Veronica Aldous' Magic Paintbox

Ruthless

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 01 Mar 2010 15:02:00 +0000

Ruthless.

Mistletoe

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Fri, 18 Dec 2009 16:14:00 +0000

Mistletoe
When the house darkens
she takes the small ebonised chair
up the back stairs, to the closet
to hang it on its bent nail.
There is no more time to think of him-
his serious eyes are too far away
somewhere between sky and sea
he lingers like the green ray
"If only I thought hard and far enough!"
But you cannot dream to close a gap
a Druid's kiss is always ice,
it can be felt for many days
and years- at least, she always feels that way.

He Writes to his Lost Mistress

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 14 Dec 2009 15:13:00 +0000

I make words like I am touching you
as though I have alchemy in my biro.
In the Hadron collider
Some small flash, an infinitesimal event
May mean I could prove your existence
By your terminal absence-
In a chocolate cupcake shaped universe
You are pasted on the front of my mind
Refracting on walls and floors
You are other people's eyes when they are brown
Not brown, but topaz, I must be precise-
I am a child in this, and search for you
In the light on the aerodrome
Where the still gliders hang out in the blue
When I hold my breath, you may reassemble
My higher faculties say it is untenable
But my limbic brain says goddamn tick-tock-tick
Makes chemicals for making love, a waste-
I am leaning on an ice cold whitening rail
In December sun waiting for your hologram
That old impermanence that ruins stuff,
I cup my hand, conjure your breast,
Unfortunate but true.

Amy Bunhouse

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 30 Aug 2009 15:32:00 +0000

new sea paintings

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 17 Aug 2009 11:09:00 +0000

Loads of new stuff at:

http://www.veronicaspaintbox.com

Sea change

They behave differently in water;
as though bemused, they raise one hand
to squeeze out hair, shade eyes, a mudra
of acquiescence.
The liquid space they occupy
demands obedience, compliance to its soak
turn gel spiked crops to sullen slimy slicks.
The young men have low slung trunks
brought lower by the slop of sea
incline their heads bowing to the element
they are serious, as if demoted, in despair.
The girls cope better, look upward at the sky and smile.
White seals, they sprawl and crawl and bounce
Their earrings glint and go green, until at last
they stand and chat half-submerged
fins and tails sprouting somewhere else
their upper halves, fit and shining and unaware.

http://www.veronicaspaintbox.com

2008 AD- a christmas poem

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Fri, 12 Dec 2008 23:24:00 +0000

2008 AD

this month strips the twigs to black bifurcating spears
each bears a gravitational drop of water at its tip
Christmas looms and shoppers plunder cut price
sales, the shops closing down now the bankers have won
and MP3s and x-boxes teeter on the topmost shelves
as if the moon were not important any more
the lack of moon, under those dark wet clouds
the mindless metallic lodestone of the stars
their glorious loveless spaciousness of space
that dim enchanted internet we ape.

The fact that you seem very important, but you are not.

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Fri, 07 Nov 2008 12:23:00 +0000

Dessicated ghost , can you remember
how pliant the days where when you stole across my vision
your stain on retina, I was undone, and still I talk to you
even though you are no longer a viable proposition.
Do you remember me? Or do the winds
blow across the marsh to meet only a wisp of seagrass
drying remotely on the shore?
I want to ask you about unkindness:
specifically the need for it, and whether
love cancels it out ?
I might bring a priest flapping across the dunes
or a bureaucrat's sealed files upon my head
dropped from a supersonic aircraft.

An armillary sphere blocks my vision
and the tick-tock clack of mechanised
institutionalised misuse.
Love, can you change the elected government?
The betrayal and the use of power against the woman
clad in rags with the child against her slackening breast?
Love! It couldn't even bring me to you.

The Shadows of Birds

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Tue, 04 Nov 2008 11:38:00 +0000

The shadows of birds

Between red buildings, bright blue flies its kite
the eyeful seeded with flurries of uncertain birds;
Only this is relevant, choppy as a newsreel
unfolding a story which never sticks around or yet quite fades
Extending beyond the brain into some coalescing pool
of nothing mattering/ mattering very much.
As if two children playing on different continents
glance upward at the same faint shimmering movement,
As though this October day, this sun, this broken thought
is all that marks us out us human, this recognition
of the absence of light where light briefly fails to pass.
We mark the choreography and its notation
the trajectory of miraculous and ordinary birds,
Some dim lobe marked out for remembering then forgetting
how some things end, are endless, how long they last.

Super 8 Poem -Veronica

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 29 Sep 2008 13:04:00 +0000

Super 8

I gain no admittance here
even though I remember the colour
of each blanket in the bedrooms
the parlour filled with uncertain light
blinking turns the sun off and on.

