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Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
"...IN FORGETFUL SNOW..."

flake by flake
Heaven falls
until its whiteness covers all

angels guard
their dead
all is quiet all is light

even marble flesh
feels
the cold

the dead
have forgotten
Christmas

a Christmas
the angels
have never known

a forgotten bicycle
half there-half not
looking like an art installation

until it too
succumbs
to the snow's will

the silence slowly
erasing
the world

a raven
perches
upon an angel's wing

she pays it no mind
gazing with sightless eyes
as land and sky become one

even
the horizon
is being filled in

the raven's
harsh voice
upsetting the silence

*

“Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow”

― T.S. Eliot, The Waste Land
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
THE DUSK FOX

the fox acknowledges
with an imperceptible  nod
the arrival of dusk

dusk and the fox
becoming one
entering the world of humans

the fox is busy
being a fox
stops: paw raised

the fox goes
in and out of
time

appearing now
disappearing as if
it had stepped out of the world

the dusk no longer
exists
night falls with my footfall

as if on cue
synchronised to time
and light

the fox stares  at me
beyond me...I am
a walking shadow

the yellow street light
stains us for a moment
we vanish from each other

tomorrow sees
dusk and fox
keep the same appointment

only I
am absent
. . .

*

Riffing on Hughes' THE THOUGHT FOX.... when my brother introduced me to his very own private fox who would without fail come to the window and gaze in at him. We would sit with the lights out and await his presence. When my brother died I'm sure the fox continued to come and gaze at the now silent window. Fox as psychopomp. When the fox came it would gaze at us for about five minutes and we would sit still in the darkened room and gaze back and try to commune.

My brother always loved Raymond Carver's Late Fragment...

"And did you get what
you wanted from this life, even so?
I did.
And what did you want?
To call myself beloved, to feel myself
beloved on the earth."

He said this was what the fox was saying....the ultimate question you have to answer when death comes calling.
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
WORSE THINGS THAN DYING

I wander
among the living
unable

to believe
I am
dead

the living
haunt
my dreams

their tears
torment
me

trapped
in their memories
I scream

unable
to break free
from their grief

that holds me
prisoner
in their minds

I am at war
with time
forever dying
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
'TA DA!"

uncle
always
making things

appear
and disappear
and then

plucking them
from behind my ear
with a chuckle

doves and rabbits
materialising out of
a top hat he never wore

I never believed
in the magic
only in him

didn't like to tell him
that "ABRA...CADAVER!"
wasn't the word

or that "HEY PESTO!"
only made
my mouth water

enjoyed his enjoyment
in my pretend
amazement and surprise

and yes he was
a third-rate magician
not realising that

the magic
was always
always him
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
WHAT THE CAT DON'T WANT TO HEAR
              THE CAT DON'T HEAR

(TO.THE. ONLIE. BEGETTER. OF.THESE. INSVING. LINES.  Mr. A.S.J. ALL. HAPPINESS. AND. THAT. ETERNITIE. PROMISED.)

the chair
liked the room
it was living in

the day before
it was living
in a shop

only one
of many
such chairs

now
it had
its own room

indeed it was
the only chair there
it even had its own desk

yet the desk was full
of its own
self importance

and had only indulged
in the usual
polite conversation

about how far
or near
one should be to it

the chair was rather proud of
THE CLOUD OF UNKNOWING
that lay open upon it at page 144

the desk was profoundly
jealous of it
whereas the chair

actually took pleasure
in the mere fact of
its mistress's posterior

a mirror slightly
to the side
allowed the chair to look out

upon a garden
who talked continuously
about the weather

a lawn ran down
to a flint-faced wall and
beyond the wall's flint facedness

lived
( so the chair believed )
- the World

the chair
( even if it had to
say so itself )

and human voices
agreed with its opinion that
looked extremely elegant

the chair
enjoyed
being a chair

the only thing that irked
was the cat
whose habit it was

to doze upon it
when the humans
left the room

"Shoo...shoo!"
the chair cried out
in deep despair

but the cat
either did not
speak

or
pretended
not to

understand
what was said
to it
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
"NOW...LIVE!"

I place
a tree...
there

I place
a sky...
here

I add a bird...
I...subtract
a bird

I alter a mountain
place it to the left...
to the right

I let
the little stream
run

I add
a sun
( turn it up)

I walk between
the spaces
between seconds

check
each moment is
- perfect

only then
do I allow
time to

unfurl
flap
in the breeze

then I stop it all
I adjust a a molecule
or two.

place you at
the centre
of the big green field

you
in your dress of
bright blue

then I like a long ago
Sultan
or a third-rate magician

command
the memory:
"Now, live!"
Donall Dempsey Nov 2024
HORSE OF A DIFFERENT COLOUR

Auden & Isherwood
strolling in China
trying to soak up

The War
by the process of
osmosis

staining it
with words
observe

(at first what seems)  
green horses
but turns out to be

only white horses
painted green
for camouflage purposes.

that evening in Canton
also offering them
the futility of two men

trying to
put a rat
into a bottle

a woman who lived
in a beehive
pouring water into a sieve

War knocks
over the inkwell
spills into men’s lives

covers
the white pages
of their wishes

makes the idea
of Hell
all too real

the spilt ink
eating
the words of men

who send letters home
and die in pain
never to return

only in others' memories
& useless dreams
marble memorials

while green horses
champ the grasses
the bridles & the bits

clanking & glinting
in the hot sun
of Now

as this last lost
evening
dies


*

Sonnets from China was originally published in a considerably different form as “In Time of War.” “In Time of War” was a sonnet sequence included in Journey to a War (December 1938), a book by Auden and Christopher Isherwood that included a travel diary, photos, and a long poetic commentary.

Here is one of Auden's magnificent sonnets from that journey...

HERE WAR IS SIMPLE

Here war is simple like a monument:
A telephone is speaking to a man;
Flags on a map assert that troops were sent;
A boy brings milk in bowls. There is a plan

For living men in terror of their lives,
Who thirst at nine who were to thirst at noon,
And can be lost and are, and miss their wives,
And, unlike an idea, can die too soon.

But ideas can be true although men die,
And we can watch a thousand faces
Made active by one lie:

And maps can really point to places
Where life is evil now:
Nanking. Dachau.
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