DEPARTED THIS STAGE OF EXISTENCE

moss & lichen
eat each
chiselled name

gnaw
away at
stone memories

even
the stone
is withered

some faces
having nothing
to say

or a half-eaten date
that's lost
its name

Time
chewed &
spat  out

there is the cut
of salt
in the air

tombstones
lie all
higgedly-piggedly

as if
the graveyard is
a drunken dance

ghosts frozen in the air
held
in the grasp of frost

trees blown into
fierce gestures
a dance of demons

etched against a sky
that crumbles
into nothingness

the sun
afraid
to show its face

the sea
flattens
itself into silver

only the silence
can be
heard

the tide
lays back
from the shore

cockle pickers
stop &
move again

like human
punctuation
marks

DEPARTED THIS STAGE OF EXISTENCE

Moss & lichen
eat each chiselled name

gnaw away at
stone memories.

Even the stone
is withered.

Some faces
having nothing to say

or a half-eaten date
that's lost its name.

Time chewed &
spat  out.

There is the cut
of salt in the air.

Tombstones lie all
higgedly-piggedly

as if the graveyard is
a drunken dance.

Ghosts frozen in the air
held in the grasp of frost,

Trees blown into
fierce gestures

a dance of demons
etched against a sky

that crumbles
into nothingness.

The sun afraid
to show its face.

The sea flattens
itself into silver

only the silence
can be heard.

The tide lays back
from the shore

cockle pickers stop &
move again

like human punctuation
marks.

DER BERLINER REGEN

the past was busy
inventing the future
making it up as it went along

I was left out
in the rain
my mind rusting

my time
in the 20th century
was coming to an end

dawn saw
the 21st century
dragged in by the hair

and screaming
at the top of its voice
"I don't want to be here!"

"Ok ok!" I yelled
at the newest of centuries
"We better get on with it!"

"No time..."
like the present
it smirked

the Berlin rain
continued
to do its thing

DIE STIMMEN...DIE STIMMEN!

"I feel claustrophobic
within my own skin
( I...want ). . .out!"

"I don't have a relationship
with reality
the world is like TV to me!"

"I'm locked out
of the life
I'm living!"

"I can't feel
the me
I am!"

"It's like I'm a TV programme
I have to watch again &. ..
I don't even like it!"

"I've forgotten
how to feel
nothing is real!"

"Even reality
seems fake to me
like it's all make believe!"

*

Working with people in mental health I would soak up their voices by osmosis so that years later the voices would percolate through me...at the time they were haunted by voices in their heads and now their voices haunt me. This was a very English gentle man who when the "voices came" would revert back to his German background and speak in fluent German to his German mother who controlled every aspect of his life with a fierce iron grip.

DIE STIMMEN...DIE STIMMEN!

"I feel claustrophobic
within my own skin
( I...want ). . .out!"

"I don't have a relationship
with reality
the world is like TV to me!"

"I'm locked out
of the life
I'm living!"

"I can't feel
the me
I am!"

"It's like I'm a TV programme
I have to watch again &. ..
I don't even like it!"

"I've forgotten
how to feel
nothing is real!"

"Even reality
seems fake to me
like it's all make believe!"

DIE WANDLUNG
(THE TRANSFORMATION)  

In this house where I
a child grew      snow has entered
drifts where I have dreamed
plays inside(where once I watched
it fall outside)   in wonder.



ICH WEISS...ICH WEISS!
(I KNOW...I KNOW!)  

Snow climbs the stair where
once I had head over heels
charged down to see it
begged like the child I was then
to go outside...inside...now.



DU BLEIBT...DU BLEIBT!
(YOU REMAIN...YOU REMAIN!)  

Snow eager to see
me after such long ago
roams through room after
room...mindless now of time it
human now...I...the falling.



DER HIMMEL HINABSTEIGT
(THE SKY DESCENDS)  

I watch Time grow old
see it fail to remember
what it should remem...
this house & I falling through
its fingers...lettting us go!



AUFGABE
(RELINQUISHMENT)  

Language strolling down
memory lane...picking its fruit
laughter & sadness
growing from the same branches
tasting now bitter...now...sweet.

*

WELCH EIN SPIEL
(WHAT A GAME!)  

All my life I've been
saying 'NO! ' to YES & 'YES! '
to NO...knowing I
know nothing of everything
I should know...could know...but...don't.

DIE WANDLUNG
(THE TRANSFORMATION)  

In this house where I
a child grew      snow has entered
drifts where I have dreamed
plays inside(where once I watched
it fall outside)   in wonder.



ICH WEISS...ICH WEISS!
(I KNOW...I KNOW!)  

