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Tim Knight Oct 2013
Take my hand to continents only known in the books,
the blue maps on tiny tables sat in stacks
ready for the lesson on Mexico, or thereabouts- third this week because
the timetable is weak, poorly thought through and cobbled
together out of half-dressed evenings in the lounges of
teachers; ones once loved by the master and mistresses, leaders
of the well dressed and caretakers.

Take my feet and walk with them, balancing
on borders separating language and currency,
the gymnast's beam looking out over the forestry,
its taller trees than you and me standing upon toes tipping
down towards the urgent ground, urgently warning to stay
upright and stick around, with her holding your hand.
COFFEESHOPPOEMS.COM
Babysitting
for grandchildren yapping
and yipping and grandpappy silently
slipping away.
To bed at nine and out comes the bottle of wine,which
is ever so slightly
a bit out of line and
grandpappy's silently slipping away.
Then it's up at six
for hot milk and two weetabix,then some film show
on Sky or Netflix and
grandpappy's silently slipping,with red wine surreptitiously sipping
away.
G Rhydian Morgan Aug 2011
I hope someone was shot today
at four forty-seven *** em
somebody famous
with a famous death
I know where I was right then
(for once)
I don’t know where I was
when Kennedy got it
and I don’t know where I was
when Martin King went
(all I know is I wasn’t here)
I think I know where I was
when Lennon walked his last
(eating Weetabix eight years old)
and I know where I was today.
At four forty-seven *** em
I was ******* tomato seeds from a picture
of Doctor Thompson’s face.
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
I went into the woods today
to feed the little birds
the squirrel in his little  drey
and the roe deer in their herds
went in feeling confident
walked out tired and grey
now I need some counselling
and this is what I'll say!
Those little ******* birdies
had set a trap for me
dug a hole with mickey the mole
they knew I would't see
fell right down
and bashed my head
they laughed so much,
thought I was dead
all they wanted was my seed
No! not my *****!
Oh, please take heed
the rabbits kicked earth into the hole
****** lagomorphs got no soul
except for hares
they are classier
even though
the females are sassier
I climbed back  out
the birds got miffed
"there is no doubt,
he must be biffed!"
so into the fray
they sent their trump
a ****** great stag
to give me a thump
spent ten minutes dodging round
running like a good'un
until I ran into a tree
solid and pretty wooden
"my sodding nose,
that ****** hurt!
I'm bleeding down
into the dirt!"
tough they told me
with their eyes
that tree will cut you
down to size!
I got away at half past six
how was purely luck
I fed the stag some weetabix
and he got hit by a truck
So now we're having venison
and gravy for our tea
and if I go to the woods again
I'll take some friends with me!
Donall Dempsey May 2015
My Prospero, I admit
is, yea, badly drawn

& keeps falling off
his lollipop stick.

My Caliban, on the other hand
well drawn and forsooth...sticks to...his stick.

I wiggle each
character’s characteristic

and they come alive
speak the lines, I pray you,

trippingly upon my tongue
“Come to me with a thought!”

I command my paper people.

“Your thoughts I cleave to!”
they flash into my consciousness.

“Ariel, my Ariel...”
fine-tooled from foil

that comes from fabled Consulate
& Woodbine packets.

“Ah, my trusty sprite...”
dangles from a purple thread that

is borrowed from
me Mam’s sewing basket.

All is well
in this my make-shift

Shakespeare theatre
made from Kellogg’s

Cornflakes packets.

See the great **** crow
under the proscenium!

Weetabix boxexs
construct the wings.

Rows of Nite lights
serve as footlights.

And, so...let the Masque begin!

I hum bits of Adeste
Fideles....then sing

as Prospero & Ariel
do their thing.

“Solua domus dagus!”
my voice rings out

but see how
dangerous a nine year old knee

can be
to paper theatre.

The floodlights being knocked over
the stage flames in amazement.

My patchwork Globe
of Cornflake and Weetabix boxes

burns to the ground

only Ariel survives
in an all too blackened shrunken

crumpled piece of foil.

I exit
( pursued by a clip on the ear )

the profession of producer of
the plays thereof the only begetter of

this ensuing story
lost, alas my lack, to me!

But wait, is this a football I see
before me?

Then play on Dinger Dwyer!
And ****** be him who first cries hold!

We cry "*******!" and let slip
the dogs we are!

**

I was afraid that people might be offended by the word "*******!" so I pushed Prospero out onto the stage to apologise for such language but as usual he was completely off his stick. "Oh Puck..." I cried but Puck said: "No way am I going out there and apologising for your ***** work....no way" but anyway and anyhow push came to shove and he ended up on his rear on the boards and had to come up with something!

