Donall Dempsey: Poems

Donall Dempsey Aug 2017

EMOTIONAL DIVORCE

Now that you got
all that can be got

whether it be ill-gotten
or not

I hope you sleep
not

weep a lot

that your soul may
rot

and that despair
gnaws at that thing

you used to call
a heart.

EMOTIONAL SIMULACRUM

Donall Dempsey Jun 2020

EMOTIONAL SIMULACRUM

EMOTIONAL SIMULACRUM

her perfume
sculpting in scent
her statue upon the air

EMOTION INCARNATE

Donall Dempsey May 2020

EMOTION INCARNATE

EMOTION INCARNATE

( The sea is emotion incarnate. It loves, hates, and weeps. It defies all attempts to capture it with words and rejects all shackles. No matter what you say about it, there is always that which you can't.) - Christopher Paolini

there sits the sea
as impassive as history
drawing the line at an horizon

a red motorboat
cuts like a tailor's scissors
the blue silk of its waters

there sits the sea
as implacable as history
doling out the present moment

time is a thing
that makes the seagulls laugh
a human illusion

there sits the sea
tamed to a postcard
nobody knows what it is thinking

EMPTY FIELD

Donall Dempsey Aug 2015

EMPTY FIELD

Haiku Sequence
(For Mr.N. Of  O' S)

Empty field except
clouds grazing at its centre
somewhere far off...sheep.

Empty field except
for the colours green...blue & white
creating a scene.

Empty field except
for the silence being shattered
by the big dog’s bark

Empty field except
invisible voices call
“Where are you..? ”  “I’...lost! ”

Empty field except
for an oversized unseen
big green frog:  “...ribbit! ”

Empty field except
for a cow exiting now
the scene by a tail

Empty field except
for a cow now entering
the scene by a nose

Empty field except
for the well concealed couple
making out in hedge

Empty field just
waiting for us to come in
to keep it in mind

Empty field full now
with clouds, a sheep’s bleat, laughter
& two lowing cows

Empty field full  to
the brim with such memories
colouring it in.

Field empty now
because we have left...does it still
exist...now we’ve gone?

Clouds migrate from field
to field occasionally
getting caught on top
of people’s heads in photos
or trapped in a mesh of trees.

DEER PARK

Mountain   empty   of people
but somewhere...invisible voices
Buddha’s rays penetrate dense forest
greener again...illumination of lichen.

DEAR PARK

Tourist mountain  people & their litter
everywhere to be seen...obscenely obese.
Old poem in my hand penetrates my mind
its words an illumination of green lichen.

*

The EMPTY FIELD haiku sequence came about with my efforts to translate(rather badly I fear)**** Wei’s famous DEER PARK.

The failure of this(nothing goes to waste...it being all being grist to the mill)then provoked me to write my tanka about the grazing clouds and the invisible sheep which then propelled me into writing haiku about an empty field where nothing is apparently happening...or it would appear so.

And so by indirections I found directions out as Mr. Shakes so succinctly puts it.

LU ZHÁI  -  **** Wei(c.700-761)       Tang Dynasty

These little lines(over 1200 years old)enduring the transformation of translations through time after time until finally arriving in my mind and using my words much as a hermit crab would take up residence in an old shell or broken *** on the seabed of my mind. My words may not be a perfect home but it is enough that these lines have agreed to take up residence in my mind if even for the briefest time illuminating words of mine.

*******

LU SHÁI

Kong shan bu jian rén
Dan wén rén yo xiang
Fan jing(ying) ru shen lín
Fu shao qing tái shang

CHARACTER BY CHARACTER TRANSLATION

Empty           mountain            (negative)                  to see                     people

But                to hear                  people                  words                      sound

To return      bright(ness)            to enter                 deep                       forest

To return      to shine                green                    lichen                       above
Again          to reflect               blue/black             moss                       on top

*******

**** Wei was a fervent Buddhist and in the Mahayana texts the Western Paradise(being the domain of the Amida Buddha)      crops up every now and then..it being the place of the setting sun where one desires to be reborn.

Hence the brightness or sunlight in the original I have translated as Buddha’s rays.

I also stand the mountain in its own magnificence and have it empty of people.

I had the most trouble with the returning/shining aspect and have taken the liberty to express it as greener again as if it were already green but made even more so by this dying light. And of course we along with the lichen are...illuminated.

I couldn't help but stick it into a future where it is nothing but a tourist trap...come and see where the Buddha gave his first sermon. Roll up!