Snow climbs the stair where
once I had head over heels
charged down to see it
begged like the child I was then
to go outside...inside...now.



DU BLEIBT...DU BLEIBT!
(YOU REMAIN...YOU REMAIN!)  

Snow eager to see
me after such long ago
roams through room after
room...mindless now of time it
human now...I...the falling.



DER HIMMEL HINABSTEIGT
(THE SKY DESCENDS)  

I watch Time grow old
see it fail to remembeer
what it should remem...
this house & I falling through
its fingers...lettting us go!



AUFGABE
(RELINQUISHMENT)  

Language strolling down
memory lane...picking its fruit
laughter & sadness
growing from the same branches
tasting now bitter...now...sweet.

*

WELCH EIN SPIEL
(WHAT A GAME!)  

All my life I've been
saying 'NO! ' to YES & 'YES! '
to NO...knowing I
know nothing of everything
I should know...could know...but...don't.

DIRECTIONS

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away into forever.

Tea slops in an old milk bottle
with a piece of cloth as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him. . .”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm field by field
‘till I finally find him

sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where West is!

Why didn’t she say so in the first place!
This I know!

Why send me like a fool on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)

to go South to where Uncle Seanie is

and. . .

DIRECTIONS

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away into forever.

Tea slops in an old milk bottle
with a piece of cloth as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him. . .”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm field by field
‘till I finally find him

sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where West is!

Why didn’t she say so in the first place!
This I know!

Why send me like a fool on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)

to go South to where Uncle Seanie is

and. . .

DIRECTIONS

I’m heading West
(where ever that is) .

I march off into the distance
of field & sky.

West is where
my uncle is.

I cut through
the heat haze.

My uncle’s dinner
wrapped up in a scarf on the end of a stick

as if I am
running away into forever.

Tea slops in an old milk bottle
with a piece of cloth as a stopper.

I stare into the empty air
as if suddenly I will discover there

a sign saying:
“West – this way! ”

My Auntie Nellie’s instructions
still stamped on the inside of my stupid skull.

“Go west into the field
with your Uncle Michael’s dinner.

“Tell him. . .”

Me too terrified to tell her
I don’t know
where West is?

Typical townie!

I search the farm field by field
‘till I finally find him

sprouting out of a field
with a cloud attached to his head

beside the broken rickety gate
where the tiniest ever wild strawberries grow.

So this is where West is!

Why didn’t she say so in the first place!
This I know!

Why send me like a fool on a child’s errand!

My uncle devours everything ‘cept
the scarf & the stick.

Tells me
(“Oh no! ”)

to go South to where Uncle Seanie is

and. . .

DIVING UNDER THE MOMENT

clouds float
on their back
in the lake

trees stand
on their head
a stone shatters them

then
they return to themselves
trees at play

the lake captures
everything it sees
the moment taken captive

time drips
from our nakedness
splashed with second after

second
the sun
tanning our behinds

we two too
are taken into custody
diving into the clouds

we swim through clouds
dive through trees
swim under the moment

this the ordinary
minuscule miracle
the bird turns into song

we two
now the notes
piercing the sky

two ancient angelic corbels
laugh at our human antics
from their great holy height

heaven daring
to walk upon the ground
leaving its footprints in my mind

DOC. NO. 30060

to you
who

reads me a thousand
years from now

an impossible you...I
could not begin to imagine

survivor of
WW3

the world almost ceasing
to be

and I, a fragment
of history

a few burnt pages
a charred eye

an happenstance of
history rather than

merit where
all words...any words

were made precious
me now

an historic document
that you try to breath

life into
a me impossible to know

me the so
long ago

eaten by time
devoured by history

the symbolic irony
of the charred eye

the rest of the photo
not making it

and so, my impossible-to-know
write your academic paper

on this me that has
long ceased to be

but how my thought survives
in my only known poem

words burnt
at the edges

so many unknowns
so many...ellipses

I, Dónall Dempsey
artifact No. 30060

returned to the library
at 6.30

Thursday, 3035
the 15th of July

*

I imagined that by 3035 and yet another world war anything as flimsy as paper or literature would all have gone up in flames....even Shakespeare and the Bible for God's sake. As it would happen only my small effort( unworthy as it was)was doomed to survive and they wouldn't even know( as they do now)if it was poetry....they believe it to be some kind of code but if so why trust it such a destructible format as paper( but then they would have forgotten what paper was). And so my words have become precious simply because they are the only words that have survived from our terrible times. How fortunate/unfortunate?

