Literary Reminders



saties bird 1.jpgLiterary Reminders

You are already loved, by the blue hour
By the cold road when you wept

Into his coat sleeve
Snowflakes all round
With the shops mockingly colourful

Tess walked on in the unweeded garden
Cracking snail shells which foretold  her demise
Angel Clare such a useless article, with a harp

Of all things.

She took to her bed with a man

She didn’t know and that was

A rum story.

I caught a cold from a French film

Wrote my own subtitles
The cat in the car park understood
Why I had taken up smoking again.

Home is sometimes exactly

Between the light on a hoarding
And the Imperial Dragon Chinese Takeaway.

You were there all along, Monsieur
Sweet and true
Anything is possible

But usually it is the simplest solution
Which is also the most beautiful.


All Rights Reserved Veronica Aldous 2019

The painting is also by Veronica and is called ‘Satie’s Bird’ It is available on Etsy for £350, please contact me if you are interested in purchase





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

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.

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

Full Fathom


Full Fathom

I am not one of many; I am one who knew
The volutes of your labyrinth
A sliding hand on the inner skin
The wall where pain had snagged
And wrought its patterns now overlaid
With sorrow’s bark; some sores still wept
With my hand which heeded pits and scabs
And made them call, O I said
O you replied
You whispered of his scarlet sash
and I said;
Corals are living bones.

Veronica Aldous 2017 All Rights Reserved




When I awoke
With that cold apple in my hand
They asked me
‘Is it faith or conciousness?’
As I couldn’t speak just yet
Being numbed by the  chambers of my heart
The diastolic interstices, the silence
Mirrored all silences
The space around the fruit more lambent
Than the flesh, core and skin.


Veronica Aldous 2017 All rights reserved



People who live precariously are kings

Lean from cafes, mobile in one hand
Anchoring the space to some island
In their heads where there is chance
Lush encounters with Paraguayan dancers
Dreamscapes of foreign travel
An idea coalescing , germ of stories
Snippings of conversations, clinking
Coffee cups, glittering impenetrable lives
To take home and whisper into the corners
Of an empty room at midnight.

I am there with them. I watch them watching
Impotent as Canute before a sea
Of semiotics and a thesaurus of possibilities
I am waiting for something

A word
It will come.



Copyright Veronica Aldous 2016