A translation is an agreeing to live with the imperfections of your perfections or the perfections of your imperfections.

EMPTY( Orchestra )

Donall Dempsey Jul 2024

EMPTY( Orchestra )

EMPTY( Orchestra )

Love, is just
a karaoke.

You think you know
the words

(until you sing along)

and find you only know

half a chorus or maybe a word or two

and you...try to bluff your way through.

Not too sure
how it goes

you sing high when
it sings lows

(and vice versa)

and at half ****** past
12 o’ clock

when they’re trying
to shut the ****** thing
down

you stand there
(defiantly alone)

with a gin and bitter lemon in the one hand
and a burnt out *** in the other

(running mascara
making you look

more like a panda
than a living doll)

and croak
harshly hoarsely

out of tune

&

out of time

I WILL SURVIVE

& crying.

Crying.

It’s alright, darlin’

We’ve

all been there

...sometime.

*

Dearest friend loves right *******…much ado about something! Love has blinded her to the all too obvious facts….when he starts hitting her…we beg and beg her to leave but….love alas is blind. And she is plunged into a love that is hateful. Took her two years to come to her senses….I watched her in the spotlight singing GG one night but all to no avail. All I could do is cry for her and try to make sure she got home that night. It was like being tortured having to watch this abuse in the name of love.
And karaoke (カラオケ?, bimoraic clipped compound of Japanese kara 空 "empty" and ōkesutora オーケストラ "orchestra") (/ˌkæriˈoʊki/ or /ˌkærəˈoʊki/; Japanese: [kaɽaoke]

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

Donall Dempsey Dec 2023

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

"Oh no!"
my reflection couldn't
help but blurt out

"You're not going to
give me that
sad face again...are ya?"

I smiled
but my reflection
didn't smile back

don't ya hate it
when your reflection
gives you a good talking to

tells you to
"Laugh for gawd's sake!"
or "Look lively!"

puts me in mind
of my mother when
I was a surly teenager

she's long gone now
so my mirror takes on
her nagging role

always telling me
what to do or
what's what

I comb my scruffy hair
apply a little lippy
fasten a smile to my gob

I pout "All right, Mr. DeMille,
I'm ready
for my close-up."

I dive back
into the noise
and crazy chatter

grab a mike and
in my best Karaoke
belt out "I Will Survive!"

my mirror
would be
proud of me

"...back
from
outer space!"

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

Donall Dempsey Mar 2015

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

EMPTY ORCHESTRA

Love, is just
a karaoke.

You think you know
the words

(until you sing along)
and find you only know

half a chorus or maybe a word or two
and you...try to bluff your way through.

Not too sure
how it goes

you sing high when
it sings lows

(and vice versa)

and at half ****** past
13 o’ clock

when they’re trying
to shut

the ****** thing
down

you stand there
(defiantly alone)

with a gin and bitter lemon in the one hand
and a burnt out *** in the other

(running mascara
making you look more

panda-like
than a living doll)

and croak
harshly hoarsely

out of tune
&
out of time

I WILL SURVIVE
...& crying.

Crying.

It’s alright, darlin’

We’ve
all been there

...sometime.

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

Donall Dempsey Jun 2017

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

She treasures
the book.

It never leaves
her hands

leather bound

sweet & soft
as suede

She caresses

it
& it

caresses her

her fingertips
trace

the gold
embossed letters

LEAVES OF GRASS

she can’t
read

but has memorised

each line
each page
each word

knows how
& where

it all goes

learnt
by heart

amazing all the illiterate ears
that hear her

she amasses
all the voices

of anyone who ever
read it to her

as I read it
to her now

this
the gift

of a long ago love
(now long dead)

who read it
to her first

a young woman
madly in love

unschooled in words
and flesh

being touched
with a passion

a naked
desire for words

being read to
by her first and only love

the words live
inside her

undaunted by old age

she sings
of her self

her lips
follow mine

line after line

and when I stop
she...

...continues on
and then

waits for my voice
to catch up

I follow after her
stumbling through the years

She strokes
the inscription

as if it were a person

kisses the letters
as if they were the lips
that first read to her

TO MY DEAREST EMILY
LOVE ALWAYS JOHN
1933.

“John...John...John! ”

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

Donall Dempsey Jun 2022

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

She treasures
the book.