I want to run down the stairs
to the kitchen and out into the garden
feeling the naked step over carpet, lino
wood and grass, to be received;
a welcome visitor to the summerhouse.
The creamy purring corner
of tea and animals and fading traycloths
I want to talk to those tired and snoozing
holograms who know the family tongue,
the meaningful interstices, the vowels
a metaphor for love,.Dare I mention, love
again, and once more love-
I want to run the old film one more time-
Its final title bleaching on the minds eye

Oh we are a broken clan.

Autumn Photographs Riddlesdown Croydon

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 28 Sep 2008 15:34:00 +0000

FM poem

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 12:03:00 +0000

Today I have no comment, fine fingers
shoot up my legs and arms and my
synapses are on amber alert:
I am a map of nerves and my borders
are constantly being patrolled
the perimeter fences electrified and discordant-
through these echo messages
the government of fibromyalgia
telling me that I need to write it down
that a reckoning and a totting-up
on the gross national debt of coping
will mean heavy borrowing and cracking down
of the crossfire from all 11 checkpoints.

Cat poem and images by Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 11:32:00 +0000

Uhauma-um, err
Ura, ha, mm
Eh? e hana
Uh, uhauma-err!
eh-eh
Uh-eh?

Translation:

He sleeps, his cat all tongues
Licking the intense vegetation
A flea? Then cough!
a pause
Oh should she run away?

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 18:38:00 +0000

Imaginary Boyfriend

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 14 Sep 2008 18:35:00 +0000

Imaginary Boyfriend

In a parallel universe he closes his eyes and dreams
are a giant purifying force, how cut off we are
how cut off. Unravelling slightly I can imagine
his sleeping, his breathing as if it is different
from any other respiration. It's not, of course
of course, it's not. We make our gods from nix
then wonder why they're not much more ardent
a hand on the nape during self-made love.

Veronica Aldous 2008

The Moth with Devastating Wings- Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 11:33:00 +0000

Be warned those who plagiarise or breakcopyright- yes, you know who you are!

The Moth with Devastating Wings returns
to find she has been Plagiarised.

In case you have not noticed I cannot be destroyed.
Your finalities, and prognostications
upend, and those pale winds will finally take you
to the place of learning where you will be whitened
like a bone in silk.

Your ineptitude has created an annoyance in me
If I stamp then my small footfall decrees the end.
All your attempts to paraphrase my magic
and filch my voice, will end in silence and vacuum
as a year of dustiness and marvellous markings
is phased in by the Ministry of the Moon.

You cannot hold a flame to me, you know.
I am not just a moth. I am also a Stuka -
although my body is soft
my decals are encrypted coda
I dance a gavotte at your demise
for gaiety!
for the black joke of my inimical design!

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 29 Jun 2008 10:15:00 +0000

Bridal Suite

Madame Perreire rings the bell, the house incomplete
the house falling down. I'd like to know what this room's about -
the cine showing nude after two-tone nude
desperately wanting something more, than this stiff
collateral, the thing that Madame banks on, that percentage
lying thickly on the floor, near the door, archly winking.
I got bruises, and one thing is, I don't like this any more -
White and spiritous, like white rain, white noise
white horses, white whores, oh I like you better;
ripped white paper, my nails are bloody, sore
from writing, writing till you come knocking
ghosting in my Elsinore.

spray/tan- by Veronica Aldous copyright

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Tue, 13 May 2008 14:45:00 +0000

Bad handbag/ Cate Blanchett

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 12 May 2008 16:23:00 +0000

Cate's Lipstick

Cate Blanchett is incandescing, having a red lipstick moment
She dissembles, is caught out, winces.
Her phone rings twice, and the camera pans to the low table
Some deep hues emerge there which foretell her downfall.
What should she do? There is light on a wall in strange patterns,
I don't like the look of her blouse, too racy, too blue.
Her teeth probably ache. I know she's acting, but does she feel
Culpable for this sad moon, this set of frames
This way we all respond? So we breathe in the lit-up air,
Remember some relative time, some infidelity
Or judgement to be made. The window is white:
In the shed there lingers some forgotten doll
Sitting waist high in a tin tub, tiny tears with drilled in holes
Peeing and crying. I am looking from far away,
At Cate from outer space, I am the lunar shift
Peering at dreams. The sprockets tear
The film flips and flaps, the audience groans
As though Cate has dropped through time -
Damn! I like her lipstick - that kiss-off colour!