DOC. NO. 30060

to you
who

reads me a thousand
years from now

an impossible you...I
could not begin to imagine

survivor of
WW3

the world almost ceasing
to be

and I, a fragment
of history

a few burnt pages
a charred eye

an happenstance of
history rather than

merit where
all words...any words

were made precious
me now

an historic document
that you try to  breath

live into
a me imposible to know

me the so
long ago

eaten by time
devoured by history

the symbolic irony
of the charred eye

the rest of the photo
not making it

and so, my impossible to know
write your academic paper

on this me that has
long ceased to be

but how my thought survives
in my only known poem

words burnt
at the edges

so many unknowns
so many...ellipses

I, Donall Dempsey
artifact No. 30060

returned to the library
at 6.30

Thursday, 30018
the 15th of July

DO I KISS HER NOW. . .?
. . .DO I KISS HER NOW!

Centuries of seconds
amble( nonchalantly )by

the kiss that is
in our minds

not yet
upon our lips.

"Just...doitdoitdoit!"
you scream silently.

"Doitdoitdoit!"
I cry wordlessly.

The birds in the trees
can only laugh.

"Doitdoitdoit!"
they mimic

Suddenly the last second
hoves into view

carrying a placard
'THE KISS IS NIGH!"

I grab that second
by the scruff of the neck.

"What...in God's name
kept you"
I almost screech.

"Painting the sign...wasn't I?"
the second sniffled...wiping its nose.

"AGHHHHHH!" I aghhhhhh'd.

"AHHHHHHH!" you ahhhhh'd.

Squirming deliciously
within your self.

"Okok...cut...that's it
that's a wrap!"

shouts Life
from its Director's chair.

At long last
the kiss

exists.

"I said...cut!"
shouts Life again

but we continue
doing what we're doing

not listening
to anything

but us.

I told you
that I love you.

I told you
what I was going to

do to you
when I got you

all to
myself.

I told you...
there was sudden laughter on the line

“I think you got
the wrong number love

but keep talking
...you’re doin’ fine! ”

DOIN' FINE!

I told you. . .
that I love you.

I told you. . .
what I was going to

do to you. . .
when I got you

all to. . .
myself.

I told you. . .
there was sudden laughter on the line

“I think you got
the wrong number love

but keep talking
...you’re doin’ fine!”

DOIN' FINE!

I told you
that I love you.
I told you

what I was going to
do to you
when I got you

all to
myself
alone

I told you...
there was sudden
laughter on the line

“I think you got
the wrong
number love

but keep
talking
...you’re doin’ fine! ”

DOIN' FINE!

I told you. . .
that I love you.

I told you. . .
what I was going to

do to you. . .
when I got you

all to. . .
myself.

I told you. . .
there was sudden laughter on the line

“I think you got
the wrong number love

but keep talking
...you’re doin’ fine!”

DOIN' FINE!

I told you. . .
that I love you.

I told you. . .
what I was going to

do to you. . .
when I got you

all to. . .
myself.

I told you. . .
there was sudden laughter on the line

“I think you got
the wrong number love

but keep talking
...you’re doin’ fine!”

DOING THE NIGHT ROUNDS

At night she would talk
to the refrigerator.

She liked the sound
of its hum

agreeing with everything
she said.

"I'm 70 years of age but
I'm really only 7!"

she'd tell it in
the strictest confidence.

The light shone
upon her face

as if it were
giving her its blessing.

The gift of light
at night.

She said the refrigerator  made her
feel holy.

"The refrigerator has got to go
to sleep now!"

I'd whisper to her and
she would nod once.

Cry.
A single tear.

"Hummmmm!" she tell the refrigerator
in its own language.

She would tell me
that she had stolen

yesterday's sunlight and
had stashed it under her bed.

"That's ok..!" I'd say.
"I'll iron it and put it out

for the morning just in time
for the new day to find it."

"You won't tell no one!"
she'd beg.

"I won't tell a single soul!"
I'd promise her.

I would take her hand and
she would cling on for dear life.

"Try not to step on a black tile!
They **** you down into the nothing!"

She said the refrigerator had told her.
And the transistor had confirmed it.

Each night we would
evade the black tiles.

I'd mop her forehead.
Tuck her into bed.

Watch her fall to sleep
as if from a great height.

Limbs all splayed.
"My strings are cut!"

I'd attempt to leave but
she'd invariably wake up.

"Will there be porridge
in the morning?" she'd plead.

"There will be porridge
in the morning!"

And as my last footfall leaves
she's drowned in sleep.

