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Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
DONALL DEMPSEY HAS LEFT THE POEM!

this...this Blue Plaque
business is
distressing to say the least

and rather intrusive
don't you
think?

I mean
when
did it all start?

DONALL DEMPSEY...THIS!
DONALL DEMPSEY...THAT!
I mean...who cares?

HERE IS THIS HOUSE
DONALL DEMPSEY
WROTE...

DONALL DEMPSEY
LIVED HERE
WHILST WRITING...

maybe it's a Government
tracking
device

DONALL DEMPSEY
PAUSED HERE FOR THOUGHT!
(no! I ****** didn't!)

whatever I do it seems
a blue plaque is more
than willing to tell you

time was when
they waited until one
was sufficiently

dead and famous
to commemorate
one's efforts

at living
and Life
but now: holy cow!

when I got back home
I found "home"
had just been turned into

( yes you've guessed it)
THE DONALL DEMPSEY
MUSEUM

I even had to
pay( God help me)
to get in

"If your'e Donall Dempsey
( 'the' Donall Dempsey )
then I'm Schrödinger's ****** cat !"

the crowd all laughed at that
but I did get a concession
for being old and decrepit

there was a sign
telling me not to
sit in my favourite chair

and they had gotten
their...I mean my
facts wrong

I had written this...before...that
I looked at the manuscript
of this poem

the usual scribble scrawl
made more precious
by being preserved under glass

it was like being in an episode
of  THE TWILIGHT ZONE.
I glanced up at the Blue Plaque

positioned just
as it happens
above my curly confused head

HERE DONAL DEMPSEY
...refused any more to be
part of all this and

left
the poem
yes folks...

DONALL DEMPSEY
HAS LEFT
THE POEM

DONALL DEMPSEY
HAS LEFT
THE POEM
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
THEM ****** DAFFS!

"Ah...howya!"
said the ink blot
throwing itself

all over my copy book.
"Jaysus...wait 'til

yer teacher sees this!"
it chortled
proud as punch with itself

I stare at it
in an almost
total disbelief

my bladder
clamours
to be relieved

I...squeeze
my knees
together

King Blot bloated with
its own self
importance

has totally obliterated
the last word I
have penned

"I wandered
lonely as a
. . .!"

teacher snaps it up
with great glee
holding it between

thumb & forefinger
with mock disgust
& real contempt

"So, Dempsey...ya
wandered lonely as...
. . .an ink blot!"

the class sniggers
( glad it's me - not them ).
teacher glowers them into silence

"Yes...yes...Sir!"
I whimper &
suddenly seeing a loop hole

( I dive )into it )
"It's...it's...show
not tell. . .Sir!"

his glasses flash
smile becomes
sneer

"COME...HERE...BOY!"
he enunciates clearly
each syllable

chiseled into
an awed
and awful silence

the cane cuts
through the air
the class winces

the tips
of my fingers
scream in agony

I dance a hornpipe
of pain palms tucked
under my oxters

"Them ****** daffodils!"
I groan moaning
through my growing tears

my fingers yelling
fluttering and dancing
in their private pain
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
IT’S YOU? ISN’T IT?

Facebook messages me
to phone home as soon

as possible.

Our home phone is down.
Other phones just ring and ring.

Or lead me up a cul-de-sac
of leaving a message

to a ghostly  mechanical
voice.

Messages answering messages.
No actual real live people involved.

Finally I do
what I should have done

all along
((((((( call you.))))))

So, I do.

“Hiya Bud, can you call me?
Something bad seems to have happened!
Get back to me as soon as you can!”

You do not call back.

You lie there not
listening to me.

You never get back
to me.

Never will.

It’s you?
Isn’t it?

The bad thing that has
happened?

Death listening at the end of the line.

Saying not a word.

*

The sheer horror of it all as the impossible happens and the last person I could imagine dying...does so....the one person of calm strength that one would turn to: and. . .
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
BIG HAPPY

“You make me
so happy! ”
she says

“Oh, I
say! ”
I say

“It’s such a big happy
but it’s made up
of all small happies! ”

“The small happy
I can hold
in my hand

but the big happy
is like
the sky! ”

she clutches me
hugs my knee
kisses my kneecap

then goes
out again
shouting to the dolly

she left sitting
in the sand pit.
“It’s ok...I’m back! ”
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
IF ALL THE OCEANS WERE LEMONADE!

Climbs up on my lap
as if she were scaling an Alp

sits on my book like
she see the cat do

manoeuvres herself so
she is enthroned

on the lap
of the Dad.

Stabs a finger
at a bunch of words.

"What...say?!"
as if only I can hear

the words
voices.

"Well, it's interesting that
you ask...!"