"If we shadows have offended...." he blurted out and me and all the other characters cheered him on. I gave him a big hug when he came off stage! Caliban just jeered and said: "What's wrong with rowlocks?" "*******!" we said and Caliban just scratched his head and went away singing "Ban Ban Caliban...got a new master...got a new man!"

Sometimes it's hard to keep the characters in check...don't know how old Shakey did it! "Where there's a Will...there's a way!" as he always said to me over a pint of Guinness.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
AP Staunton Mar 2016
Conor's got P.E. , so his kit is washed,
I've wrapped his butties in foil, so they don't get squashed,
Pork Luncheon meat, in a crispy roll,
And a carton of Ribena, to fill that hole.

Jess starts College at One, so she'll wake at Five - to ,
Cheese and Pickle, will have to do,
I've had my pint of milk, with three Weetabix,
Got a Flagon of Cider, all the boxes are ticked.

A days grafting ahead, out near Billingshurst,
Laying bricks and blocks, building up a thirst,
And home to the hungry, back to the shops,
It's either Chicken Kievs, or half-price lamb chops.

Custard and Pie, hot milky drinks,
Then everyones asleep, except for me, who thinks,
About tomorrows butties, fruit and snacks,
Calories, nutrition, vitamins and facts.

Up at dawn, in an old bobble-hat,
Making food for them all, even the cat,
A tin of Tuna, he's well impressed,
Another flagon of Cider, another sweat-stained vest.
A butty is a sandwich, in my neck of the woods
Donall Dempsey Oct 2018
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"out of the man
who makes the false teeth.

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
As the old woman on a bicycle so perfectly puts. . .

Ineluctable – that which cannot be escaped from.

modality– A condition like eyesight. Hearing is a modality. However, from each condition a limitation can also be implied. As eyesight is a modality, it also implies the limitation of not being able to hear, or being limited by the quality of our eyesight.  A modality only offers a partial reality.  Eyesight doesn’t give us reality in its entirety, because it can’t give us hearing or taste, both which add aspects to reality.  Eyesight, hearing, and taste are all visible modalities, and all limiting, even together.

By its nature of being visible, it is an ineluctable modality. That which is visible is limited because it’s being observed by a modality which implies a limitation.

This is the entire sentence as it appears in Ulysses:

“Ineluctable modality of the visible: at least that if no more, thought through my eyes.”

This means his current thought is only about what he is observing through his eyes.  “at least that and no more” implies the limitations of eye sight and he is saying here that there is more.  There is an old saying that goes  “there is more than meets the eye.”

Now...imagination on the other hand. . .
jeremy wyatt Jan 2011
Pasties and poo,what a mix.
Taste much better than weetabix.
Trouble is, it sort of sticks.
To my teeth and my plate.
But it still tastes great!
Mum says the poo is a kind of salami,
I think my Mum is completely barmy!
Another one for the Wee ones group!
Olivia Kent Jan 2015
It's eleven 'o'clock.
Too early for lunch.
But,good for a nibble.
Carrots sticks.
Weetabix.
Lots of coffee.
Goes well at eleven, four, five, six and seven.
Much too late for breakfast...,
Who the hell says?
Eat when I feel, you know how it is.
(C) LIVVI
Donall Dempsey May 2017
MUCH ADO ABOUT SOMETHING

My Prospero, I admit
is, yea, badly drawn

& keeps falling off
his lollipop stick.

My Caliban, on the other hand
well drawn and forsooth...sticks to...his stick.

I wiggle each
character’s characteristic

and they come alive
speak the lines, I pray you,

trippingly upon my tongue
“Come to me with a thought!”

I command my paper people.

“Your thoughts I cleave to!”
they flash into my consciousness.

“Ariel, my Ariel...”
fine-tooled from foil

that comes from fabled Consulate
& Woodbine packets.

“Ah, my trusty sprite...”
dangles from a purple thread that

is borrowed from
me Mam’s sewing basket.

All is well
in this my make-shift

Shakespeare theatre
made from Kellogg’s

Cornflakes packets.

See the great **** crow
under the proscenium!

Weetabix boxexs
construct the wings.

Rows of Nite lights
serve as footlights.

And, so...let the Masque begin!

I hum bits of Adeste
Fideles....then sing

as Prospero & Ariel
do their thing.

“Solua domus dagus!”
my voice rings out

but see how
dangerous a nine year old knee

can be
to paper theatre.

The floodlights being knocked over
the stage flames in amazement.

My patchwork Globe
of Cornflake and Weetabix boxes

burns to the ground

only Ariel survives
in an all too blackened shrunken

crumpled piece of foil.

I exit
( pursued by a clip on the ear )

the profession of producer of
the plays thereof the only begetter of

this ensuing story
lost, alas my lack, to me!