DÓLÁS


seven
years now
since

but no
can't bring myself
to say it

remember reading
somewhere sometime
that the body

replaces itself
every...was it
seven years or so

the trillions of cells
of you
that I loved

from an eyelash
to an esophagus
changing with time

all the time
changing changing
replacing replicating

from skin
to skeleton
you forever

you always
the same
to me

Death now
changing
everything

I refusing
to part
with any of your clothes

dresses...blouses
silent in your wardrobe
your daily disguises

I finish the book
you never had
the time to finish

I read it
to your ghost
in your voice

now my grief
changes it all
changes every thing

book goes in bin
clothes to
second hand shop

I change our bed
can't bear it
without you

your study too
even the kitchen
replaced now

but still you remain
gone
I dead to this world

you alive so alive
only
in my mind

This...this Blue Plaque
business is

distressing to say the least
and rather intrusive

don't you
think?

I mean when
did it all start?

DONALL DEMPSEY
...THIS!
DONALL DEMPSEY
...THAT!

I mean...who cares?

HERE IS THIS HOUSE
DONALL DEMPSEY WROTE...

DONALL DEMPSEY
LIVED HERE WHILST WRITING...

Maybe it's a Government
tracking device.

Donall Dempsey...
PAUSED HERE FOR THOUGHT!

( No! I ****** didn't!)

Whatever I do it seems
a blue plaque is more

than willing
to tell you.

Time was when
they waited until one

was sufficiently
dead and famous

to commemorate
one's efforts

at living
and Life.

But, now:
holy cow!

When I got back home
I found "home"

had just been turned into
( yes you've guessed it)

THE DONALL DEMPSEY
MUSEUM.

I even had to pay
to get in.

"If your'e Donall Dempsey
( 'the' Donall Dempsey )
then I'm Schrödinger's ****** cat !"

The crowd all laughed at that.

But I did get a concession
for being old and decrepit.

There was a sign
telling me not to

sit in
my favourite chair.

And they had gotten
facts wrong.

I had written this...before...that.

I looked at the manuscript
of this poem

the usual scribble scrawl
made more precious

by being
preserved under glass.

It was like being an episode
in THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

I glanced up
at the Blue Plaque

positioned just
as it happens

above my curly
confused head.

HERE DONAL DEMPSEY
...refused any more to be

part of
all this and

left
the poem.

Yes folks...

DONALL DEMPSEY HAS LEFT
THE POEM.

DONALL DEMPSEY HAS LEFT THE POEM!

This...this Blue Plaque

business is

distressing to say the least

and rather intrusive

don't you

think?

I mean when

did it all start?

DONALL DEMPSEY

...THIS!

DONALL DEMPSEY

...THAT!

I mean...who cares?

HERE IS THIS HOUSE

DONALL DEMPSEY WROTE...

DONALL DEMPSEY

LIVED HERE WHILST WRITING...

Maybe it's a Government

tracking device.

Donall Dempsey...

PAUSED HERE FOR THOUGHT!

( No! I ****** didn't!)

Whatever I do it seems

a blue plaque is more

than willing

to tell you.

Time was when

they waited until one

was sufficiently

dead and famous

to commemorate

one's efforts

at living

and Life.

But, now:

holy cow!

When I got back home

I found "home"

had just been turned into

( yes you've guessed it)

THE DONALL DEMPSEY

MUSEUM.

I even had to pay

to get in.

"If your'e Donall Dempsey

( 'the' Donall Dempsey )

then I'm Schrödinger's ****** cat !"

The crowd all laughed at that.

But I did get a concession

for being old and decrepit.

There was a sign

telling me not to

sit in

my favourite chair.

And they had gotten

facts wrong.

I had written this...before...that.

I looked at the manuscript

of this poem

the usual scribble scrawl

made more precious

by being

preserved under glass.

It was like being an episode

in THE TWILIGHT ZONE.

I glanced up

at the Blue Plaque

positioned just

as it happens

above my curly

confused head.

HERE DONAL DEMPSEY

...refused any more to be

part of

all this and

left

the poem.

Yes folks...

DONALL DEMPSEY HAS LEFT

THE POEM.

DONALL DEMPSEY HAS LEFT THE POEM!

this...this Blue Plaque
business is
distressing to say the least

and rather intrusive
don't you
think?

I mean
when
did it all start?

DONALL DEMPSEY...THIS!
DONALL DEMPSEY...THAT!
I mean...who cares?

HERE IS THIS HOUSE
DONALL DEMPSEY
WROTE...

