<![CDATA[ali whitelock writes stuff.: My Poems]]>https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/s/my-poemshttps://substackcdn.com/image/fetch/$s_!Dq8Y!,w_256,c_limit,f_auto,q_auto:good,fl_progressive:steep/https%3A%2F%2Fsubstack-post-media.s3.amazonaws.com%2Fpublic%2Fimages%2Fad48cbc0-3761-4b32-b4c2-f553309865b2_960x960.pngali whitelock writes stuff.: My Poemshttps://aliwhitelock.substack.com/s/my-poemsSubstackThu, 09 Jul 2026 00:49:18 GMT<![CDATA[ ]]>https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/230https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/230Tue, 23 Jun 2026 06:25:01 GMT

ali whitelock is a Scottish poet living out west in NSW in an old church with her French, low-carb, chain smoking husband. She’s published three collections of poetry (Wakefield Press) & her work has appeared in journals around the world. She’s also published a memoir about growing up in Scotland in the weird & brutal kingdom we call home, which was launched to critical acclaim at Sydney Writers Festival & also in the UK. She likes cats, but also dogs – & while she’s always gravitated towards red wine, lately it’s been white. Go figure. More here (about the writing, not the wine) www.aliwhitelock.com

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‘Whitelock’s gifts to poetry are many. These include showing how poetry doesn’t have to be written for a minority in order to be first-rate.’ The Saturday Paper

‘Blurt-your-beer funny and rip-your-gut raw.’ David Castle, ABC Radio/TV presenter & author

‘This is brilliant. Funny, heartbreaking and a bit wonky. Now my internal monologue sounds like an Ali Whitelock poem (except not as good).’ Graeme Macrae Burnet, His Bloody Project

‘Whitelock’s work stands at the summit of the most intimate, original and vital of contemporary poetry in the English language.’ Dr Brentley Frazer, Riding Sharks

‘I didn’t even want to review Whitelock. I just wanted to turn back to the first page and start reading again.’ Simon Sweetman, Off the Tracks

‘For anyone who ever made up their mind that poetry is boring or pointless, there is a sure antidote and it is Ali Whitelock.’ Edward O’Dwyer, Bad News, Good News, Bad News.

‘Remarkably life affirming.’ Sydney morning Herald

‘A hilarious, no-misery memoir.’ The Scotsman

Ali Whitelock & Magi Gibson are two opinionated Scottish poets. To receive new posts and support our work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Thank you for reading!

Ali’s books (available on all online platforms and bookstores):

-a brief letter to the sea about a couple of things (poetry)

- the lactic acid in the calves of your despair (poetry)

-and my heart crumples like a coke can (poetry)

-poking seaweed with a stick and running away from the smell’ (memoir)

]]><![CDATA[A poem from the time I was arse deep in selling my house ]]>https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/a-poem-from-the-time-i-was-arse-deephttps://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/a-poem-from-the-time-i-was-arse-deepSun, 15 Feb 2026 21:03:42 GMTBack when my last poetry collection was published, I was arse deep in selling my house & wondering / worrying how my future might look. The house finally sold & tbh, my future is no clearer now than it was back then. This seems, does it not, to be the way of life, all of us just working it out as we go along. But the thing is, my collection got lost a bit in that particular mayhem & I didn’t get around to sharing many of the poems. So I’ve decided to remedy that by sharing the occasional poem here.

This poem ‘the ophthamologist instructs my husband’ was originally commissioned by Red Room Poetry in conjunction with the Art Gallery of NSW. I was invited to respond to a photograph called ‘Yvonne, student, Yugoslavia’ by photographer Merilyn Fairskye & the photo was part of the Shadow Catchers Photographic Exhibition at the AGNSW.

If you fancy the occasional poetic shenanigan &/or articles on the writing life (what’s good & what drives me up the fucking wall), do subscribe. It’s free (or paid if you really really want to). THANK YOU!