But wait, is this a football I see
before me?

Then play on Dinger Dwyer!
And ****** be him who first cries hold!

We cry "*******!" and let slip
the dogs we are!
I was afraid that people might be offended by the word "*******!" so I pushed Prospero out onto the stage to apologise for such language but as usual he was completely off his stick. "Oh Puck..." I cried but Puck said: "No way am I going out there and apologising for your ***** work....no way" but anyway and anyhow push came to shove and he ended up on his rear on the boards and had to come up with something!

"If we shadows have offended...." he blurted out and me and all the other characters cheered him on. I gave him a big hug when he came off stage! Caliban just jeered and said: "What's wrong with rowlocks?" "*******!" we said and Caliban just scratched his head and went away singing "Ban Ban Caliban...got a new master...got a new man!"

Sometimes it's hard to keep the characters in check...don't know how old Shakey did it! "Where there's a Will...there's a way!" as he always said to me over a pint of Guinness.
Simon Piesse Aug 2022
What's your code no passport connection four hundred years grandfather's father his father coming there first test DNA dry place immigrant country no code no almond milk and honey wet wipes gone eyes longing God in each of us what's your code which God fountain of mercy chopped tomatoes snug crates E5 what's your code he shot me in the head and legs smug nearly forgot thank you for calling the job centre your call is important stranger rich tea smooth no nuts unboxed leeks centre job wait what's your code hot sand busy thank you what's your code blue masks requirement professor of linguistics sir do you have Weetabix I Lithuania bless you Kuwait Syria Michigan Holloway Italy chef many interviews knives the knives needed all are welcome double yellow lines peas code your what's your necessary referral code appointment hurry sorry reindeer biscuit then joking we used to climb over and pick the blackberries no desk write the date and time sign what's your code Ukraine just wait for delivery..
Donall Dempsey Sep 2016
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
kirk Oct 2017
What the hell has happened to the adverts on our TV screens?
When Our teeth shined with Sensodine, Colgate and Mccleans
Kinder made surprising eggs and Heinz Meanz tinned Baked Beans
Fairy Liquid lasted longer, houses cleaned with Mr Sheens
Daz Automatic, Surf and Ariel washed clothes in our machines
Which brings me to that buff hunky guy washing Levi jeans

Winalot and Pedagree where good food for our dogs
Robinson's Jam old icon was mascot Golly wogs
Fudge fingers where just enough to give our kids a treat
Not even a Black Hole could eat three Shredded Wheat
Gillette was the best shave, that a man could get
Happiness was achieved, with a cigar called Hamlet
Surfing was the mark of a man, the fragrance of Old Spice
Brut had an unbeatable smell even Henry Cooper smelt quite nice
You know when where Tangoed when your slapped in the chop
Magic begun when we heard the fun of Snap Crackle and Pop
"Hey I'd love a Babycham" in that cool smooth cocktail pub
Biscuits had a lot of chocolate when you joined their Club
The Honey Monster told his mummy to tell us about the Honey
Taking it easy with a Caramel from that **** Cadburys Bunny
Leonard Rossiter and Joan Collins had Cinzano on a plane
The secret lemonade drinker sneaked downstairs for R Whites again
If you know what's good for you, you would eat Weetabix
Chimpanzees did all kinds things for the taste of PG tips
Turkish Delight had eastern promise her hair he had to stroke
You where in love for the very first time when you drank a Coke
If you had a Mars a day we where helped to work, rest and play
A secret agent risked everything because the lady loved Milk Tray

The quest of a silent messenger in case you had forgot
Seeking for the timeless taste of the larger of Lamot
Carling had the three in one with the cowboy in the west
From love songs to soap powder Black Label was the best
Searching for Fly Fishing  J R Hartley got downhearted
Good old Yellow Pages is where he should have started
Garath Hunt had Nescafe he shook the coffee bean
With Una Stubbs and Sarah Green and even Diane Keen
The cute Kid with the glasses he was strong and tough
The Milky Bars are on him, the best where good enough

What do we get on our screens in our modern time
All of the ads are terrible their broadcast is a crime
All you are providing is the same old ******* grime
Ramming the same thing down our throat like an hourly chime
Its the same as TV programming there's nothing that is prime
With all the cheap reality shows there boring and just slime

What is it with the crap Go Compare to many in this set
The PPI's and Clear Score there all a public social threat
Too many online Bingo sites it seems they took all they could get
All these loans and gambling its no wonder people are in debt

Cillit Bang it sounded good when used by Barry Scott
Boy that stuff can't really work cos he had a ****** lot
I don't think it was all that good and not so very hot
If its in the cheep shop I may give it a small shot

