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Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
THE WORLD STANDS STILL

here a flash
of horse

( was it
brown or black? )

there leaping lambs
here leaping lambs

trees finding it im-
possible to keep up

a river giving it a good go: but
...falling behind also

a cow...acowandanothercow: now
all run to-get-her

the 3.33
snorting at the station

pawing at the platform
in a huff

an iron horse
hooting like a mechanical owl

hoooOOOOOOOOOO
ahhhhh at last

the world stands
still.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
CALLING YOUR NAME

How, strange...you were
and now...you're not.

How, unbelievable I had
a brother...and now I've not.

The world turned and somehow
you got off.

Death, that
great Exit door.

I have seen you dead
and still - believe it not.

I follow in the footsteps
of your dying

speak your name
making you

come alive again
if only in sound

living upon my lips.

You forever my brother
despite what...Death says.

Come...live in my mind.
It's yours!

See with my eyes!
I'll share with you

what you can never
see.

Be me!
Every now and then.

I've go life
enough for two.


Carry you through
all the world.

Carry you through
all the days that remain.

The price of this
great love.

This ...
great pain.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
UPON BEING CALLED INTO DINNER

Out of the bonfire
a globe rolls

the earth on fire
its borders melting

continents peel away
countries are lost

an ocean tries to make a run for it but
wrinkles...blisters...into ash.

I kick the earth aside
like a God playing football

laugh to see that only Ireland( barely )
survives.

On the sidelines
a map of the universe

as it was known
is crossed by snails

taking their time
eating a constellation here and there.

So this is the way
the world ends

this is the way
the world ends

this is the way
the world ends

not with a bang but
a wife calling you into "...dinner!"
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
BODY AND SOUL

our cigarette smoke
built up a spiral staircase

upon which our conversation climbed
word by word

becoming now a hieroglyph
blown away by the saxophone

our calligraphy  of thought
written upon the air

the jazz making it illegible
as a doctor's signature

words our words
collecting upon the ceiling

like out of reach cobwebs
or escaped Christmas balloons

our words looking down
upon us

at all that was still left
unsaid.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
"DELIRIUM FLAPPING ITS THIGH-BONES!"
SHOUTS AUNTIE GRIZELDA

It was said
( though never to her face )

that Aunt had given
her maidenhead too eagerly easily

- away.

But being underwhelmed
by the whole process

gave it up as
a bad lot and

became instead a faux
maiden aunt.

Her world intact.

Unlike other ladies she
smoked a pipe.

Her beloved Maigret
so permeated with pipe smoke that

one could never read them
a minute or more before

succumbing to the smell.

Her books death to the non-smoker.

It also served to preserve her
for far more than her natural

span &
it came as a great surprise

that she could ever die but
...die she did.

The hyacinths in bowl after bowl
wondering where she had gone

and why the dusting had not been
done.

A great silence
filling up the room.
***

Aunt Grizelda would often recite Amy Lowell's poem and would use this phrase when she wanted to curse without cursing. If you heard this Lowell  line then you knew she was mad! An old old man with the silverest of hair told me about his aunt 'cos he saw I was reading about the Imagists on a train heading into the long long ago.

I would have loved to have encountered her.

This is the end of the first movement of her STRAVINSKY'S THREE PIECES

"Bang! Bump! Tong!
Petticoats,
Stockings,
Sabots,
Delirium flapping its thigh-bones;
Red, blue, yellow,
Drunkenness steaming in colours;
Red, yellow, blue,
Colours and flesh weaving together,
In and out, with the dance,
Coarse stuffs and hot flesh weaving together.
Pigs' cries white and tenuous,
White and painful,
White and --
Bump!
Tong!"
Donall Dempsey Aug 2018
MY FEET HAD COME TO THE END OF THE WORLD.

"What...is this...'place'?"
I hear myself ask.

"It is Death."
I hear my self answer.

Myself and my self
have become separate entities.

Death is a 'place.'
I've got to stop thinking of it as that.

Sans space...sans time.

The day fades
as night sets fire to the sky.

This sunset( so to speak )
is sent to offer me comfort.

It does not exist.
It is a scrap of memory

that has somehow
survived.

I watch its 'world' like a film
with the sound turned down.

I watch my atoms
recombine

to give me some semblance
of who I am.

Or rather - who I was.

So. There is no God.
That is good to know.

Nor no - Heaven either.
Only this 'Hell' of not knowing

who or where
the hell I am.

Death, it seems is only
a beginning.

I re-sculpt my face
at this molecular level

in order to hang on to
who I used to be but

it is like living in 2-D
a me that's not-me.

Forgetting who I was
I must accept who

I am now
and only then

it dawns that "Yes,
yes...Death is. . ."
It was the trope of Heaven as was expected...White bearded Big Guy etc., that didn't materialise. He survived his dying so to speak and this was his experience.

My own experience was one of the pain that passeth all understanding and at the instant where no more pain could fit into my tiny mind...the pain transformed into absolute bliss...the world simply fell away into nothingness.

But many there stood still
To face the stark, blank sky beyond the ridge,
Knowing their feet had come to the end of the world.
Marvelling they stood, and watched the long grass swirled
By the May breeze, murmurous with wasp and midge,
For though the summer oozed into their veins
Like the injected drug for their bones’ pains,
Sharp on their souls hung the imminent line of grass,
Fearfully flashed the sky’s mysterious glass.

Spring Offensive

BY WILFRED OWEN
Donall Dempsey Jul 2018
THE MOON HIDES HER FACE

He...he's
wondering IF

he's coming on
too strong?

&...stops!

She's wondering IF
to kiss him now

would be so very very
wrong?

&...doesn't!

He's wondeingr IF
he should

...go easy?

She's wondering IF
he thinks she's too easy?

& both awkwardly
st?op!

And so
nothing happens.

"Good...night!" she stumbles
over the syllables.

"Good...good night!"
he echoes.

Once inside she
cries behind her bright red front door.

"****!" he curses himself ". . .& ****!"

Kicks an empty
crushed Coca Cola can.

The moon hides her face.
They actually ended up being married now for 40 years so I guess they got it right in the end. They are a lovely devoted couple who when they met were painfully shy of each other although madly in love. They both thought that the other didn't like them because they baulked at a chaste goodnight kiss. They met again by accident 6 months later never forgetting how they had felt and the missed opportunity. They fell about laughing telling me the story of how they "almost didn't get together." They were very glad they did. And so was I.
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