Nov 8
"...THE POSSIBILITY THAT HAS BEEN
OVERLOOKED IS THE FUTURE..."
( for Michael Hartnett )
found
penny in a puddle
year of my birth
I pocket it
as the poet passes
cap in hand
this brilliant man
sculpted from sadness
loneliness falling like rain
he goes to greet me
knowing he knows me
but my face escapes him
I only ever meet him
when the drink has
taken him prisoner
inside his head
haiku breed
"..like maggots!" he says..."...like maggots!"
"I don't want your company
or your pity!" he snarls
"Just the price of a pint!"
I have only
the old puddle penny I've found
I give him my coat
he puts his hat on
his head
at a rakish angle
the tree flies away
the bird hangs still in the air
neon scribbles on the puddles
*
The title is taken from one of Michael's poems as is the idea of a tree flying away leaving the bird in mid-air! It always greatly amused me.
The only other time I had gone to hear him read and he was too drunk to perform. I had to get a last bus back to the Curragh and by then I think he finally got around to reading.
It was absolutely lashing rain and he carried his hat scrunched up in his hand and had only a thin tee shirt on.
He put my coat on and tramped off into a future that was falling before him.
I never saw the coat or Michael again. He had asked me if I wrote poetry too and when I said I did he said: "Ahhh then....I pity you!"
I had two coats at home and he had none so it was a no brainer. The giving away of your coat in the rain to someone who needs it more than you must be in the Dempsey DNA.
Jesus Christ Is Alive And Well (In Memory Of My Mother Ita)
she is thoroughly wet
through & through
as if a someone
(I don’t know who)
had upended
a bucket of water over her
the rain holds
a conversation
with itself
“Where’s your
new coat? ”
we incredulously ask her
as she continues
to drip
at us
the rain is laughing
at something
it has told itself
“A poor woman
hadn’t one…”
“…so I gave her mine.”
she explains
as
to a child
we her children
stare at her
hair plastered to skull
a large drip
at the end
of her nose
my mother
could be kind
in an almost
Biblical New Testament way
as if she were
Jesus Christ
before
he had gotten
himself crucified
and was alive
and well
and living in her
OVERLOOKED IS THE FUTURE..."
( for Michael Hartnett )
found
penny in a puddle
year of my birth
I pocket it
as the poet passes
cap in hand
this brilliant man
sculpted from sadness
loneliness falling like rain
he goes to greet me
knowing he knows me
but my face escapes him
I only ever meet him
when the drink has
taken him prisoner
inside his head
haiku breed
"..like maggots!" he says..."...like maggots!"
"I don't want your company
or your pity!" he snarls
"Just the price of a pint!"
I have only
the old puddle penny I've found
I give him my coat
he puts his hat on
his head
at a rakish angle
the tree flies away
the bird hangs still in the air
neon scribbles on the puddles
*
The title is taken from one of Michael's poems as is the idea of a tree flying away leaving the bird in mid-air! It always greatly amused me.
The only other time I had gone to hear him read and he was too drunk to perform. I had to get a last bus back to the Curragh and by then I think he finally got around to reading.
It was absolutely lashing rain and he carried his hat scrunched up in his hand and had only a thin tee shirt on.
He put my coat on and tramped off into a future that was falling before him.
I never saw the coat or Michael again. He had asked me if I wrote poetry too and when I said I did he said: "Ahhh then....I pity you!"
I had two coats at home and he had none so it was a no brainer. The giving away of your coat in the rain to someone who needs it more than you must be in the Dempsey DNA.
Jesus Christ Is Alive And Well (In Memory Of My Mother Ita)
she is thoroughly wet
through & through
as if a someone
(I don’t know who)
had upended
a bucket of water over her
the rain holds
a conversation
with itself
“Where’s your
new coat? ”
we incredulously ask her
as she continues
to drip
at us
the rain is laughing
at something
it has told itself
“A poor woman
hadn’t one…”
“…so I gave her mine.”
she explains
as
to a child
we her children
stare at her
hair plastered to skull
a large drip
at the end
of her nose
my mother
could be kind
in an almost
Biblical New Testament way
as if she were
Jesus Christ
before
he had gotten
himself crucified
and was alive
and well
and living in her