The Gtech cordless vacuum it simply has no class
With its 40 minuet run time I think id rather pass
It doesn't seem that powerful I know this may seem harsh
Break free from the Gtech Air Ram and ram it up your ****

And all those crap insurance ads I really do despair
Especially that ******* opera singer singing Go Compare
With his stupid ****** false moustache, Tuxedo and black hair
Get rid of this obnoxious guy and nobody cares where

All those ****** ******* adverts they have on nowadays
nothing like the larger ads or the man with the milk trays.
all you get is insurance ads none of which that pays
or loans that you don't ******* want or any of their strays

Get rid of all these ****** ads put them on the shelf
I don't mean to appear arrogant, I could do better myself
Stop melting our minds, we cant shield our minds in stealth
To many poor folks sat at home with messed up mental health
All you execs make millions your only interested in wealth
And reinstate some proper ads stop thinking of yourself

So bring back all the old ads they where more amusing
Inventive and informative more things for the choosing
Not like they are today all boring, some confusing
Monotonous and self obsessed you only end up snoozing
Always going with the flow with all the same ads cruising
Come on all you ad execs its the public that your losing
Maniacal Escape Apr 2021
Chicken in the oven.
Playing chicken with the oven.
Gaslighting the oven.

Not really. Dinners in the oven
Cooking in the oven.
Tasty in the oven.
Last time was this time that time, but next time like the first time we met the first time
gets better.

We set sprats to catch mackerel and fish for compliments while the whales sit on couches and watch television, repeats and retreats and it beats me how the sea cow gives no milk.

But this time brings time into focus again and I rise with the dawn to bring the then into now and the day limbers up as I do my bit and sit down for a tea, a cigarette lit, a cough with a wheeze, two Weetabix please and this time gets better every time that I'm sat here.

She comes about ten and by then things are done, the plates have been washed, the laundry is hung and we wait for a bus, the ten twenty-three,
to Putney, and on the heath, there we will be
like the last time but this time,
I remember the first time I met her when I thought to myself that this could get better and it did,
so you see,
while sprats catch a mackerel or is it the other way round it all follows on and back on dry ground you're bound to make a connection in the mystery of the lines that cross in and out of those times last the last times.
Mateuš Conrad Mar 2016
another way to practice philosophy according to aristotelian conceptualisation is to not presuppose awe, it's more like this, write something down really quickly, an imitation of lightning, and then become struck by awe, rather than being in awe prior and doing the dusty practice of... taking your time... bewilder yourself to ask the dumbest question, answer so wisely that no one will take it as good advice but simply as a maxim no one bothers to encourage in undertaking... i too wish i could have that 'cool' disregard for philosophy, but after studying chemistry, philosophy is not a ponce word, but the word to unlearn hard science and learn a humanism, i too wish i could brush aside the word or practice, but unlike bukowski, i'm not really into gambling on horses.

as currently developed and largely ignored in terms
of the critique of notation i could encapsulate the word
doppelgänger* as the existentialists
would "doppelgänger", the sad sod in me
does actually think about it,
it would refer to either an ambiguity
of a misnomer,
i took the simpler route and just referred
to a misnomer rather than an ambiguity,
singled out words are not really ambiguous
if you burn the dictionary and forget it
ever existed,
i know doppelgänger is ~doppelgänger,
a quasi-misnomer when referring to a
particular instant, i.e.:
find me a clown with a similar background
to the joker - a drunken father who gave him
a Chelsea grin with a knife in a drunken rage...
but what about the joker who studied chemistry
and fell into a pit of chemicals that bleached
his face permanent white?
as socrates remained in motto of:
reconcile particulars with universals...
me? i'm wondering: reconcile particulars
with particulars and universals with universals...
the latter is easy, one pops up, another, three more,
and they are the cogs in the machinery of two
eyes and only 1 point of concentration:
an optical isolation of a tree, a forest, a constellation,
etc., universals are harmonies,
makes no difference to biology of the universal
23 pairs of chromosomes, or the mathematical π,
is the genome sequence the length of π?
anyway, i could have used the existential notation
of encapsulating the word with " ",
but i preferred the post-existentialism notation
of ~, just to avoid the misnomer qualification of
word usage, but leaving enough space for not
undertaken constantly-questioning ambiguity,
i know i can slide a cube through a square hole...
and i know that an actual doppelgänger of a clown
does not exist... find me the particular of particulars,
finding a universal of universals is easy,
you can just quote me on the 23 chromosome pairs
and π - the universal of universals is 1,
the particular of particulars is necessarily ∞,
non-explanatory orientation, just deviant use of a symbol /
encoding...
i know that the doppelgänger of the joker
acted is an ~doppelgänger, but is not a "doppelgänger",
because the word doppelgänger is not necessarily
a misnomer, i know there are no two identical clowns,
but then there are two universals
clown here                                                    clown there
                                            p
                                            a
                                            r
                                            t
                                            i
                                            c
                                            u
                                            l
                                            a
                                            r
                                            s
clown there                                                        clown here,
and indeed universals are governed by multiplication,
and indeed particulars are governed by addition,
i.e. you add to your individuality to be different,
dress different, speak different, speak different,
but then the universals come along and you're a factor
of multiplication, and essentially an analogue,
a deviating analogue, but then you congregate
and become the punk scene, e.g.
but as socrates said, 'i'd only be interested in someone
solving the problem, but not actually solving it.'
and like in all good mathematics, division and subtraction
are just remainders of an indivisible number,
they are indeed methods, scare tactics,
the former segregation and the latter death...
but after all, we're all human and stomp on this earth
with a unified purpose of having weetabix in the morning.
Very sadly, today
One of my breakfast bowls
Passed away
Along with two Weetabix
Looking so inbetween
As the sugar shaker
Like a mean machine
Pounced upon bowl
And contents
Including the milk
All fell to the floor
And quite simply
Were no more
My sugar shaker, i fear
Looking to be a cheap thriller
Has now become
A cereal killer
As i cast out
The broken remains
Into my flip top bin
I then committed the cardinal sin
And grabbing a fresh identical bowl
Seemingly uncaring, as to its soul
Nor for the newly departed
Weetabix dead
I decided to have
Shredded Wheat instead!

