In the Alchemist’s Kitchen

A poem inspired by the painting, ‘The Alchemist’s Kitchen’ by Leonora Carrington.

the alchamists table

In the Alchemist’s Kitchen

Her charged table attracts seekers toward it like a magnet pulling in iron bars. Beast-headed beings, they stand, linked by fingertips, around the lodestone’s veiled field.

Unlike the king whose corrosive touch burnt water to bullion, gold is not their goal.

This séance comes together to reverse polarities. Positioned as compass points, they drink charmed solutions from crystal goblets.

As the bewitched air transmutes to a quicksilver rose, whispering its melting secrets, the conversion is activated and these omnidirectional forces conjure up a spirit ovum.

They place this ghost-egg in parenthesis where, the words of an incantation, fluxes of winged insects, flutter about its gleaming shell.

They do not know what horror they’ve unleashed. This voodoo seed is a booby-trap! Countdown commences. As the timer’s decisive zeroes click up, the pseudoscientists scream.

Flesh melts. Bones burn to sticks of brittle charcoal, bodiless cinders, bomb-shadows.

Her calm chair repels finders away from it like an anus pushing out soft turds. Bird-footed objects, they lie, unrelated by toes, within the swab’s overt ignorance.

Like the queen whose gentle separateness froze fire to plastic, silver is their indifference.

This conversation falls apart in similar convergences. Lost as constrained antipathies, they express unlucky problems from organic ridges.

As the repellent earth maintains a constant weed, bellowing its harsh explanations, the stagnation is ceased and these subordinate weaknesses dismiss a materialistic sperm.

They jettison this human-seed in focus where, the numbers of repulsion, stabilities of crawling birds, dither within its leaden kernel.

They know what delight they’ve contained. This valid harvest is a release.

Arrival terminates. As the uncontrolled insignificant infinities rattle down, the technicians murmur.

Feathers solidify. Blood freezes to stones of robust pulp, concrete reconciliations, pillow-shimmer.





‘Hang Out Your Robins On the Kriegfart Wall’ was a favourite marching song of the Chimeric legions.


The Kriegfart, or ‘War of the Broken Wind’, one of Chimerica’s most devastating civil wars, was brought about by an incidence of flatulence.


Several of Chimerica’s most devastating civil wars and/or natural disasters involve incidences of flatulence, but on a less intimate scale.


When the Ambassador for Monster Island released a radioactive anal blast that poisoned half the Chimeric cabinet, war was tragically inevitable.


King Stang’s eructation during a state dinner accidentally punched a hole in the space-time continuum, but that posed a more existential threat.


What they actually fed the Moth People’s Emissary, causing a decade of diarrhoea and aerial bombardment, was the subject of many enquiries.


The Kriegfart began with a follow-through by the Duke of Matted Further. The Chimeric Queen’s resulting witticism led to the war, the wall, the collateral damage …

War for the Planet of the Magic Monkey Trees

The incoming Chimeric administration has promised to renew Chimerica’s infrastructure of Magic Monkey Trees overnight using ‘tragic beans’.

Making Chimerica’s Magic Monkey Trees great again is going to need a lot of ‘tragic beans’, or, as experts call them, Radioactive Ape Turds.


One thousand space monkeys who’ve been too near the sun then dosed up on ‘Doc Moreau’s Patented Hyper-Laxative’ are being released as we speak.


If you see a singed interstellar singe (that’s French, Tish) taking an agonised noctilucent dump in your garden, Do Not Approach!


The Magic Monkey Trees will begin growing almost immediately after the groaning, and should start cropping within days of the crapping.


Each Magic Monkey Tree will look like an auracaria, but instead of cryptic crossword clues will continuously generate more and more monkeys.


The monkeys though initially cute will rapidly multiply beyond our control and rip everyone limb from limb thus fulfilling our manifesto promise.