DONALL DEMPSEY
LIVED HERE
WHILST WRITING...

maybe it's a Government
tracking
device

DONALL DEMPSEY
PAUSED HERE FOR THOUGHT!
(no! I ****** didn't!)

whatever I do it seems
a blue plaque is more
than willing to tell you

time was when
they waited until one
was sufficiently

dead and famous
to commemorate
one's efforts

at living
and Life
but now: holy cow!

when I got back home
I found "home"
had just been turned into

( yes you've guessed it)
THE DONALL DEMPSEY
MUSEUM

I even had to
pay( God help me)
to get in

"If your'e Donall Dempsey
( 'the' Donall Dempsey )
then I'm Schrödinger's ****** cat !"

the crowd all laughed at that
but I did get a concession
for being old and decrepit

there was a sign
telling me not to
sit in my favourite chair

and they had gotten
their...I mean my
facts wrong

I had written this...before...that
I looked at the manuscript
of this poem

the usual scribble scrawl
made more precious
by being preserved under glass

it was like being in an episode
of  THE TWILIGHT ZONE.
I glanced up at the Blue Plaque

positioned just
as it happens
above my curly confused head

HERE DONAL DEMPSEY
...refused any more to be
part of all this and

left
the poem
yes folks...

DONALL DEMPSEY
HAS LEFT
THE POEM

DONALL DEMPSEY
HAS LEFT
THE POEM

"DONALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"

'LLANOD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.

"It's pronounced CLANOD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.

"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly

squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.

"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"

I explained as if to
a little kid.

"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot

yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.

"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:

Donall Dempsey!"

I was not amused.

"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"

"I'm not him!"
I fumed.

"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"

He handed me back
my Id ID.

Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.

"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"

I stepped on the rocket boosters.

Left him eating my stardust.

"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.

"Huh...Donall Dempsey
...indeed!"

"DONALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"

'LLANOD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.

"It's pronounced CLANOD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.

"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly

squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.

"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"

I explained as if to
a little kid.

"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot

yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.

"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:

Donall Dempsey!"

I was not amused.

"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"

"I'm not him!"
I fumed.

"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"

He handed me back
my Id ID.

Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.

"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"

I stepped on the rocket boosters.

Left him eating my stardust.

"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.

"Huh...Donall Dempsey
...indeed!"

*

Without any intro I would tell a class to take a blank piece of paper and exactly and neatly write their name in the very middle of the page. Then I would go around to look at them and go "No...no...no!" They would look at me in great surmise. "I meant...backwards!" So painfully as if it were a hard maths question they would backward themselves and ask me how to pronounce themselves. And then with their new "selves" I would get them to invent who they "now" were. They went at this with great gusto and characters born purely form pure sound would be created right in front of me> They're "I" had changed into a hee hee hee "HE" and suddenly there were all these different people running around in their minds. They even drew these new "thems" and the playground resounded to the new sounding Nairbs and Yrams who had sloughed off their usual monikers to be born anew as an inventive character.

I would never not do what I would tell the kids to do...so I became this LLANOD YESPMED who had problems with a border guard somewhere in the 25th century.

"DÓNALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"




'LLANÓD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.




"It's pronounced CLANÓD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.







"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly




squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.



"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"




I explained as if to
a little kid.







"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot




yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.





"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:




Dónall Dempsey!"




I was not amused.




"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"




"I'm not him!"
I fumed.




"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"




He handed me back
my Id ID.




Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.




"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"





I stepped on the rocket boosters.



Left him eating my stardust.




"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.




"Huh...Dónall Dempsey
...indeed!"

"DÓNALL DEMPSEY INDEED!"

'LLANÓD YESPMED?"
he squinted at my driver's licence.

"It's pronounced CLANÓD!"
I said with extreme exasperation.

"Y'are not from these here parts
. . .are ya fella?"
he drawled dryly

squinting closer firstly at me then
back again to my !D.

"I'm of Welsh/Turkish extraction
but I was born on Venus!"

I explained as if to
a little kid.

"Ha ha...haha!" he snorted
a tiny trickle of snot

yo-yoing up and down
his hairy left nostril.

"Ha ha...if you were to
spell yer name backwards
it would spell:

Dónall Dempsey!"

I was not amused.

"Ya know...that crazy hairy
Irish earthling poet dude!"

"I'm not him!"
I fumed.

"Alright...alright...keep yer
antenas on...geeeez!"

He handed me back
my Id ID.

Tipped his hat.
Wiped his nose across his sleeve.

"Welcome to Mars.
You drive carefully now!"

I stepped on the rocket boosters.

Left him eating my stardust.

"****** customs!"
I yelled to myself.

"Huh...Dónall Dempsey
...indeed!"

*

To make taking the roll call more interesting I got them to write their names backwards and they loved this indea and wouldn't let go. Then I got them to write stories about this new character they had become. I of course did the same excerise as they did and I thought my backwards name sounded like a Welsh/Turkish/Venusian who was a future space trucker who was having a bad day and was being held up by a redneck customs man with disgusting nostril hygiene.


