hodmedod

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hodmedod 

old Norfolk ; hodmedod is a hedgehog according to the blind Granny . 

Suckety on the rot wenfalls
amble sides up across the windy
mudpaths,  is stuck oh-don’t-mention
the obvious accoutrements
of  dogwar, foxwar
the soffety tics behind  ears
the coughcough of shy visitors
the hidey of tinies, keep away

keepaway keep away crotchety
not angry, just terrified
sleep in a ballkin
is conker is  not moving, not dreams
not witches to suckle

git movin’ boy! off!
or stab at the seams.

Veronica Aldous 2017 all rights reserved

 

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Outcast

moon cinema
Outcast

I saw you last on a bookshelf
Jammed between a greasy cookbook
And a peeling novella in serif so small
That malice was its only purpose

You had not been opened
But passed on, passed over, left
Half asleep, half awake
A trance of in breaths…

There was a  lamp and its tender spectral gleam
The sharp tang of the coldest night
The old game of finding words
Some magic utterance –
I would’st I did not care
That even poems weep.

Veronica Aldous 2017 all rights reserved

Picture shows my book Moon Cinema edited by Bart Wolffe 1952-2016.

 

 

Show your Wound

I am re blogging this in memory of Gustav Metzger  who tried to show us what we are and asked us  ‘Can we change?’
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artwork by Veronica Aldous copyright 2017 not to be reproduced. Silkscreen and digital print on silk with neon stitch and mica

Show your Wound

 

Show your Wound

It’s a hat you can wear, felt and fat
Swivel and you miss it, if you know a colour
Is turquoise – not blue
The litmus paper test for if you are a screaming
This or that. What they call you is what you are
But not. I punk it out and sometimes
Take a swing, but why?
When the sea is in my coffee
And birds are just plain happy?
This is simple;
We live
We die
And in between

If you leak like trash in a backyard bin
All over other people’s gardens
Puking up pulpy ghostfear
In a trench of gnashing teeth
Just like a machine head
Just like a wasp caught in a hungry jar –

You won’t be haunted
It won’t prevent you sleeping

But then again,
You never really know.

All rights reserved Veronica Aldous 2015

Gold ticket 


Gold ticket 

They come from distant corners

The halt and lame, the smokers

Drinkers, street watchers

The girls with chronic knees

The women with their childbirth backs

The men with phantom arms

They want to dance, they yearn

Leaning on a wide soft memory

Some have shattered minds

They came to dance

Their children hover

I am there

Near the back.

Veronica Aldous © 2017