricade, these passive staring things
Useful commodities like weaponry or toys.

No child should know how rank we are
How ill disposed to sweet small trusting things
Beneath a sky that rains fire in hellish measure
The ornaments of war are children
Blown to bloody smithereens
As everybody knows.

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved

Rapunzel

bluebell  with filters.jpg

 

Rapunzel

The body does not sleep as it is bid:
It opens and seeps and flowers
Its ministries are ineluctable

Even in nocturnal folly
It urges an awakening unto the dream
It completes itself on the stem
Of a young man who cannot wait

One more second, every part is felt
Even his androgynous kisses remind
The sleeper of her  processes
As she uncoils her lustrous fibres
To accept his calling, grasping
The base of a tower

Awakening  in love
With her fingers
Upon her tongue.

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights Reserved

Imperfect Arcadia

imperfect face.jpg

Imperfect Arcadia
Dammed up water overflows from a spring
Decorate my face with flowers then!
Bid them leave offerings beneath my eyes
My mouth opens like a fish
O drunkenly…
There is no meaning in becoming a waterfall
There is no sense in the taste and the swelling
I could water a lily, consecrate an elegy
With tidal ink spatters, make dew form on roses
But I am a broken cleft knifed into a raw rockface

Spurting tears into an unseemly abyss.

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All rights reserved.

Danaë


P1090082.JPG
Danaë

The trees have been so whipped by gods
They show their tears in drifts of coins
Paying their obeisance to the soil
In flashing polka dots strewn like confetti
Upon the veils of still-green juices
I am affronted by the wind’s tearing
The way it skews the season
I want to hold my hands upon the moon’s curves
Peer into its surfaces, hold back falling
Shove my staff into the yellow shoals

Summer’s elusive kisses still pressing
Upon September’s cooling  brow.

 

 

Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights reserved