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Donall Dempsey Aug 2022
BUILDING THE SPHINX

He builds her
the Sphinx

using only his voice &
a few scattered gestures.

Every now & then
he tweaks the tone

& lo the Sphinx
stands before her

ready to bite her head off
with a question.

Her belief
does the rest

and now he watches
the cat being terrified

out of one of its
9 lives all a bristle

as she tells the tabby
the story I told her.

The Sphinx now
living in her voice.

Her dolls too
too terrified

to even run
petrified with fright

as my little minx
becomes the Sphinx.

Or a mop as a prop
becomes a Medusa

and so the myth
becomes realer than real

as the storm
by Jove

throws down
a thunderbolt

and a little girl Medusa
and a little girl Sphinx

prowl about
the living room.
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
COMING BACK TO THE WORLD


she grizzles
down the stairs
each step a sob

"I FELLED ASLEEP!"
she announces angrily
"Oh that's good!" I tell her

"IS NOT GOOD!"
she chokes back the tears
"I missed the world!"

"Well. . !" I smile
trying my best
to placate her

"When you fell asleep..." I say
"Yes...?" she cries
"...the world fell asleep too!"

"So I didn't miss anything?"
I comfort her
"Not a thing!" I assure her

"Good!" she sniffles
"I hate to miss
anything the world does!"
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
WITHERED HEART

Spring, hung a left turn
& got hopelessly lost.

Buds: blossoming into frost.

(Kinda hurts when...you’ve nowhere to turn
but hey...you learn...you learn) .

...left with nothing but a withered heart.

Spring gambled & lost
got cleaned out by Winter & Old Jack Frost.

(Spring got unlucky...that’s all...had to pay the cost) .

... left with nothing but a withered heart.

Spring got sidetracked & left upon the shelf.
(What happened...happened...couldn’t be helped) .

Delicate china... broken Delft.

No use crying over the milk that is spilt

...left with nothing but a withered heart.

Your name on a window...written in frost
a last letter       lost       in the post

(Useless words written with tears) .

... left with nothing but a withered heart.

... left with nothing but a withered heart.
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
THE DISH RAN AWAY WITH THE SPOON

You’re just a little bitty dog
with a great big old bone.

Can’t take it with you
...can’t leave it alone.

The moon is ticking backwards
the clock don’t know why

stars are just tears
that the night has to cry.

The neon dances in the puddles in the streets...
...heartbreak echoes in the empty passing feet.

You think your life’s a musical
but it’s more Film Noir.

You look at a map that says
YOU ARE HERE
but you don’t know where you are.

The sun came in the window -
- your love walked out the door.

I always adored Country & Western
but had never lived it before.

You’re just a little bitty dog
with a great big old bone.

Can’t take it with you...

...leave it alone!
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
IT IS NOT YET AUGUST 8th IN ARUNDEL BUT IT SOON WILL BE

walking down
Tarrant Street
I meet and greet

Boxgrove Man
aka
**** heidelbergensis

flint axe in one hand
dead meat in the other
he barely grunts an hello

before Time
ossifies
about him

taking him once again
far far
beyond my reach

half a million years
fleets past
in a second

now I find myself
back in the Christmas
day of 1067

Robert de Montgomery
is busy
establishing Arundel castle

but now Time
always
in too much of a hurry

Time can't seem to
stand still
established a present now

where over £1 million
worth of historical artifacts
are busy being stolen

including
the rosary of Mary
Queen of Scots

chap in Eckington
gets nicked
for nicking them

oooops Time is off again
landing us in
our very own future

and well well
look who it is
again

Boxgrove Man
some ****** carcass
thrown casually over a shoulder

he grunts but
I can't make out
his accent

"What did he say?"
I ask my wife who
hears better than I do

"He says..." she says
"See you tonight
at the Victoria Institute!"

then he says
something garbled like
"Really like your poetry man!"

I hope that he
really does turn up
in Time
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
". . .IT IS NOW THE TIME...THESE BE THE DAYS. . ."

one day
blossomed
into another

Spring
was seen
walking in the wood

Time
lay scattered
all around

last Tuesday was
a bunch of flowers
wilting in a vase

Tomorrow
remained
to be plucked

as if he grasped
the mystery
of the world

in his tiny fist
that now
( this now )

was the only
time
that could be

life is simple
when one is
      3
Donall Dempsey Jul 2022
WHEN DEATH COMES, IT WILL HAVE YOUR EYES
(Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi )

I once knew a man
who knew a man

who had seen
F. Scott Fitzgerald

drinking a milkshake
in a drug store

(vanilla or chocolate
he couldn't be sure)

flicking idly
through a magazine

( no he didn't know
which magazine )

in the company of
some blonde.

"I'll never forget
what he said!"

"Let's go to the supermarket
Shelia!" he said.

And that's it?
"That's it!"

His voice caressed
each syllable

as if
he were on stage.

But he was like a man
becoming a manakin

like in that episode of
The Twilight Zone

you know the one?"

In a future that had as yet
to happen.

"I don't know what I had
expected..."

The man who knew the man
who knew the man

who had seen and heard
F. Scott Fitzgerald.

"Maybe a Gatsby or
a Gatsby

who had survived the novel's
tragic ending

and wished
he hadn't!"



Here now
at home

Mr. Fitzgerald
sits in his armchair

eating a chocolate bar
checking out next year's

Princeton
football team.

suddenly like a puppet
yanked on a string

he stands up
hand on mantlepiece

like some bad acting
in a silent movie

before falling
to the floor.

He will never
get up.



Nick and Gatsby come
stand by his dying.

So do Monroe Stahr
and Kathleen Moore

even though
words fail them.

Yet they now
more real than he.

Monroe reads
some last scribbled lines.

"There was a flutter
from the wings of God

and you
lay dead.

Your  books
were in your desk I guess

and some unfinished chaos
in your head

was dumped to nothing
by the great janitress of

destinies."

Gatsby
closes his eyes.


*

WHEN DEATH COMES, IT WILL HAVE YOUR EYES(Verrà la morte e avrà i tuoi occhi )is of course the wonderful poem by Cesare Pavese.
Monroe and Kathleen are from Scott's last and unfinished novel THE LAST TYCOON.

I also knew a guy who knew a guy who peed beside Richard Brautigan. He was so in awe as to who was at the next ****** that he peed all over the top of his shoes.
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