It never leaves
her hands

leather bound

sweet & soft
as suede

She caresses

it
& it

caresses her

her fingertips
trace

the gold
embossed letters

LEAVES OF GRASS

she can’t
read

but has memorised

each line
each page
each word

knows how
& where

it all goes

learnt
by heart

amazing all the illiterate ears
that hear her

she amasses
all the voices

of anyone who ever
read it to her

as I read it
to her now

this
the gift

of a long ago love
(now long dead)

who read it
to her first

a young woman
madly in love

unschooled in words
and flesh

being touched
with a passion

a naked
desire for words

being read to
by her first and only love

the words live
inside her

undaunted by old age

she sings
of her self

her lips
follow mine

line after line

and when I stop
she...

...continues on
and then

waits for my voice
to catch up

I follow after her
stumbling through the years

She strokes
the inscription

as if it were a person

kisses the letters
as if they were the lips
that first read to her

TO MY DEAREST EMILY
LOVE ALWAYS JOHN
1933.

“John...John...John! ”

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

Donall Dempsey Jun 2024

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

ENDLESSLY ROCKING

She treasures
the book.

It never leaves
her hands

leather bound

sweet & soft
as suede

She caresses

it
& it

caresses her

her fingertips
trace

the gold
embossed letters

LEAVES OF GRASS

she can’t
read

but has memorised

each line
each page
each word

knows how
& where

it all goes

learnt
by heart

amazing all the illiterate ears
that hear her

she amasses
all the voices

of anyone who ever
read it to her

as I read it
to her now

this
the gift

of a long ago love
(now long dead)

who read it
to her first

a young woman
madly in love

unschooled in words
and flesh

being touched
with a passion

a naked
desire for words

being read to
by her first and only love

the words live
inside her

undaunted by old age

she sings
of her self

her lips
follow mine

line after line

and when I stop
she...

...continues on
and then

waits for my voice
to catch up

I follow after her
stumbling through the years

She strokes
the inscription

as if it were a person

kisses the letters
as if they were the lips
that first read to her

TO MY DEAREST EMILY
LOVE ALWAYS JOHN
1933.

“John...John...John! ”

END OF SUMMER

Donall Dempsey Nov 2024

END OF SUMMER

END OF SUMMER

once
with astonishment
I stole

a butterfly
from the end
of summer

I only meant
to borrow her
admire her

the miracle of her
smeared clumsily
across my child's hand

so that I could not
return her
to what little was left

of summer
leaving a jagged hole
in the time of the sky

where she
should have
been

a box
empty of its matches
served as a makeshift

coffin
matches stuck in
fresh earth

like little red-headed
flowers
blazing all at once

her funeral pyre
often I steal
back to that moment

cut out of summer
the empty place she left
in me

seeing clearly
the butterfly shape
cut awkwardly

out of time
jagged
at the edges

my mind seeing beyond
into the infinity
of death

hoping
her ghost
can forgive me

*
I then tried to give her the kiss of life and ended up swallowing her...which is another story...another poem!

BETWEEN THE SPACE

When I was small
I wanted - a pet.

My mother didn't
- like pets.

'It followed me home! '
'Can I...keep it...can I...can..! '

didn't work
& I invariably had to
return the kidnapped cat
to the house I had
'borrowed' him from.

Between the space

where my mother wrung screaming wet clothesthrough the rollers
and out the other side to quite flatness

and the coal bunker
where a briquette wire spat at me
almost nearly blinding my left eye

I captured a Cabbage White
hiding amongst the coal.

Emptying the strawberry jam with the gollywog on

I gave her a world of glass
where she danced to the sunlight's mad music.

Neither she nor I
understanding the nature of glass

her dancing grew frantic
my love stifling.

I not knowing
all things
must breathe

the dancing died to a sudden stop.

Being an impressionable child
and after only seeing a life safety film

I dived through the panic
and swam madly against the guilt

took her gently
into my trembling

fingers...her dusty colour
taking my fingerprints

I tried to give her
the kiss of life

choked with grief
and swallowed her

terror in my mind
butterfly in my tummy

and fear running
blind and crazy

that I could not
give her

her dancing
back again.

I said nothing
for years

(about the incident)

until I could explain
myself to myself

and my self

...understood.

