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ANDREW
NIGHTINGALE
Andrew
Nightingale lives in the southwest of Cornwall near Falmouth. His poems have
appeared in Poetry Salzburg, Big Bridge and Tremblestone.
WHAT IS LEFT
hot creamy light
extraordinary things
I keep waking at 4 am
if I use this, I must kill it
eyes siphon the darkness
another time, another place
the owls fly straight and fast
ghosts that haunt the body bag
I can't breath, I think she's here
I've been tired and off my guard
having nothing leftover, she died
heavenly music can be misleading
I sit at the table in the kitchen, waiting
before I let the wind destroy my thoughts
a voice from the radio threaded from its wires
the operation of dissecting it becomes automatic
formations of water and wind, the movement of ink
everything said on one side of the wall is a question
I made up stories about a dead girl who tries to speak
appropriate disclosures don't allow for eternal dilemmas
beauty is broken for pleasure, that's how plenty works us
I used to imagine I'd meet her in stormy weather up on the cliffs
desire to help automate the recording of future experience is not enough
can I suggest you pay particular attention to dregs and the concept of dregs
in the kitchen where a teaspoon in a mug chimes out the fresh cup of tea
you're far away and warm and sleeping as I put find it on the tape
this faint art, this rotten pointless art, an assemblage of ghosts
if the world was made of paper the rain would write nothing
it stretches out at dusk, sometimes howls like a feral cat
removed in a series of small steps by sensible laws
behind a brick wall, knocking in words like nails
on the third page stopping to check my watch
nothing could be written until the wind blew
is anybody, is anybody, anybody, there?
putting on trousers, tying a shoelace
in a small locked chestnut cabinet
why time adds another dimension
that the miller may grind the corn
nature and the quality of the act
statistical tumours cliché feeds
like a manikin, knocked down
salmon and nectarine clouds
the sun rising elsewhere
it's always a click away
psychology killed her
the wind follows
is that the end?
POKER DICE PERMUTATIONS
has the Net closed around Nothing but small fish?
do you love the world Through the eye of a Needle?
what Thoughts never admit Themselves?
did you ever make a Joke about Nostradamus?
have you let the Juice Trickle down your chin?
would this be the Ju-Ju that hinders your progress?
is Quantum theory the Noose that hangs you?
who taught the black Queen to Tango?
what Quality of light makes her eyes into Jewels?
have you been to a Quarry where Quartz is dug?
would you fast nine days in the Kingdom of the Nightingale?
did no-one explain the Kudos of the Tincture before you knocked it back?
are you anal about Keeping all your old Junk?
does Kerosene Quench your thirst?
is the Key in the way the Knot is tied?
when your nympholepsy Abates, are you Quiet?
what Jetsam has Antiquity washed you?
if you Knock on the table does Anyone knock back?
can you Apprehend the Next event?
have you been drinking sweet mint Tea with an Arab?
why are you never dealt All the Aces?
Question and answer
Jeopardy and its avoidance
how the fire is to be Kindled
at the Turn in the road
two surfaces Attracting
the Night that day makes
you keep trying to split the Air with an Axe.
no-one hails an Alabaster King.
scientists put a Kestrel in the Kiln.
the white Queen bathes alone in Absinthe.
the Knave fetches a peacock feather Quill.
no clever Quote will keep the jinn from Quitting the desert.
Albumen has filled the Jug and the yoke is lost.
the red Judge gets drunk on Kismet.
the Jackal will sing to the Quick and the dead.
when the Jaal-goat eats Juniper, only then.
Ten thousand people will still never Accept you.
you will know Them by the Knives they carry.
night will never Quell your stranger Thoughts.
the last Tiger will be killed by a Jester.
the Thief will fail because the Tide is too strong.
Nutmeg is needed to concoct the Ambrosia.
a Novocaine Kef hides the work of scribes.
you will still Question the effectiveness of Nettles.
a nomad Journeys North under sacred stars.
Trouble starts where your Nerves are sharpest.
a Nail is hammered in a Noiseless city.
VARIABILITY
The carnival that's derided now
Tomorrow surrenders;
Everything that we desire to kill time with
Entices us and then twists.
What is this bubble's enjoyment?
Light purple that mocks the hours of darkness,
Solids subduing the radical.
Talent, how nasty it is!
Expertise, how tedious!
Modernity, how it trades mean heaven
For superior obscurity!
But even if eventually they collapse, we
Endure their thrill, and all
That we label ours.
All the blue is far too blue,
Carnivals are no longer found
(An essence that transforms in hours of darkness
Displeases the sunlight),
And the quiet hours skulk.
I call this mutability – and from my kip
Then get up to shriek.
copyright © Andrew Nightingale
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