10 o’clock Paralysis



10’clock Paralysis

The tin dog barking his guts out
The three notes like a cracked gong
She can feel him bashing along
The corridor, his tail striking the dado
In miserable happiness
He has been heard by a woman
With no key, no heart to get up
Go out, feel the sun striking the retina
The fat mud extruding as glorious wormcasts
His ministry is one of just sitting it out
Till something changes
Which it always will-

And now he has commenced howling
To prove this very fact.


Veronica Aldous 2018 all rights reserved





Minotaurina – stitch on silk and monoprint- Veronica Aldous 



I was dreaming of a letter and  of red dye seeping
When the lightning came with its cold supernal finger
Snapping the bone of night
So the room shivered in frightful agonies
Impelling me to fetch my pen and write-
As if that would change a single thing!

I live a borrowed life
Where I still may bear children
Make love to a broad backed heat
Compromise the position to please
Bargain and choose-

Electricity is inexorable
I cannot believe it is not a god.


Veronica Aldous 2017 all rights reserved

Lonely Hunter



Lonely Hunter

The lawnmower lasted longer than his wife

Pushing it out over the day’s-eyes

Reaping a harvest of wet chlorophyllic comfort

On a skin rumpled by moles

A house he had owned

Only as far as the foundations

Words cannot be pushed under

They keep erupting from the dragnet

Coming up from his brain canal

The candy grabber in the penny arcade

Limply shaking a loose skinned puppet

Winning, only to lose it again.


Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2017

Photograph  ‘ Weald Faun’ Veronica Aldous copyright 2017




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




Midnight sulked in its chamber, watching the witchlights

Out on the bay, strands of  unborn thoughts
Flaring and dying as we all do.
He saw a comet some days before
The arc of it scored the sky; as if it remembered
Something he regretted, green as velvet
Soaked in oak moss, sullen as silver
Chrism of this earth.

If this is living, how is it so easy
To scry the other world?
Wrapped in laurel
Soaked in myrrh
Bitter as oud.

I sniff at the colours
Flowering mercilessly.

My hands clasp brushes, pens
It is a good embrace.

Veronica Aldous all rights reserved 2016

How to explain poetry to hens


How to explain poetry to hens

First there are sound-colours, then pecking at tiles
Hiding behind  stalks and murmuring sorrows
You may feel an idea coming, but not just yet
It’s more of  a shallow burp at the moment.

There is plenty more to be had from the feed
And then there is that great big red cock
Who is no euphemism, he’s a right distraction
His wattle all a-quiver with emotion.

Sometimes I scratch for hours, there are lean pickings
Indigestible husks, pebbles and maybe a tail feather
From something that happened in 1977
I could use as inspiration.

It’s all eggs with you ladies
You are useful
I’m just a poet

But at least I can get a thought fox in my sights
When he comes creeping  in his long black stockings
Through the shocked meadow
He’ll not  be breaking my neck for fun
Anytime on a Tuesday evening in June.

Veronica Aldous 2016 all rights reserved