]]><![CDATA[Still, I worry about my liver]]>https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/still-i-worry-about-my-liverhttps://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/still-i-worry-about-my-liverThu, 20 Nov 2025 03:56:06 GMT



STILL, I WORRY ABOUT MY LIVER


	my favourite part in the movie is when the nobel

laureate for literature		dies of a heart attack

		i watch the scene		over	& 

	over		&	over 

	all i can tell you is		when the russians

came	my great grandparents fled lithuania

for scotland		my uncle has dementia	he’s

the only one who remembers	
	
						           anything


	when your own time comes to flee          roll your

culture thin		till holes appear in its dough		layer

it in with your smalls		your aerosols		your 

         liquids over 100ml				cram 

what’s left into the arms of your cardigan		your turtle

neck		the heels of your shoes	where they’ll 

				look for the bombs

 
	at the final check point	when they ask if

				            you have anything to declare	

		rummage for your tongue & tell them:	


	   Y  E  S  			E   V   E   R   Y   T   H   I   N   G


	that night in the forest		they said reveal 2

surprising things no one knows about you		i told

   them	(1) about the nobel laureate thing	&	

(2)  my even-i-have-difficulty-understanding obsession

with the russian submarine movie, Kursk		how i

	watch those submariners’ final moments	over &

over	&	over		how i shiver in that black

icy brine as though it were my own

					                  watery grave

	
	before the war		the algorithm served me up

great platters of russian literature		i devoured the 

meat + 2 veg of dostoevsky		tolstoy		solzhenitsyn	
						
                                       drank down their gravy like

								i was starving

	
unless I’m forced to		i never drink vodka	

		but still, i worry about my		liver

[i      c o m e     f r o m     a     l o n g      l i n e    o f      l  i  v  e  r s] 


		that night in the forest		the word vodka in my 

mouth felt like			poison		i love black bread &

russian sausage		does this makes me a bad person?	my friend 

bronwyn asked me my favourite cuisines		i told her 

		french			indian		&		chinese 

she asked if there are any cuisines i don’t like

				i whispered yes, mexican – but i’m not sure if it’s 

							okay to admit this.

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© Ali Whitelock 2025

This poem was originally commissioned and published by Red Room Poetry.
]]><![CDATA[even the lure of my tenth coffee for free & the cake of my choice on my birthday does little to sway me ]]>https://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/even-the-lure-of-my-tenth-coffeehttps://aliwhitelock.substack.com/p/even-the-lure-of-my-tenth-coffeeWed, 12 Nov 2025 00:10:53 GMT

i’ve always fancied myself as a standup comedian, grew up on a diet rich in dave allen, billy connolly & basil brush. yesterday i tried my new joke out on mum. hey mum, i said, did you hear the one about the unsuspecting woman who left a trail of data exhaust everywhere she went? mum’s eyes widened. no, what happened? she said, waiting for the hilarious punchline – don’t worry, she knows exactly how funny i am. well, i said, her identity was stolen, someone spent $8,426 on her credit card, took a bank loan for $993k in her name, she was charged for crimes she didn’t commit, now she’s the one in prison – boom boom! mum just looked confused. two data breaches later, the department of cyber security called to advise my data’s for sale on the dark web. knock knock! who’s there? well, technically it’s not me, though granted it looks like me, ‘cause some cunt’s bought my passport number, medical history, date of birth, phone number, email address & every password i’ve ever set up, including AvocAdo3@z which i thought no one would ever get their hands on. to console myself i went to starbucks. ordered an almond milk latte & a sad pastry doing its best to impersonate a croissant. the barista told me if i download the starbucks app i’ll get my tenth coffee for free & the cake of my choice on my birthday. while it’s tempting, i know if i download the app all i’ll be able to think of are the almond milk lattes & suspicious pastries my imposters are going to steal from me. out shopping, i switch my phone to flight mode. i’m constantly looking for cameras. i race through stores with my hood up & head down, i don’t want them to be able to follow the ultra processed breadcrumbs of my greed, for advertisers to stalk me in the cordoned off VIP section of my mind reserved for thoughts & ideas by invitation only. i go inside a toilet cubicle to call mum. my claustrophobia has reverse engineered itself, i now only feel safe in tight spaces surrounded by four walls. mum’s in the kitchen when i call. i ask if everything’s ok. she tells me the department of cyber security called again. i tell her to lower her voice. she asks if this is another joke. no, i whisper, the fridge might be listening to us.

*data exhaust is the trail of data left by the activities of an internet user during their online / mobile app activity. This data is tracked and used by corporations to profile individuals, and bombard them with unsolicited advertising.

© ali whitelock 2025

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