by Jemia
Donall Dempsey Jun 2023
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

( Philomena her name is)

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
John Bartholomew Jan 2021
Now this depends on the colour of the pill
The one to make you high or the one to make you ill
If you're in the mood for searing riffs by Jimmy Page
Or you think that **** belongs in another age
Along with the teeth picking tunes by Jimi Hendrix
You'd rather sit in silence eating your Weetabix
Those six string gods such as Clapton and Chuck Berry
Now for a game of domino's with Pete and old Terry
The jukebox here plays the modern from Gaga and onto Oasis
The barmaid likes the older man, let's hope I meet her analysis
She puts on some older songs, The Beatles and The Kinks
Reeling off some other stuff, miss it if you blink
Then the rumour does come true as she catches me with her eye
Back to hers with some cans and a kebab,
Rock and Roll will never die

JJB
Start life in a pushchair
end up in a wheelchair
that
doesn't sound fair to me

I'd like a parachute.

but we rise as we fall
keep our eyes
on the ball and
the game plays out as it will.

If life is a 'Gif'
I wonder if
but then I don't.

So for me
it's back to the Weetabix
the Sticklebricks
and plasticine

and taking forty winks in
the time it takes to
take five
because
I have a microwave bed,
(old jokes are the best)

modernity's killing me
but slowly and in an
old fashioned kind of way.
We must have
forgotten
someone
anyone
no one?

well then we'll go on
thinking that
we've forgotten
something
anything
nothing?

and the clock does a handstand
at half past six
I stumble to the table
and have two Weetabix
it's usually three,
but me
I'm forgetful
and forgot to buy more,

at seven twenty four
I close the front door
on my way out
wondering what next.
Donall Dempsey Jun 2024
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE

red door of No.16
North Frederick Street
slams behind him as he

enters into this newly minted
morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it
sunlight spangles

a tiny puddle
turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."

he turns right
into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes
the false teeth

then turning left into Eccles Street
giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES

here in its run down state
though still shining
in its fictionality

soon they will knock it down
and what will the tourists
do then poor things

sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble
and the door

will live again
some streets
away again

ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of
the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly
(Philomena her name is)

a cottage cheese
with pineapple
on a Weetabix base

it is a 16th of June
somewhere
in the 80's

as I retrace
my own earlier
Joycean footsteps

rat-a-tat-tat
on Bloom's door
"Are ya there Leopold?"

but the bold Leopold
doesn't answer
the 16th of

forever I am
"...walking through it
howsomever."

the sun smirks
at such
Joyceisms

"I am, a stride of a time
very short space of time
through very short times of space."

a horse and cart as if
from the past
saunters by timelessly

ahhh "...the ineluctable
modality of
the audible."

my Molly
who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert
into her

and yes she says
mmmm...yes....mmmm
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*

Fo­r Jemmy de Joist whose day the 16th always us and the words give him their gifts. This is my little bit of living in his moment and walking the streets he walked.
kirk Nov 2020
For God sake Mr Johnson, we can't take this anymore
It's seems you cannot help yourself, when it concerns the law
Do you intend to keep us all, behind our own front door ?
What happens if there's no vaccine, and we don't find a cure ?