EN ER MUNDO

Donall Dempsey Jul 2024

EN ER MUNDO

EN ER MUNDO

he an Irish vampire
she an English ghost
it had to be platonic

both he and she
going steady now
for a thousand years

he haunted
by her beauty
she desiring his kiss

as he sipped
his ****** Mary
he realised he could see

his reflection
in the cracked mirror
how could that be

he saw too
his ghost friend
was putting on weight

become a thing
of flesh and blood
as once she was

now at last
they could live
and die from love

got jobs as
ballroom dancers
on a cruise ship

he wearing
a heavy sun cream
just in case

he would
turn back again
to be sure to be sure

she happy
to be
gaining weight

they danced
a sensuous pasodoble
lost in the music

EN ER MUNDO

Donall Dempsey Jul 2022

EN ER MUNDO

EN ER MUNDO

he an Irish vampire
she an English ghost
it had to be platonic

both he and she
going steady now
for a thousand years

he haunted
by her beauty
she desiring his kiss

as he sipped
his ****** Mary
he realised he could see

his reflection
in the cracked mirror
how could that be

he saw too
his ghost friend
was putting on weight

become a thing
of flesh and blood
as once she was

now at last
they could live
and die from love

got jobs as
ballroom dancers
on a cruise ship

he wearing
a heavy sun cream
just in case

he would
turn back again
to be sure to be sure

she happy
to be
gaining weight

they danced
a sensuous paso doble
lost in the music

EPITHALAMIUM

Donall Dempsey Aug 2016

EPITHALAMIUM

EPITHALAMIUM

And love is
now

our only reality.

We shape shift.

Become all that is.

This sunlight...that moonlight.

Time forever only is
this now

in which we two
exist.

We all the lovers
that ever were.

We each each other's
shadow.

Now we laugh
change bodies at a thought.

All things unable to resist
this who we are.

I look out through your eyes.
See me as you see me.

You too
switch sides

seeing as the other.

Pristine as a prime.

The world has lost
all form

we metamorphosing into
anything we wish

the boundaries of things
impervious to such love

you the sunlight
dancing through my leaves

me the falling rain
as you sleep.

And love is now
our only reality.

EPITHALAMIUM

Donall Dempsey Aug 2022

EPITHALAMIUM

EPITHALAMIUM

And love is
now

our only reality.

We shapeshift.

Become all that is.

This sunlight...that moonlight.

Time forever only is
this now

in which we two
exist.

We all the lovers
that ever were.

We each each other's
shadow.

Now we laugh
change bodies at a thought.

All things unable to resist
this who we are.

I look out through your eyes.
See me as you see me.

You too
switch sides

seeing as the other.

Pristine as a prime.

The world has lost
all form

we metamorphosing into
anything we wish

the boundaries of things
impervious to such love

you the sunlight
dancing through my leaves

me the falling rain
as you sleep.

And love is now
our only reality.

*

I wrote this for our wedding but like so many of my scribbles and scrawls it got lost and I only found it today and managed to decipher it at last.

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

Donall Dempsey Aug 2018

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

"Time is what
we are given

in order to search
for happiness."

The window contained
the world

that was coming apart
as we spoke.

It held the storm
in place

as if we looked in on
another dimension.

Heaven glowered and
even the sky cowered.

Lightning tore the day apart
as if it were mere paper.

"The cancer has advised me
to pack up what time's left

collect whatever memories
I want to take with me."

The world in the window
was going over the top

pulling out all the stops
with cheap theatrical effects.

Enough to make one laugh
at the unreality of Reality.

The laughter made her
weaker.

She withdrew
inside herself

to where I could
neither know or follow her.

I put on the record
and she escapes into the music.

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

Donall Dempsey Aug 2020

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

ESCAPING INTO THE MUSIC

"Time is what
we are given

in order to search
for happiness."

The window contained
the world

that was coming apart
as we spoke.

It held the storm
in place

as if we looked in on
another dimension.

Heaven glowered and
even the sky cowered.

Lightning tore the day apart
as if it were mere paper.

"The cancer has advised me
to pack up what time's left

collect whatever memories
I want to take with me."

The world in the window
was going over the top

pulling out all the stops
with cheap theatrical effects.

Enough to make one laugh
at the unreality of Reality.

The laughter made her
weaker.

She withdrew
inside herself

to where I could
neither know or follow her.

I put on the record
and she escapes into the music.

