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 May 25 Bardo
sandra wyllie
into stone that she's thrown
into a lake. They skip and bounce
like an earthquake. They're so
cold they froze into icicles

on her face. She ties them up
in a bow like a shoelace. She shoots
daggers from her eyes, like lightning
bolts from the skies that take

a man by surprise. Once they
were a river that overflowed into
the land, the city streets like a brass
band. But after years of the flood

the flow had stopped like
clotted blood. She cannot shed
no more. They're all dried up like a
corpse's pore.
 May 25 Bardo
Donall Dempsey
GOD GOES FOR A WALK

God goes
for a walk.

it is the depths of Winter
but, at a whim

he makes it
...Spring.

Because.
He can.

I also, as it happens
have gone for a walk

& am surprised by
the sudden change of

the weather. . ?
...whatever!

He is wearing a yellow
gangster style fedora.

He looks like Marlon Brando
being The Godfather.

He sports the brightest of yellow
waistcoats

which compliments
the purple shirt...purple trousers.

He strides along with His
Paisley patterned  Parisian walking stick

whistling the music of
The Spheres.

The World bows
before him.

He is well pleased
with Himself, un-

-til: He encounters me
coming towards him

dressed in a gangster style
yellow fedora

the brightest of yellow waistcoats
not to mention the purple shirt...purple trousers.

I, also, possess
a Paisley patterned  Parisian walking stick.

We nod politely
saying nothing but...

He is miffed at me
wearing His outfit and

I also miffed at Him
wearing mine!

We pass each other
God & creature.

And God...**** if He doesn't
make it Winter

on the very next step.

He was always
a Jealous God.
***

Two of my friends found themselves in that awful party situation where they turned up in the same frock and same hairstyle and same makeup. One would have thought it was done on purpose or that they had indeed been cloned. They had the good grace to laugh it off and pretended they were twins! This made me wonder what would happen if God decided to embody himself and take a walk about his world just so to see what it was like from our point of view. He choose the most outlandish style of dress( not knowing that it was exactly what I have been known to wear on many occasions )thus creating the ensuing fracas when our paths cross. Thus it is that a poem is created from the party/frock happening and an idle whim of mine as I find myself out for a perambulation. Ahhh...the mind of the walking poet...one would have thought that I would have seen a host of golden daffodils but instead into my ever walking mind came this thought. Mea Culpa!
 May 25 Bardo
Donall Dempsey
REPORT

The liver
it should be said

was conspicuously
the worse for wear

whereas the brain
had remained curiously

young at heart
whereas

the same could not be
said for the heart

mostly eaten up
by the past.

There was no time
left in the body.

The soul could not
be found

which does not
necessarily mean

the dead poet
was soulless.

There remained one tear
not yet fallen

that had crystallised  
around a single memory.

The memory now
much decayed.

The body was
without truth.

There were dreams
to be found.

Wishes had congealed
around hope

and had calcified
on not being used.

There were still some
scattered thought

but it could not
be read.

The body showed
no signs of poems.

But the scar tissue
of writing

was more than
evident.

There were slight tears
perhaps caused by love

but this can only be
guesswork

as they were riddled
by perhapses and maybes,

These poet types
are highly susceptible to such.

Signed:

LLanod Yespmed

*

LLanod Yespmed is of course myself only backwards. The double L is pronounced in the Welsh way and the Yespmed is of course of Venusian extraction.
It seems so easy to die these days so I am writing my own death.
 May 24 Bardo
Traveler
My fears are bold and brave
To the system, I’m no slave
To the meek, I’m but a freak
I refuse to let them
Make me sickly or weak

My device knows when to quit
I leave it at home unlike you kids
Unlike the masses trying to fit in
I will break long before I bend.

I am a loser a winner a slob
I don’t have a blue-collar job
I’m not trying to get rich
Alone in nature is where I fit!
Traveler Tim
They might pity me
but
for one Euro
I bought a house
in Italy.
and
whee
full of glee
I shall
emigrate
integrate
and
learn the lingo
eat pasta
ride a Lambretta
sit in a Gondola
and drink
Limoncello

and then I'll wake up.
Life is a series
Of moments
Some sweet as sugar
Some bitter as vinegar

Life is a series of memories
Stretching through years
As time goes on
Some fade
Others become brighter

Life is a series of emotions
Some light and lovely
Some full of happiness
And love
Others
Full of sadness

It’s up to us to treasure
The sweet of life
And see each moment
As a precious jewel
That’s what brings light
Into our lives
Light up the world
 May 21 Bardo
Donall Dempsey
THE CAT'S COMMUNION  

oh my head
splits open..spills
my memories on the floor

all these
little Donalls
running here and there

curiously
mostly me
at age 7

making my Holy Communion
and just taking
the Host upon my tongue

when Charles
our champion mouser
pounces upon my little self

at this very
holy moment
"Holy Mother of God!"

now our cat
who is normally
a nice chap

swallows me
down in one
big gulp

I wonder if this
constitutes a cat's
Holy Communion

but I am sicked up
slimy as slimy can be
a slicked fur ball

after that
all the many memories
I am

manage to somehow
pull themselves together
make it back into my head

well I wasn't
going to do that again
in a hurry

the cat eyes me
nervously now
looking very very holy

as if a Voice from
up above declaims
"This is my beloved

cat in whom I am
well pleased
...feed ye him!"
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