Little rabbit girl

little rabbit girl.jpg


I have my head stuck in a bush, maybe my head is a bush already. It’s of full thorns and coiled up ferns. Maybe it’s like Christ only I am not very holy.
Oh birds!
Oh tendrils!

I am meant to be concentrating on making good or mortgages, or something.
But I keep thinking about ink and how nice it is to spit out words.

How nice it is under here, I can see poisonous berries and a wren.


Drawing by Veronica Aldous

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018




He sung a twisted song, chewing on his tongue
Max Mandrake, hewn from wet tarpaulins
Drainswept gushings
A heavy thickset sweaty face
Impaled on godknowswhat
Pyramid of needs

Lush black hair in obscene scrawlings
Prettiness that nauseates
Terror focuses in the third meridian
As if spiders readily removed their legs
To save him the trouble

He probably conquered K3
Engendered small squalling babs
Had a smiling wife…
Does he remember
The  rusty cutting edge of his little knife?

She is hyperventilating
Her brain shrill with thuds and filth
He hisses dead words
For her smallest recoiling hidden parts
The insides of exquisite roses cancelled
For manure and phlegm and cut off
Hedgehog feet.


Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved

Little kings


Little kings

With stalked goggle eyes
They survey the terrain
A rich dessert of sweet veins
Each cries
I am me!
I want you to do what I say

Finding no solace in sunlight
Or rain, or shining dew
Greedy as acid

As soon as they chomp Lettuceland
They want another

They batten on the earth
In sticky digestive marmalade
As she boils in her core.

Dollish- from my new book on Lulu


dollish cover jpgDollish

I am not doll, but sometimes wish to be
Featherweight, a flying thing with tinted wings
A flowing dark dot in a minnowed brook
A tiny teacup full of lime green juice
Drink me, they say, eat me, I don’t.

I have a way of looking
Which is astonished bewilderment
A little sharp razor which is words
A dob of paint and a needle to stitch up
Any seams that pop
Sometimes my legs and arms are fearful
The joints pulled out so they dangle
Those are bits that no one sees

Other times I slip gracefully into bed
Wearing my butterfly pin and my silver wig
I am guessing you wish to love me
After a Fête Galante of chat ups?

But do it the way of a witch
Mind the buttons and cotter pins
My indifference to mortal things
Remember I am antique.

50 Years


P1220179 Look at a tree properly
Not even the whole conundrum, just one limb
Or the seed, even its body
Is only light streaks, immaterial
Just a green grey line hit by solar particles
Wood it may be, leaves, bark, tongue…
The best way is to forget all that
Remember, we are only peering
New born to shadow and shining
Christened and dying all at once
Just to see one thing
As it is
The eye burned by the ravening star.

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2018

The Black Earth of the Arawak.

lady of flowers


The Black Earth of the Arawak.

The sun broke the sky into three pointed stones.
Eye stones, keep stones, earth stars, voices
Tall girls were washing the string from juicy leaves
To weave into baskets to crush the toxic sap
From a giant root.

We may be eaten by men or dogs he told them
The water glittered, and a pinkfaced monkey chattered

He traded for some iron to cut the Spaniards
The way they cut  up the womenfolk, only worse
If there was a worse way, he would find it…

They were the wrong people, they were just a  family
Eating their bread and praying  to a paper saint
Before they were felled beneath the tools.

A double rainbow spilled over the spent volcano
The two-note bird shrilled in the wet undergrowth.

Now we are as the Caribs
He said
Except we did not eat them


Veronica Aldous

all rights reserved 2018

Alice and Pi

wave paiting

Alice and Pi

Pleasure is not formatted
It is clouds inside a builder’s van
Not inside but magically inserted
Via the ordinary glass

Holst plays a  symphonic broadcast
To Venus, he is gone now
But he can still compose
Listen, he says –
Everything has a voice

I transmit acres of nebulae
Chesil beach is the wet sea
In my blood, tidally grading the stones
Smaller to large, as always

I am worn away, but saturated
As the horse drinking
From the deep sweet stream
All of it changes, is unchanging

Stranger, what are you?
I feel you streamed
Into me; you answer my questions

That is truly astonishing
Look into me again

I transform under your gaze.


Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved

Painting by Veronica Aldous- copyright