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donall-dempseyPoems
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN. I take up my stick & walk: back into my past. Planting the countryside of my youth with each step the years falling away. The young me unfolds into being. The flag of self unfurls snaps into the lost moment. My shadow strides ahead of me impatient with this flesh and blood man. My shadow stops waits for me to catch up catch my breath. He stares at me with broken dandelion eyes a green milk bottle top mimics a nose a leaf acted as a smile. I laugh at this me created by chance and happenstance step once more into my shadow's footsteps let it lead the way. A tree which had been there since I had been three sarcastically remarks" "Oh, is it yer self that's...in it?" "It is!" says I addressing the sky spread before me a vast blue field. Furze blazes with yellow. Horses turn to the gallops. The sudden thunder of hooves jockeying with laughter. I left here to make something of myself. I, then...a nervous nobody returning now a mere nothing a success only at failure. I recite Hopkins to a straying sheep. The sheep suspiciously regards this poet hitting his stride now "Nothing is so..." The sheep coughs. "... beautiful as Spring!" I tell a passing cloud who is in too much of a hurry. The poet's proud words falling by the wayside as me-then and the me of now stroll down (cane nonchalantly in hand) memory lane. The Future hiding just up around the corner.
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Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN.
WALKING FROM THE RISING SUN TO KILDARE TOWN. I take up my stick & walk: back into my past. Planting the countryside of my youth with each step the years falling away. The young me unfolds into being. The flag of self unfurls snaps into the lost moment. My shadow strides ahead of me impatient with this flesh and blood man. My shadow stops waits for me to catch up catch my breath. He stares at me with broken dandelion eyes a green milk bottle top mimics a nose a leaf acted as a smile. I laugh at this me created by chance and happenstance step once more into my shadow's footsteps let it lead the way. A tree which had been there since I had been three sarcastically remarks" "Oh, is it yer self that's...in it?" "It is!" says I addressing the sky spread before me a vast blue field. Furze blazes with yellow. Horses turn to the gallops. The sudden thunder of hooves jockeying with laughter. I left here to make something of myself. I, then...a nervous nobody returning now a mere nothing a success only at failure. I recite Hopkins to a straying sheep. The sheep suspiciously regards this poet hitting his stride now "Nothing is so..." The sheep coughs. "... beautiful as Spring!" I tell a passing cloud who is in too much of a hurry. The poet's proud words falling by the wayside as me-then and the me of now stroll down (cane nonchalantly in hand) memory lane. The Future hiding just up around the corner.
donall-dempsey
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donall-dempsey
Oct 21, 2017
Oct 21, 2017 at 6:18 PM UTC
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