I switch to another
bunch of words.

She's not to see
the sleight of mind,

"Charles Fourier
he say..."

I see the hope
leap into her eyes

as I translate the furry
man's thought.

"When all the world
and the people in the world

finally get to be
as nice as nice can be

all the oceans
with turn to lemonade.!"

She gasps.

Nods that that is how
things should be.

Leaves my knee
a devoted Fourierist.

The original bunch of words
she had chosen would be

that much harder
to explain.

That the moon was a dead mummy
that would eventually give way

to not one but five
living replacements.

An ocean of lemonade
lapping at the docks

splashing over rocks
chasing you up the beach

being the easier of
the thoughts to hold.

*

Then my little three year old treasure got down and danced to the Háry János Suite and became a mechanical little doll( "Wind me up..wind me up!" )to the strains of the Viennese Musical Clock before complaining that the trombones were pushing her about..life with a little girl is anything but dull!. She was enraged she couldn't read and ask "Why I can't hear what the words are saying!"

She would also listen to Joyce on record and not be a bit nonplussed at the Wake as she could make sense of the sound and wasn't put out by the stature of what she was hearing. I asked her what did she think the man with the funny voice was saying and she said "I think his granny just died like my granny died!" She was an epiphany!

Fourier's theoretical system, described by one scholar as "vast and eccentric, was only part of the output of what another called "a most riotous and unpruned imagination."
Fourier believed that in the new world people would live for 144 years, that new species of friendly and pacifistic animals such as "anti-lions" would emerge, and that over time human beings would develop long and useful tails.
Fourier also professed a belief in the ability of human souls to migrate between physical and "aromal" world. Such thinking was set aside during the last 15 years of Fourier's life, when he instead began to concentrate on testing his economic and social ideas.

Fourier's disciples, including Albert Brisbane and Victor Considerant, later pared down his writings into a comprehensible system for economic and social organization, with the Fourierist movement experiencing a brief boom in the United States during the mid-1840s, when some 30 Fourierist associations were established.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
AN ACUTE ABSENCE OF WEATHER

( for my little brother Brian )

tomorrow arrived too late
to save you
you had become

the past tense
no longer present at your own life
time had abandoned you

the world turning its back
on the sun
staring into the night

a darkness
without stars
the far away barking of dogs

a somewhere
that's nowhere
where even the weathervane

doesn't know which way to turn
the acute absence
of weather

*

Because of his stature in the world and his skill at making his way through its faults and falls...he had become the BIG BROTHER simply because of who he was. Only now in death does he once more become my little brother. I became a mere meddler with words...a peddler of poems.

When he was truly my little brother he once asked me one of those childlike questions that adults or even slightly big brothers find impossible to answer.

Lost in himself he asked of me" "Is there weather when you die?" I didn't know how to answer it then or...now.

On the great barn that was his shed he had placed a weather vane and we still look at it to this day as it searches for the answer to this question.

I had told him then that: "Whatever...there would be weather."

I suppose he could now answer his 7-year-old-self's strange little question.
Donall Dempsey Aug 2024
SO: SCHEHERAZADE ME!

it appeared as if
the very air were
asleep

even
the dark was
asleep

an harmonica stained
the night
with itself

an ache
that stole
into the soul

snowflakes fell
in slow slow-motion
as if they were

sleep walking
Time seemed to so-lid-if-y
congeal about the moment

frozen
like a rabbit
in the headlights of life

"Why me!"
the moment seemed to say
"Why me?"

"Awww shut up!"
I told it
it shut up

an obese moon
like a stray dog
tried to follow me

home but home
was the other side
of an ocean

still
it dogged
my every step

the blind man
kept on playing
as if

he were the soundtrack
to the film I
had become

NYC was nothing like
its movies
only the cold was real

I dropped change
into the blind man's tin cup
made a music all of its own

he looked at me
with both his ears
he smiled with all of his self

TALES OF THE KALENDER PRINCE
got lost
in the ensuing silence

he mumbled a thanks
in an unknown tongue
maybe Klingon

the moment
kept on
trying to find meaning

like an unsure actor
asking what's its motivation
there was none to be found

my footsteps
walked away
almost leaving me
behind

TALES OF THE KALENDER PRINCE
started up again
as if the night had pressed PLAY

"Well....I'll be
Rimsky Korsakov'd!"
I attempted a smile

it hurt
the harmonica's voice
eclipsed by the police siren.

*

One of my earliest memories is being bathed by my sister Junie in a tin bath with a roaring fire as this emanated from a radio. Homeless in NYC I didn't think I would encounter it again in the way I did! The blind man even on a battered old harmonica was still able to give it it's "Rimsky-ness."
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