Christ and Willy Wonka


Christ and Willy Wonka

Just when I was about to start a new life

Saltwater burned the stars
A little Judas jumped up
Sun smashed prams glittered in the canal
I want to believe in goodness
Abstract as roast partridge  flavour crisps
I want to believe in something
Even if it is stem cell repatriation.

Some days I paint only roses
Watching the colour fan out
A Chinese ballet of insects.

I know people come and go
I watched several die
My brain skidding on the endless
Disparity of my brain skidding
On dying and the actual death.

I read fortune cookies and Tarot
To determine the outcome
Of the boiling din of sub-Krystallnacht

My dear hoary ghost whispers
No one gets the gold ticket
It’s a knockout scam.


Veronica Aldous All rights reserved 2019




I wish the windblown birds
Would come to me
Way-eep Way-eep Way-eep
Shh shh
That I could rock the earth to sleep
Way-eep Way-eep
And mend its broken wings
Shh shh.


Veronica Aldous All Rights Reserved 2019





the tunnel makes her hair go shadowy
he pulls off her big malachite ring
and pushes it back on her finger
she shows him paper in her wallet
a child’s photo
they stroke it gently
she smiles again, he smiles
they smile at me…
long streamers of sunlight
clean the dirty window
her dress is summer brown
with white flowers thrown about
he kisses her often
honouring everyone
at 4pm.

I think about them often now;
they help me sleep at night
never having spoken to them
gifted some flowering branch
a Roumanian song
the old raggedy blue sky.


Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018

Double Agent


Double Agent

Lately I have watched them covertly,
One jumps at the sound of a car being unlocked
Paddling in supermarket car park puddles,
Staring at me, when I take the bins out
One held a dead pink and yellow fledgling
A flop necked joke about augury.

They have deep indigo eyes
The cornea a violet meniscus
Of sundogs and starshells
I see cumulonimbus
The tense glitter of mica
The little boat of Hokusai
Forever ripping the tunnel

I do not listen to you any more
Now that I know about such lenses
I’m hiding in bushes
Ferocious as a blind sniper
Turning the outside in.


Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018

Drawing of unknown girl by Veronica Aldous

The Little Devils

candle ghsot.jpg

The Little Devils

Such warts! said Father Emil
As he opened the shed
But it was just fungi nobbling
The surfaces of the racks
Where once-apples turned into leathern bog men.

Outside the the paint fell Rizla-rolled
As foxes scrabbled underneath
Squabbling in the foundations
Pooping blackberry pips and undigested
Valerian stinking binbag slurry.

Inside skewed and sagged wallpaper hung
Ensor-throttled shreds of  pretty leprous swabs
Lisle stocking bedraggled
A harmonium jammed in one corner
Propping up the window ledge.

Breathed an asthmatic stopped-diaposon
It fainted clean away into faint lines
Drawn on the air in lithe spore-curlicues.

There was no grey father, no priest
Where all things are nutrients
Brood hypnagogic spectres
Wheezing breathless brain- ninnies
Lecterns rise like ruthless giggling bibles.

Ergot stung the eyes.
Father Emil raised the skirt
Of an overwintering chair
Legs emerged, full blown chorus girl clawed feet
Which cantered in mid air
Showing mildewed mahogany thighs.


Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved

Drawing-Little Candle Ghost- by Veronica