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Donall Dempsey
Poems
Jun 2021
HALF SICK WITH SHADOWS
HALF SICK WITH SHADOWS
The Lady of Shallot
sat on my sofa and sobbed
begging me for
poetical asylum
despite Patel's crackdown
on poetry refugees.
I made her a nice
cup of Earl Grey tea
slice of lemon
no sugar.
I enquired of her
"But why me?"
"You have loved me
all your life
letting me live
inside your head
free to roam
around your mind
any old time
no questions asked.
I thought of you as
you thought of me.
We are of one mind now
...are we not?"
She explained her name was Elaine
and had been a time traveller and that
when her 'mirror' cracked
(as she called her machine)
Tennyson trapped her
in that poem of his
words to the left of her
words to the right of her
into the volume
of his verse
she found herself
all of a sudden.
God how she hated
dead Victorian poets.
And it was all a pack of lies
and Lance a Lot was a ****.
She had constantly turned down
his incessant facebook friend requests.
And as for facebook
that was just a big yuk.
Oh and she hated shallots
( and green onions )
although she thought
Booker T. and the MG's
groovy and such fun
to dance to.
"Tennyson was so morose
and such a class 1 bore."
But now she had broken free
and had come to me.
No more teens made at me
for having to learn me off by heart.
I fixed her 'mirror.
It was only cracked.
She could have escaped
at any time but I hadn't
the heart
to tell her that.
Fixed her up with a new
facebook page LoS777.
And in a twinkling she
had vanished into where ever?
"I'll leave a door open
always in my mind!"
I shouted to the shadows
and the nothingness.
The willows whitened.
The aspens quivered.
Written by
Donall Dempsey
Guildford
(Guildford)
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