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Donall Dempsey
Poems
Apr 2017
WHAT THE CLOUDS ARE THINKING
WHAT THE CLOUDS ARE THINKING
"Huggin!"
"Muninn!"
We call our dogs
and they come running
black black
as ravens
faster than thought
and memory.
Excited they tell me
of all the many
smells
they have encountered.
What it like
to just run
for no other purpose
than the running.
They see the world
through smell and speed.
Delight in
just being.
Outrunning the wind.
The sudden scratch
of a bramble across an eye
is a happenstance
that sees me
wearing a black eye patch
with a diamante twinkling.
I see the world better
with my one eye.
The other was too lazy.
"Yeah yeah...it's the world!
So what!"
Lazy eye easily
bored with perceiving.
Looking, but:
not seeing.
The dogs see me
as the reincarnation
of Odin.
The land is lost
in mist and myth.
The mist devouring
a man
with every footstep
the world erased.
Yet, I outpaced it
gazed once again
upon a moon madly
in love with its reflection.
Look up into the sky
the inside of a skull
that once belonged
to the great giant Ymir
whose death
made all life possible.
Odin and Vili and Ve
make soil from his flesh
bones become
mountains
blood becoming seas.
"See the clouds..?"
I tell my little girl
( already far more
ancient than I )
"They were once
Ymir's brains!"
She accepts all this
with great aplomb.
"I wonder..."
she ponders
"I wonder.. . .
what the clouds
are thinking?"
Written by
Donall Dempsey
Guildford
(Guildford)
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Randolph Llewellyn Wilson
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