CONNECT WITH ME

Please feel free to contact me for further information. I hope to connect with you soon!

Clio Doughty
clioconnect@yahoo.com
0409 842 604

celebrating life cycles . she saw our neighbours door and wondered so from one cabbage palm spear split dried soaked braided with one gymea lily leaf split dried soaked wound around callistemon branches chosen snipped picked bundled and in full circ
and the hunger to be something different finally overtook the satisfaction to stay the same unfolding into what was meant to be . . . November’s seasonal theme at home… the prop story following the metamorphosis of a hungry shark caterp
the kind of pals who talk about death and vanilla ice cream with sprinkles the laughing until they’re crying kind of pals . . . So so so grateful for friends.
your eyes are like frog eggs . Just the thing you’ve always dreamed of someone to saying to you as they were staring into your eyes haha . One day I pointed out frog eggs I saw floating in the river. She went to grab them and I stopped her. We
Fading sunset memories on this roll of film from our first visit to the beach as a family of 4, and as members of our growing community. . Our friends swung by and picked us up on the walk or bike ride down to the beach. I stood on the shore adjusti
This poem began when I was pregnant and pondering my relationship with my unborn child, my born child, and my inner child. In the home of rewild tribe camp, they sang the mountain song (who loves this song???) and I found myself as rock. . Today I am
This poem developed further when I was invited in to the Butoh “solo performance” (I would say spontaneous ceremony process that was witnessed) I did at Simon’s @ancestralmovement retreat with @tony.yap.88 . On a rock in the middle
This poem began a year ago with a question. . For our morning contemplations, Simon from @ancestralmovement asked us to think our own thoughts. Revolutionary right? Drop what we have learnt about science and just be open to the pondering of Rock. .
. . . SPIRAL . . “onwards” the path draws unwinding not a closed loop nor a straight line but a curling direction passing distant scents . “not again” mutters a visitation as a concern a doubt in progression a resemblance b
. . . SPIRAL . . “onwards” the path draws unwinding not a closed loop nor a straight line but a curling direction passing distant scents . “not again” mutters a visitation as a concern a doubt in progression a resemblance b
. . . SPIRAL . . “onwards” the path draws unwinding not a closed loop nor a straight line but a curling direction passing distant scents . “not again” mutters a visitation as a concern a doubt in progression a resemblance b
Last one on this “tremors” poem I swear. Writing is really helping me harvest medicine from life’s fast moving experiences of postpartum… so let me remind myself until it sinks in. . Back when we had our first bush wander in
Tremors beyond birth are harder to sense… they feel like self criticism that comes creeping in. Most days, I’m disturbed by them and often spiral by making my negative thoughts wrong. More and more days, when we can breathe together, I c
. . . Birth: earth to Ira . . . TREMORS . to tremble when we are not frightened, neither running from nor chasing away, neither hiding in nor holding on, but beholding . where you once condemned your peer unravels and the quivers become like silk, ti
Ira Dou-Jyu . he is the watchful wind kindling for peace guided by the rain connected to his ancestors . A moon cycle after your birth, we gave you your name at sunrise. After a month of koa calling you - Pesto Finn - it was hard to let go of. Pest
INVOLVED . back then I needed to know I could do it my body alone mind out of the way everyone out of the way . but this time I wanted you there with me . entangled in my being my hands where I couldn’t be my resistance where I wasn’t .
WAITING . all in time due when the floor is clean the curtains are drawn the batches of bone are stewed and frozen i opened myself to the closed doors of the expected and was met with life on pause . stuck late inside . the real timing found in b
TAKAYNA . moss tunnels and fern tracks the thread of attachment tugs as she wanders waters course through rivers and sinkholes fishing in nonas shrunken jackets trust me it’s not grass forest unprotected leaf haircuts and glue it back togethe
THE ROAD DOWN . ice creams and bush friends soaking where the fresh water meets the salt water what our dreaming looks like catching calls of time passed discarded footprints and shells and following the windy bumpy rough road descending into our dep