The silent waitress who brings your coffee

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Fri, 09 May 2008 08:38:00 +0000

The silent waitress who brings your coffee
thinks nothing of your complications
tests and confusions, she only serves
you briefly, cares for you
among the milliseconds of her day
her hands are capable, but sorrowful
her mouth pragmatic but full of truths
should she ever speak to you
the screens would fall
and the fine sharp glass of memory
impale you to the cafe floor.

Poem by veronica aldous- 10 seconds of an animal

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Fri, 09 May 2008 08:33:00 +0000

10 seconds of an animal.

10 seconds of an animal
is fast
is shivering, is black cream
poured
upon the the embers
of a hearth
its surface rapt, controlled
the pump beneath
well tracked with coursing blood
its mind remote-
an amazonian
source.

a witch's tail
a witch's heart
off centre-
ah, violent, ah
its surface suave
skinful of force
they chain it to a circus car
it grinds its teeth
the ringing screech
potentiates
a wiry thrill on metal bars,
lie down, lie down-
ichor
god help me
ah
I see its face
in yours.

I want its low slung danger
the way it knows no anger
is concentrated
arching, fluid
takes its prey
as lover
ah.

Veronica Aldous
Published Orbis 2006

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 04 May 2008 16:15:00 +0000

kisses

I have collected these winged beasts
nine insects jostle in a teacup, their dusts
pollute the surfaces, they are enchained
and disoriented by their entrapment
their small soft bodies dry as spores
are difficult to identify, i like them well
their silver netting, their gaudiness
the way they shivered on the air
just before they aimed and fell
the captivity is a kind of reckoning
their inward fire, the cold precision
with which you placed them
i might crossbreed them
i could do with more-

I toy with one
upon my finger, the tip I drew right down
your face, the one you told me off about
so cauterized- I burned for hours
until I realised you were not serious
you never are.
They crawl on me, their flags bear symbols
warnings, prognostications, their decals
diagrams of lovers in flagrante
that I note down carefully- choose to ignore.

Each purple emperor, camberwell beauty
swallowtail and poplar kitten
all amount to a small collection
their brief pulsation lasts half a second,
when I caught them in the darkness
as your mouth came near to me
should I pin them to black velvet?

do you think I should set them free?

For the inside of a Greetings Card by Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 04 May 2008 11:01:00 +0000

For the inside of a Greetings Card

Bought for the Occasion of "Losing your Friendship"

Last seen in a crowded bar, you seemed one way
and then another. How odd, I thought
as though you were a mirror.
My old friend,
now somehow blind, affectionately I send
you thought-flowers and hope you will receive
this emblem of a comradeship
still sweet,so out of fashion.

Dead Swiss- poem by Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 17:11:00 +0000

The Dead Swiss

The clock produces different places.
one minute I am a child asleep,
the next,looking at a skyscraper!
cities rise, then are drowned
bells sound, teatime, downtime
far off in Ys, kids are still playing
at the bottom of a lake.
we think we are alive, next moment
we are someone else - such change
causes no consternation; the dead Swiss
merely wink at one another
adjusting their chronographs
to allow for such Atlantean jetlag.

Copyright Veronica Aldous 2008

Flawless Hoods- watercolour by Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sun, 20 Apr 2008 10:39:00 +0000

Lost Lands

These jewels, maps, fall from your hands:
the continents spread out, until the colours bleed -
your plunder, spoils, from violet lands,
and in the light, is light on light
red broken on a wheel of gold
the gold itself exchanged or sold.

And in each souvenir, I see your face
painted on a different sea. I touch the treasure -
you watch me touch, I see your pleasure
expand, contract, pulled back by tides
as though your guide does not include
the conquistador's old game.

The game of humming birds and nervous flowers
an elegant dance that circles, hovers -
your shadowed gaze, intent, explores
the boundaries; my hair, my skin, my clothes -
as though I'm terra incognita up ahead
or one who walks on starry shores.

Then something falls:
you start to talk of dust and loss and emptiness,
produce some well worn stones with flaws,
I probe the inclusions far too well
the squandered light of light on light
the light all spent -
I want to stop the slipping night
but cannot stop my mouth

or yours.

Copyright Veronica Aldous - image and poem not to be reproduced without author's permission.

Mind The Gap- poem by Veronica Aldous

noreply@blogger.com (Veronica Aldous) — Sat, 19 Apr 2008 11:57:00 +0000

In the underwater world of dreams I am unchanged
I mouth a mirror image of myself, no future principle
intercepts, no aide memoire is applied
I am completely perfect here- and safe.
Before,before things broke away and snapped,
And what was solid slid aside.....

I wake- a gaping hole persists
I'm Anna Karenina today -
Please Mind the Gap.