Terrifying
The beauty of it all
It’s overwhelming
There’s so much of everything
And so much of it so beautiful
I can’t even…
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.
The bees
Stored in our bodies
For all this time
As cruelty reigned
Cold and hard
And we knew those soft and warm among us
Were not safe
The bees
Buzzing inside
Out-noising our minds
Keeping us stiff
Alert
Afraid
The bees
Vibrating constantly
So that our jaws may never unclench
The bees
Tying us up from inside
Nervous system overdrive
The bees
So long they resided within us
We forgot that we were not made from them
The bees
Swarming
Storming
Stripped of warning
The bees
Explode from our mouths
As we sigh in relief
At the end of the season
Of harsh tyrrany
The bees
Roaring
Imploring
The noise in our heads
Spills out unchecked
As at last
The women of Australia
Release
The bees
(C) Zoe Xanadu 2022
On the occasion of our historical release from an abusive government.
De-ode rant limerick for a stinking PM
There once was a dickhead named Scotty
Whose ethics were scabby and grotty
In times of crisis
He was flaccid and useless
And now the whole nation is snotty
😷
Zoe Xanadu 2022
Ding!
Is that you
Texting me?
I wait
Be cool
Let thirty seconds pass
Before I cross the room
To pick up my phone
It’s a fucking ad
For solar panels
Just
No
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?
Bananas
Your fruity pungence permeates the kitchen
I feel the guilt
It’s not even current yet
But it will be soon
As you all become over-ripe at once
Cute lil hand of ladyfingers
More honey
It’s so good
I’m
Rifling through the freezer
In search of any bread
Melt into the hot Lurpak
Delightful fragrant syrup of our bee gods
Let me feel the beauty of flowers enter my internal networks
Honey I’m yours
(C) Zoë Xanadu 2021
Honey
Yummy honey
Local bees
In my tummy
Yes please
What’s in my tummy?
The honey or the bees?
Or the whole of the cosmos?
What a squeeze!
(C) Zoë Xanadu 2021
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
Spritely Musings 