People are still people, and this is no way to live
Local lockdowns just don't work, but more are still forthwith !
The killing of our livelihoods, is what we can't forgive
I believe the official stats, are nothing but a myth

It's all to do with keeping tabs, and global mass control
Restrictions on humanity, seems to be your outward goal
Don't go out and socialise, we no longer have the sole
Freedom of the beating heart, is what authority's have stole

Forced closers of our industry's, well it's just a bitter pill
Intentions are not honourable, when you don't foot the bill
Your decisions make us victims, and we've all had our fill
Months of being grinded down, mangled through an endless mill

There's billions of people, and we've had the rule of six !
But it's okay for governments, when they all want to mix !
Stop throwing mouldy carrots, then hitting us with sticks
Your not immune just because, you've had your Weetabix

What's the point in guidelines, even when you have complied
The cases are still rising, and people have still died
You don't lead by example, because you have no sense of pride
But we get fined and chastised, if none of us abide !

Your promises are always false, your nothing but a fraud
Most of us did what you asked, and this is our reward
Little progress has been made, still nothing has been scored
I'd expect a dire outcome, If you live by the sword

Football matches are exempt, from all the rules you set
Increasing numbers seem okay, when they gather round the net
Anything attached to sports, are not part of the bet
Disbanding and a standard fine, is what they deserve to get ?

Personally I don't much care, if your in a group or crowd
Stand up for your human rights, and do it loud and proud
The only issue that I have, is I am not allowed
Promises are meaningless, when none of them are vowed

So there are groups of people, why don't you leave them be
Major crimes are being ignored, and none of us are free !
We don't want overzealous cops, placing necks under their knee
I can't condone excessive fines, when it's such a hefty fee

The media is littered, but it's us that pay the price
If we don't adhere to stupid rules, or follow your advice
They almost alter daily, so how can they be precise ?
Is every course of action, a random number on a dice ?

You seem to have an insight, perhaps your drinking from the keg ?
Or you have a secret bloodline, and your mother's Mystic Meg  ?
Are you psychic or clairvoyant, is Nostrodamus old Nick Clegg !
Stop rubbing on your magic lamp, and abusing the prime peg

How do you know future, because you always have a date
Specific times for hair brain schemes, but you are much too late
We should have acted sooner, and closed our borders gate
Instead of ever changing laws, and creating a police state

It's a wonder there aren't storm troopers, barb wire nailed to the wall
Steel bars attached to our windows, iron maidens in the hall
Camera's installed in every room, Big Brother's now on call
Problems caused by men like you, the biggest threat of all

We're sick of being prisoners, and treated like we're fools
And Boris changing policies, with the constant change of rules
First you can and then you can't, with restaurants, pubs and pools
You don't mind the university's, or the students risk in schools !

It's arrogance that makes you think, your choices are correct
The reality of your actions, well it's simply pure neglect
You never really had a clue, but it's what I would expect
Society has been damaged, so you don't have my respect

Your half arsed decisions, why are they so on trend ?
They've hardly been effective, they just drive us round the bend
I'd rather have the holocaust, at least it had an end
A regime based on fascism, is the wrong message to send

Take a look at number ten, why was you even hired ?
You've had a taste of power, now your no longer required
Drawn and quartered hanging high, and then you should be fired
So get down from your high horse, cos even they get tired

You should retire from office, because you are far too keen
Give somebody else the chance, who isn't half as mean
Spend your time brown trousering, while bumming England's Queen
He wants to be elected, cast your votes for Mr Bean

Innocent pawns are sacrificed, but you don't take the blame
We're just the broken chess pieces. from a long discarded game
Sadistic orders are dished out, it's always been the same
Your more threatening then Corona, and you relish the acclaim

Liberty has been destroyed, now we're laid beneath the drapes
The iron curtain has returned, so has more sour grapes
Walking on smashed eggshells, watching every step we traipse
It looks like we're getting closer, to the Planet of the Apes

Petri dishes are unleashed, we've been thrown under the wheel
Your worse than the pandemic, because you have far less appeal
The ******* dictators, they just love to hear you squeal
Why should people waste their life, waiting for the world to heal ?