Without any intro I would tell a class to take a blank piece of paper and exactly and neatly write their name in the very middle of the page. Then I would go around to look at them and go "No...no...no!" They would look at me in great surmise. "I meant...backwards!" So painfully as if it were a hard maths question they would backward themselves and ask me how to pronounce themselves. And then with their new "selves" I would get them to invent who they "now" were. They went at this with great gusto and characters born purely form pure sound would be created right in front of me> They're "I" had changed into a hee hee hee "HE" and suddenly there were all these different people running around in their minds. They even drew these new "thems" and the playground resounded to the new sounding Nairbs and Yrams who had sloughed off their usual monikers to be born anew as an inventive character.

I would never not do what I would tell the kids to do...so I became this LLANOD YESPMED who had problems with a border guard somewhere in the 25th century.

Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )

I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.

2 lbs to be
precise.

That was all there was
to me!

( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!

De Da could
hold me in his fist and

I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.

I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )

and entered this
world of ours

feet first
putting my best foot forward

ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!

Doris Day was singing
CE SERA SERA!

And what, what...do ya think
they called the tiniest baby

. . .ever ever seen?

Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!

Dónall meaning WORLD
MIGHTY SPEAR POWER.

And Dempsey itself meaning
THE PROUD ONE!

Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!

A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."

Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"

De Ma would always spoil it for me:

"WORLDMIGHTYSPEARPOWERTHEPROUDONE! You
get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"

An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )

for a little fella to
live up to. . .

Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test

wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.

For I am
( am I not?)

the poet with
the hyperbolic name!

WORLD MIGHTY
SPEAR POWER
THE PROUD ONE!

Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )

I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.

2 lbs to be
precise.

That was all there was
to me!

( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!

De Da could
hold me in his fist and

I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.

I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )

and entered this
world of ours

feet first
putting my best foot forward

ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!

Doris Day was singing
CE SERA SERA!

And what, what...do ya think
they called the tiniest baby

. . .ever ever seen?

Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!

Dónall meaning WORLD
MIGHTY SPEAR POWER.

And Dempsey itself meaning
THE PROUD ONE!

Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!

A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."

Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"

De Ma would always spoil it for me:

"WORLDMIGHTYSPEARPOWERTHEPROUDONE! You
get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"

An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )

for a little fella to
live up to. . .

Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test

wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.

For I am
( am I not?)

the poet with
the hyperbolic name!

WORLD MIGHTY
SPEAR POWER
THE PROUD ONE!

Dónall O'Diomsiagh is anim dom!
( Dónall Dempsey is my name! )

I was born
the weight of a bag of sugar.

2 lbs to be
precise.

That was all there was
to me!

( My belly alas weighs more than that now )!

De Da could
hold me in his fist and

I'd disappear
'cept for the little dangly dancing leggy bits.

I had Elvis sideburns
( I was all shock up )

and entered this
world of ours

feet first
putting my best foot forward

ready to rock
'n" roll...mannn!

Doris Day was singing
CE SERA SERA!

And what, what...do ya think
they called the tiniest baby

. . .ever ever seen?

Why, Dónall!
Dónall...of course!

Dónall meaning WORLD
MIGHTY SPEAR POWER.

And Dempsey itself meaning
THE PROUD ONE!

Ahhh the majesty of the Celtic tongue!

A wrestler's name if ever...
"And in the green corner..."

Or an Ozymandias name. . .
"Look on my works, ye mighty ,and despair!"

De Ma would always spoil it for me:

"WORLDMIGHTYSPEARPOWERTHEPROUDONE! You
get yer *** in here this minute and finish yer homework!"

An awful big name
( to be sure to be sure )

for a little fella to
live up to. . .

Ahhh, but sure I do my best
putting words to the test

wrestling with a rhyme
stealing through your mind.

For I am
( am I not?)

the poet with
the hyperbolic name!

WORLD MIGHTY
SPEAR POWER
THE PROUD ONE!

DON'T FORGET TO WRITE

"Ok, then...I'll be
eh...off!"

says the poem awkwardly.

"Thanks for...like...bringing
me into....em...being!"

it shyly says

not really knowing how
to say goodbye.

"Think...nothing
of...it!"

I hear myself say
in a blase way.

Me!
At a loss for words.

Funnt that!

Sad we have to go
our separate ways.

"Well, my time here is
...done!"

the poem almost cries but
doesn't.

Tears in its eyes.
Tears that can nerve

...fall.

I kiss it
with my voice

the many-headed audience
all ears.

"Make me proud!"
I whisper to it

as it leaves
my mouth.

"Who was that
masked poem?"

the audience gasp.

I blow the poem a kiss
the audience thinks it's for it.

