—Poetry by Andrew Darlington,
Osset, W. Yorkshire, England
—Public Domain Photos
—Public Domain Photos
WILL THERE STILL BE WEDNESDAYS AFTER THE VIRUS?
I don’t want to see this movie,
this is the house where the stairs go all the way to the moon
where to step from bedroom to kitchen is to leap continents
where dimensional gateways open into realms beyond time,
and for Vincent Van Blacklight, there are always more doors,
a spiral of firefly nebulae hang above the lampshade
the trees in the garden have teeth, they mutter conspiracies,
Amethyst Moonflower spins dark matter out of nothingness
with all her confused paper structures lost in the ozone
while Daubaway Weirdsley plants moonseeds
in the basement which grow into a fruit
of Phobos, Titan, Oberon and Callisto,
the old gods are rising from the windowbox,
we are about to become immortal,
a gastric tube feeds Medusa Fannypack
a diet of ripped hobgoblin dreams,
last night I watched myself sleeping,
I know this is how it begins,
yet I don’t want to see this movie
I don’t want to see this movie,
this is the house where the stairs go all the way to the moon
where to step from bedroom to kitchen is to leap continents
where dimensional gateways open into realms beyond time,
and for Vincent Van Blacklight, there are always more doors,
a spiral of firefly nebulae hang above the lampshade
the trees in the garden have teeth, they mutter conspiracies,
Amethyst Moonflower spins dark matter out of nothingness
with all her confused paper structures lost in the ozone
while Daubaway Weirdsley plants moonseeds
in the basement which grow into a fruit
of Phobos, Titan, Oberon and Callisto,
the old gods are rising from the windowbox,
we are about to become immortal,
a gastric tube feeds Medusa Fannypack
a diet of ripped hobgoblin dreams,
last night I watched myself sleeping,
I know this is how it begins,
yet I don’t want to see this movie
THIS BIRD HAS FLOWN/
EMINENT VICTORIA
it starts late evening,
I crawl from our bed
down rooming-house stairs,
intent on retrieving a condom
from the machine across
the night-drizzling park, but
there’s a wounded sparrow
cowering in the gutter,
so soaked and stranded
it hardly moves in
the cup of my hands
I bring it back to our room
where you wait, and we
place the bird in a warm box
between us on the bed,
last thing I recall is
your eyes in darkness,
and the sound of
its scrabbling claws
when morning comes
the sparrow is dead
and you’ve gone
EMINENT VICTORIA
it starts late evening,
I crawl from our bed
down rooming-house stairs,
intent on retrieving a condom
from the machine across
the night-drizzling park, but
there’s a wounded sparrow
cowering in the gutter,
so soaked and stranded
it hardly moves in
the cup of my hands
I bring it back to our room
where you wait, and we
place the bird in a warm box
between us on the bed,
last thing I recall is
your eyes in darkness,
and the sound of
its scrabbling claws
when morning comes
the sparrow is dead
and you’ve gone
—Public Domain Photo
FOUND POEM INSIDE ANDY’S LETTER TO MEDUSA, JUNE, 2020
Hello Kathy,
I have a Ganesh on the shelf beside my chair. It is carved from wood. I bought it while I was browsing in a craft shop in Leeds, although it was made in India.
I also have a Buddha made from jade. It was brought to me by a friend who visited Sri Lanka a few years ago. I don't actually follow any religion. But why take the chance?
Perhaps some of their spirituality will seep over into my poems and letters and words?
I believe in people. We are confused and scared, messed-up and fearful about so many things in the world, but we learn year-on-year. We are getting there. We are all going to share a beautiful future. This is what I believe.
Here are some new poems for you. It would be wonderful to be part of the Kitchen again.
Best Wishes in Wine, Poetry & Madness
-Andy-
_____________________
—Medusa, with many thanks to our British pal Andrew Darlington for showing up in the Kitchen today! I have posted his letter to me as a third poem, just as he sent it to me, a gem of a "found" poem~
—Public Domain Photo
Courtesy of Joseph Nolan
Stockton, CA
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The snakes of Medusa are always hungry!