Heart attacks and lung transplants, are still on the doctors list
But ever since this came along, they hardly now exist
You've lost your cancer patients, now their slipping through the mist
Other ailments pushed aside, that's why we shake our fist

Where are the infected, and where are all the dead ?
Statistically it don't add up, I'm not taking it as red
Isn't there supposed to be, this huge big massive spread ?
You may as well ask a horse, The famous Mr Ed

It's a never ending cycle, and this could go on for years
The evidence of scientists, some advice falls on deaf ears
We can't be very sociable, we're a country split with fears
Pandemics shaped like wedding cakes, will always end in tiers

We've followed guidelines from the start, but progress has been none
Situations are now worse, so what good has it done ?
Forget the shackles and restraints, don't hide away or run
Yellow bellies face your fears, that's how the west was won

Come on now it's gone to far, so please give it a rest
We're basically the fall guys, cos we're under house arrest
Something's wrong with mental health, and you should take a test
Nurse Ratchet would be welcoming, if you flew the cuckoo's nest

What goes on in tiny minds, your thoughts are quite unjust
You're very good at ridicule, but much better at mistrust
Leisure and small businesses, are breads burnt at the crust
Perhaps you will be satisfied, when this planet's turned to dust !

Your no different to Napoleon, a claw that always grips
And you sound like Adolf ******, with dictation on your lips
Is Joseph Starling someone else, you acquire some of your tips ?
To toe the line you could use chains, and braided leather whips

We've tried anti social distancing, and masks upon our face
Kept away from people, and gave them their own space
Thousands have been wasted, on the worthless test and trace
It's criminal what you have done, against the human race

You dare to index people, and place numbers on their back
Or filed away and categorised, just to keep us all on track
It's the simple minds of pettiness, and IQ's that you all lack
There's talk of herd immunity, but not every sheep is black

All of these new amendments, are made up by useless jerks
High wages paid for scare tactics, to stupid little Berks
It isn't really guaranteed, that any of it works
Their only interest seems to be, the money and the perks

Propaganda is your standard, for that you are renown
Your only answer seems to be, is everyone lock down
Our lives are left in ruins, while your watching us all drown
We'd be better off with Roland Rat, and not Coco the Clown

Never mind Covid nineteen, because you have caused more harm
You have us clutched and running scared, inside your smarmy palm
Creating thoughts of suicide, is the smug side of your charm
It's too late to make amends, once you have chanced your arm

There's no consoling anyone, there's no shaking of the hand
Other households cannot mix, and all our friends are banned
Are your heads are up your assess, or buried in the sand
It's big fat cats and bureaucrats, who's threatening our land

We're sorry Mrs Thatcher, if you came back I'd be glad
You wouldn't try and lock us up, or treat everyone so bad
They said Rasputin was insane, and the Impaler known as Vlad
Perhaps their methods were extreme, but at least there iron clad

I've never known a virus, that knows the time of day
Curfews set at ten o'clock, watch out it's on the way
Lurking in the hedgerows, while it's stalking late night pray
Time itself makes no difference, to keep the bugs at bay

It knows your pigmentation, it knows your young or old
The difference between day and night, and if it's hot or cold
We've found a superior life form, put the printing press on hold
Downing Street has met it's match, because it's you who's being controlled

World leaders should now move aside, Trump, Johnson and Farage !
Your days are up, you've lost control, Corona's now in charge
It's telling you where not to go, and spreading like soft marge
The ancient mariner beckons you, to step onto his barge

So you've had the virus, well take a run and jump
No one cares about your hide, your just a worthless lump
You have less intelligence, than a forest full of gump
Why don't you just ****** off, we don't want you Donald Trump

Similarities with the PM, is Boris a clone or twin ?
Perhaps your a strange experiment, removed from a surgeons bin ?
You don't get votes for sympathy, by infecting next of kin
Extortionate hair is pointless, when it still looks fake and thin

Economy's have suffered, but I don't think that you care
What justifies seventy grand, spent on your stupid hair ?
Average citizens pay their tolls, raw deals are never fair
Why should we all cower down, just to breath in toxic air ?

You could've spent two fifty, whole grain would work a treat
Thirty biscuit's in one box, is value you can't beat
It would be ten days supply, cos three would look quite neat
All those taxes would be saved, if you used shredded wheat

Who's bothered about your progress, our phones have been infiltrated
Text messages are unauthorised, about someone who's not rated
Come on now and get real, your policies outdated
And that's because your past your prime, and crossly antiquated

Situations you don't grasp, for you they're out of reach
Like the idea of a syringe, full of domestic bleach
You can try your own vaccine, and practice what you preach
And spare us all from irony, and another ******* speech

Don't ever lose at poker, because times are getting hard
It could result in the U.S, playing their Trump card !
You wouldn't want old Donald, or Boris in your yard
So raise up your defences, and don't ever drop your guard

Isolation is not natural, it's like two peas in a pod
Vicious nets of pure deceit, captured in a school of cod
You have the same complexes, cos you both think you are god
But you are just the didymen, and modelled like Ken Dodd

I simply have no interest, in the updates on the news
Or agendas on scare mongering, or any of your views
The headlines in the papers, should be hung in loos to use
Why don't you go and swivel, on two splintered snooker cues