"Don't forget..."
the poem throws over its shoulder

now very
very far away

". . .to write!"

DO THE MATH

the eternal triangle
she more equilateral
hubby more isosceles/lover really scalene

husband a right angle
she an acute
lover definitely a bit obtuse

she saw her men
as a better behaved
set of simultaneous equations

exponential emotions
quite easily done
the Q.E.D. of it all

High over
my Margate sandcastle

a swarm of German planes
alien mechanical bees

pregnant with bombs
to be

dropped on streets
I knew

( the neighbours aren't there
when I get back ).

My wild kick
decapitates my castle of sand

blue bucket and yellow *****
thrown to the waves

useless in
their frivolity.

Out in foreign climes
my brother is dying

bleeding to death
shot in the stomach

( so we will be told
many months from now ).

The sun shines bright
as a crazy crayon'd drawing.

The War impossibly
far far away

butterflies like
flying confetti.

The moment so
unbelievably beautiful.

I paddle this boat
up and down up&down;

this sun stupid shore
as over there in the somewhere

the real war roars
like a mythical beast

now no longer
phoney.

My battered bike
undignified up-side-down

I operating on
its slow puncture

pulling out its rubber gut
patching it up.

"There you go old chap!"
I comfort it.

I look through
its back wheel

the sun at its hub
beginning to go down.

I give it a spin
with my free hand

slowly it bisects the world
into its many spinning sections

faster...fasternow
and the world...this world

blurs into the white
nothingness of speed.

"So, that's what death is..?"
I think.

The world speeding up
to nothing.

The tip of my tongue
upon my cone

melting faster than I
can lick it

dropping upon
a sandled toe

with a deep nick
in it.

Unknown to me
as now

my brother has finished
his dying

becoming the memory
he will always forever

be.

His b&w; smile.

Alien mechanical bees
swarm inside my mind.

The tick-tick tick of
the bicycle

as I lift
my left leg

and...

it's all
downhill from here.

"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"

her heart was a red
fire alarm
going off with nobody

paying it
no mind
at all

her heart was
an evening hillside
as the sun went down

the light
stealing
into the ground

her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks
with one link missing

or an earring found far
too late many many
years later

her heart was a lute
that was mute
un-played for

many
many
moons

her heart
was a house
burningburningburning

down
razed
to the ground

the sneer of her
pyromaniac lover
lost in the shadows

her heart was
the junk mail
that came in one door &

out the other
instant
*******

she felt as if
someone had
pressed DELETE

her heart was
a crystal ball
that could foretell

nothing....
nothing
at all

her heart was
a knocked over
cheap cocktail

that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...
on the wall

her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack
that held all she had known

her heart was
the forgotten
iron

branding itself into
her nice new
blouse

her heart was
a field of poppies
seen

from a passing train
there&gone
again

her heart
full of the perfume
of memories

that refused
to ever
...go away

her heart was
the same train journeying
in and out of...love

*

Memory is seen( and felt )as a perfume...in its there and not-there-ness whereas the poppies are a splash of red glimpsed from a passing train.as she is overwhelmed by her senses falling falling...in and out of love. It's a bit of an emotional rollercoaster ride with what her heart was experiencing as she tried to put into words feelings that could not be...put into words

The poem issues forth from Rimbaud's commands to the energy of the time...." Le Poète vous dit: 'O lâches. soyez fous!' " to " Le Poète te dit: 'Splendide ta Beauté' "

The Poet says to you: "O cowards, be mad!" to The Poet says to you; "Your beauty is marvellous!"

"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"

her heart was a red
fire alarm

going off
with nobody

paying it
any mind

her heart was
an evening hillside

as the sun went down

the light stealing
into the ground

her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks

with one link
missing

or an earring found far
too late many many

years later

her heart was a lute
that was mute

unplayed for
many many moons

her heart
was a house

burningburningburning down
razed to the ground

the sneer of her
pyromanic lover

lost in the shadows

her heart was
the junk mail

that came in one door &
out the other

instant *******

she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE

her heart was
a crystal ball

that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all

her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail

that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall

her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack

that held all
she had known

her heart was
the forgotten iron

branding itself into
her nice new blouse

her heart was
a poppy seen

from a passing train
there&gone again

her heart
full of the perfume

of memories that refused
to ever

...go away.

