Posted on

Newtown ain’t what it was in the nineties 


Walking alongside 
the ghosts of adolescent memories 
preserved like so many 
Pompeii corpses

in back lanes
alley ways
parks
and cemeteries
as though no time has passed. 

Holding the hand of the girl 
who learned fear and compliance 
at the hands 
of so many entitled jerks

“It’s ok”
I whisper to her
“I’m here now.”

“Together 
we can kick ‘em in the shins 
and run

to the underground dance party
where our people 
shine 
in their white singlets, nipples erect, freak flags flying high…”

My ghosts, they smile,
tears in their young wide eyes
as they squeeze my hand 
and nod
with the certainty they always deserved.
Posted on

And so 

Late stage capitalism closes in
Sputter stumble grip squeeze…
We heave and try
We trudge and sigh
Bound, and on our knees

Conditioned slaves to a broken system
Acutely self-aware
Of our own pathos 
as we participate in the continuation 
of our own oppression 

How could we make a poem with rhythm
When jolting discomfort is what is now so deeply familiar?
When removal from so much of what is natural and beautiful about the human experience has become our accepted reality…

How has it come to this though?
Our ancestors would not have wished it for us.
The legacy we stand to leave does not look great.
And yet, here we are, rubbing our noses in sea-trash-to-be, as fossil fuels burn on.

Eat shit and die.  Could we at least soften it with a comma, or even two, for Oxford?
Posted on

We fell 

The states were closed to one another
As our hearts lit up 

A tiny window opened for us 
To sip from true love’s cup

We yearn and strive to feel close
With new laws holding us apart

We both stay home so far away 
When home is in each other’s heart

I long for you my darling one,
To feel your arms around me

To hear you whisper to my hair
Of all the things that should be

Hold on my love, and I will too
To the truth of our sweet story 

This pain we know is compost
For a garden full of glory

(C) Zoë Xanadu 2021

Posted on

Delivery 

Hanging preschooler sized pants on the line
On a sunshiney lockdown day

Brrrrmmmmm
The postie bike stops at my gate

Through he comes with two big packages
“I’ll just put these here”

They sit by the door 
As I continue my dance with the endless laundry cycle 

I pick them up on my way inside 
One, a bundle of online fast fashion for the teen

The other addressed to me
Flat, registered, with stiff cardboard inside

My graduation certificate and testamur
Just like that

Ten years of isolated online toil
Solo parenting, working so many jobs

My Masters degree has been conferred in hi-vis 
From the other side of the laundry basket

Not a mortarboard in sight
But what beautiful weather for Graduation Day!


Posted on

Comirnaty 

Hello spike protein
Welcome to my systems
I see the genetic code in you,
And invite you to show my body 
How to make copies 

Good morning dear body
This is an invited guest
Please make them welcome 
Drop down into accommodation mode
If you will, and help them do their work

A biscuit dear guest? A cup of tea?
Let me show you to our lovely bath
Soak in here awhile with your kind host
And get to know each other
Find your harmony like new lovers

Befriending the reality of our times
Supporting our communal wellness
With a perfect fusion of love and science 
Dear body, you and the virus share Mother Earth now
May you do so safely and gently
It’s ok
Keep
Breathing

I love you