All shops are essential, and no business should be shut
No forcing pubs to close there doors, no wages to be cut
Stop acting like a ******, and being King Tut's **** !
I never knew a double act, created Fruit and Nut

Where was you both created, do you share half a brain ?
You and Boris cause us all, an extreme amount of pain
Lightning surely does strike twice, we hope it never strikes again
It's the nonsense thoughts and policies, of the criminally insane
Well what can I say, this whole thing started in the beginning of October approximately one month ago when my mother received unauthorised notifications on her mobile phone about Donald Trumps progress after contracting the virus.
At the time I wrote a few lines about our Donald and it was intended to be a short poem solely about him of just 4 stanzas.
However as I began to write and situations were forever changing I found myself having other thoughts on other subjects.
Over the past month it was a bit longer than I had planned and I told myself I would stop at 15 verses or stanzas this simply did not happen as it soon went over the intended number.
This happened a few times from 25 to 35 to 42 and finally 50 and even though I had a few more ideas I decided to stop at this point.
This is just some of my own opinions and views and if they are not yours then that's fine neither of us are wrong and neither of us are right its just one individual viewpoint. if you do agree with some of it them that's fine too and I thank you for your time and for reading. lets hope our current situation eases soon for all our sakes
It seems so reasonable and yet we get so irritable
Weetabix or Sticklebrix?
that's all I said
when
She asked what was for breakfast,

So now She's having toast and honey
thinks I'm made of more than money
She bought it though,

I'd better have some Complan
they say it's good for building up a man
so
are compliments.
Dr Tayne Apr 2021
Oxymorique Weetabix
À la fois guerrier et naturel

Street barista, Fraîche Aube
Petit Poucet aux trous de beigne
Toujours chaud pour un Tim Hortons
Monday at six
time for two Weetabix
hot milk too
because cold will not do,

maybe an egg, some bacon
and toast before I roast the
coffee beans.

seems okay
and it feels alright
and when I open my eyes
it will be Friday night,

nope, it's
still Monday
*** it.
I wanted Weetabix
or Cornflakes to
break my fast
and all I got
was Muesli

what good is Muesli to me?
to be honest
it looks like a bed for the
rabbit or something the rabbit
deided to drop,

Stop
giving me Muesli.
Donall Dempsey Apr 2020
THE SUMMER OF HER


a one-eyed
rocking horse
pommel less

his golden tail
long since shed
cracked paint wrinkles

held captive
in an attic
tethered with cobwebs

enormous cobwebs
worthy of
a Dracula's castle

a kite
torn at the heart
lolls in a corner

gazing at the window
pining for it's great
windy days

battles fought
with long gone
skies

a doll's tea set
minus spoons
that baby ate

later reemerging
in her poo
we all fascinated

sister who hadn't seen
the original eating
repulsed at how spoons are made

insists on
eating her Weetabix
with a fork

an eyeless doll
leaking sawdust
through a fatal tear

the doll her doll
old enough now
to be her sister

in the soon to be
summer of her
66th year
Donall Dempsey Sep 2020
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2024
THROUGH VERY SHORT TIMES OF SPACE.

The red door of No.16
North Frederick Street

slams behind him as he
enters into this newly minted

morning
sunshine so thick

one feels like a fish
swimming through it.

Sunlight spangles
a tiny puddle

turning it into a jewel
that only the eye can cherish.

Ahhhh "...the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

He turns right into Upper
Dorset Street

pulling an "Ahhh...howya!"
out of the man who makes the false

teeth!

Then turning left into
Eccles Street

giving the nod to No. 7
Bloom's house in ULYSSES.

Here in its run down state
though still shining in his fictionality.

Soon they will knock it
down and what will the tourists

do then
poor things.

Sure some bright spark
will rescue it from its rubble

and the door will live again
some streets away again.

Ahhh...." the ineluctable
modality of the visible."

I go to Quinn's gym
to get my Molly

(  Philomena her name is )

a cottage cheese with pineapple
on a Weetabix base.

It is a 16th of June
somewhere in the 80's

as I retrace my own earlier
Joycean footsteps.

Rat-a-tat-tat on Bloom's door.
"Are ya there Leopold?"

But the bold Leopold
doesn't answer.

The 16th of
forever I am

"...walking through it
howsomever."

The sun smirks
as such Joyceisms.

"I am, a stride of  a time.

A very short space of time
through very short times of space."

A horse and cart as if
from the past

saunters by
timelessly.

Ah "...the ineluctable
modality of the audible."

My Molly who is really
a Philomena

spoons the deliciousness
of the creamy dessert

into her
and yes she says

mmmm...yes....mmmm

Yes.  


*

“Hold to the now, the here, through which all future plunges to the past.”— James Joyce, “Ulysses”

— The End —