"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"

her heart was a red
fire alarm

going off
with nobody

paying it
any mind

her heart was
an evening hillside

as the sun went down

the light stealing
into the ground

her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks

with one link
missing

or an earring found far
too late many many

years later

her heart was a lute
that was mute

un-played for
many many moons

her heart
was a house

burningburningburning down
razed to the ground

the sneer of her
pyromaniac lover

lost in the shadows

her heart was
the junk mail

that came in one door &
out the other

instant *******

she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE

her heart was
a crystal ball

that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all

her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail

that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall

her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack

that held all
she had known

her heart was
the forgotten iron

branding itself into
her nice new blouse

her heart was
a field of poppies seen

from a passing train
there&gone again

her heart
full of the perfume

of memories that refused
to ever

...go away

her heart was
the same train

journey in and out of
...love.

"DO YOU HAVE A QUESTION?"

her heart was a red
fire alarm

going off
with nobody

paying it
any mind

her heart was
an evening hillside

as the sun went down

the light stealing
into the ground

her heart was a favourite
pair of cufflinks

with one link
missing

or an earring found far
too late many many

years later

her heart was a lute
that was mute

unplayed for
many many moons

her heart
was a house

burningburningburning down
razed to the ground

the sneer of her
pyromanic lover

lost in the shadows

her heart was
the junk mail

that came in one door &
out the other

instant *******

she felt as if someone
had pressed DELETE

her heart was
a crystal ball

that could foretell
nothing....nothing at all

her heart was
a knocked over cheap cocktail

that left a nasty stain
on the carpet...on the wall

her heart was
a tiny torn pink knapsack

that held all
she had known

her heart was
the forgotten iron

branding itself into
her nice new blouse

her heart was
a poppy seen

from a passing train
there&gone again

her heart
full of the perfume

of memories that refused
to ever

...go away.

DRAWING DOWN THE MOON

her witch's broom
hiking up her micro mini
logo on her knickers: "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!"

"Me? Witch or *****...which?"
"Bit of both!" she supposes
"Only kidding...defo - good witch!"

miniscule clutch purse
"What...can possibly...fit in that?"
"******!" she mouths silently

"I LOVE YOU!" she laughs lustily
with a visible
exclaimination mark

DRAWING DOWN THE MOON

her witch's broom
hiking up her micro mini
logo on her knickers: "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!"

"Me? Witch or *****...which?"
"Bit of both!" she supposes
"Only kidding...defo - good witch!"

miniscule clutch purse
"What...can possibly...fit in that?"
"******!" she mouths silently

"I LOVE YOU!" she laughs lustily
with a visible
exclamation mark

DRAWING DOWN THE MOON

her witch's broom
hiking up her micro mini
logo on her knickers: "HAPPY HALLOWEEN!"

"Me? Witch or *****...which?"
"Bit of both!" she supposes
"Only kidding...defo - good witch!"

miniscule clutch purse
"What...can possibly...fit in that?"
"******!" she mouths silently

"I LOVE YOU!" she laughs lustily
with a visible
exclamation mark

DRAWING YOU

First, draw
a smile

then playing with the lines
transform them into laughter

let the laughter escape
the page

& fly around the room

let it alight on
anything it wishes

then delicately

take a pair of
sparkling eyes

until they too
sing with laughter

sketch just
the suggestion of

the passion
that is promised

now put down the pen &
continuing

no further with the drawing

kiss her
for real

...the drawing is complete.

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

Some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if Summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words.

As we crossed the road
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its center

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)  

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting the words
the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

DREAMING OF BEING REAL

I waited with
the bubbles

to cross the street.

One big bubble
winked at me.

It had a rainbow
just off-key of its centre

like a Cyclops
eye.

'Bye! ' it blinked
and went out of existence.

I felt sad.
I had really liked that bubble.

My daughter
waiting for red to go green

continued blowing
families of bubbles.

Some of the bubbles
crossed the road

before the lights
changed

and got hit by a 69
bus.

Others busted
on a lady's hat

but the lady didn't
notice it.

One hitched a ride
on an exclamation mark

pretending to be
a dog's tail.

Two little baby bubbles
travelled over on my shoulder.

Some newly blown bubbles
dashed across the road

leading delightedly
the way.

Others disappeared up
into a blue so blue

(you wouldn't believe it)

as if summer
was trying to be

a perfect picture postcard
of itself.

'Hold my hand now, love! '
the father in my voice

tinged the words
with love and care.

'Ok! '
my daughter said

trusting my words
as the bubbles in the bottle

fell asleep
and dreamed of being

real.

DRESSED ONLY IN RED TOE NAIL VARNISH

a moon's curve

the breast's curve

the beautiful curve of her

smile

DRESS WITHOUT A WOMAN

dress without a woman
high heel without a foot
ring without a finger

who you were
reduced down to
items in a second-hand shop

death erases you
( memory tries to... )
death erases you

a palimpsest of selves
I try to make you
exist

my fingertip
writes your name upon
a frosted window pane