ESSE QUAM VIDERI (to be rather than to seem to be)

Donall Dempsey Nov 2023

ESSE QUAM VIDERI (to be rather than to seem to be)

ESSE QUAM VIDERI
(to be rather than  to seem to be)

"What must it be to be someone else?"
- Gerard Manley Hopkins

( In honour of Honora O' Sullivan becoming a great grandmother yet again)

there I am
all 2lbs of me
and nameless as yet

and so for all
these 67 years
it's a Dónall I've been

haven't been
anything else
all my life

but now
with Storm Ciarán
roaring in

I remember me Mam
telling me that I was
due to be a Ciarán

because of my hair
black as anything
and sideburns to boot

I was obviously
doing my best
Elvis impersonation

and this was
after all
1956

she said I was
her own
'little dark-haired one'

and would I have been
a different man
I sometimes wonder

would the name
change the who
I would have become

I often think
of this
alternative self

wonder how
he got on
in a parallel universe

but a Dónall
I was
and have remained

so I guess  I will
just have to learn
to live with my self

and  Dónall of course
transforms into the Irish
"World Mighty...Spear Power!"

a hard name to be sure
to have to live up to
but I'll give it a good go

Ciarán (is a traditionally male given name of Irish origin. It means "little dark one" or "little dark-haired one", produced by appending a diminutive suffix to ciar ("black", "dark"). It is the masculine version of the name Ciara.

But sure as Oscar once told me: “Be yourself, everyone else is taken. In order to be oneself, one has to take risks, to accept that one is not perfect and to be courageous enough to say what one really thinks”
And says I to the Wilde man: "Sure, I will surely...so I will!"

And so it is I have become the man you see before you...as  Dónall as anything!

ESSE QUAM VIDERI (to be rather than to seem to be)

Donall Dempsey Nov 2024

ESSE QUAM VIDERI (to be rather than to seem to be)

ESSE QUAM VIDERI
(to be rather than  to seem to be)

"What must it be to be someone else?"
- Gerard Manley Hopkins

( In honour of Honora O' Sullivan becoming a great grandmother yet again)

there I am
all 2lbs of me
and nameless as yet

and so for all
these 67 years
it's a Dónall I've been

haven't been
anything else
all my life

but now
with Storm Ciarán
roaring in

I remember me Mam
telling me that I was
due to be a Ciarán

because of my hair
black as anything
and sideburns to boot

I was obviously
doing my best
Elvis impersonation

and this was
after all
1956

she said I was
her own
'little dark-haired one'

and would I have been
a different man
I sometimes wonder

would the name
change the who
I would have become

I often think
of this
alternative self

wonder how
he got on
in a parallel universe

but a Dónall
I was
and have remained

so I guess  I will
just have to learn
to live with my self

and  Dónall of course
transforms into the Irish
"World Mighty...Spear Power!"

a hard name to be sure
to have to live up to
but I'll give it a good go

Ciarán (is a traditionally male given name of Irish origin. It means "little dark one" or "little dark-haired one", produced by appending a diminutive suffix to ciar ("black", "dark"). It is the masculine version of the name Ciara.

But sure as Oscar once told me: “Be yourself, everyone else is taken. In order to be oneself, one has to take risks, to accept that one is not perfect and to be courageous enough to say what one really thinks”
And says I to the Wilde man: "Sure, I will surely...so I will!"

And so it is I have become the man you see before you...as  Dónall as anything!

A Dónall by any other name would still be as sweet!

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

Donall Dempsey Dec 2019

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

She takes an old broken cracked conch shell
a dried up Corsican starfish

sand from her backyard sandpit(slightly damp)

dumps them all on her nice clean new sheets.

“I’m bringing the seaside to bed! ”
she announces

her creation
(like a little God) .

Hours later I peeped in

to find her
asleep by her seaside

Dreaming it...for real.

I tuck her & her seaside up
gently

against the coming cold

tiptoe away

trying not wake
either

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

Donall Dempsey Dec 2015

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

ETERNITY IN A GRAIN OF SAND

She takes an old broken cracked conch shell
a dried up Corsican starfish

sand from her backyard sandpit(slightly damp)

dumps them all on her nice clean new sheets.

“I’m bringing the seaside to bed! ”
she announces

her creation
(like a little God) .

Hours later I peeped in

to find her
asleep by her seaside

Dreaming it...for real.

I tuck her & her seaside up
gently

against the coming cold

tiptoe away

trying not wake
either.

ET QUID AMABO NISI QUOD AENIGMA EST?

Donall Dempsey Aug 2015

ET QUID AMABO NISI QUOD AENIGMA EST?

Lautréamont Disco
beckons the neon

to those
travellers of the night

. . . words.

"What's a nice sewing machine
like you..."

asks an umbrella

"...doing on a dissection table
like this?"

Miss Sewing Machine
tells the umbrella fella

"Hop it buster!"

He hops it.

She is looking for
a Sugar Dalí.

A cute de Chirico statue
is getting chatted up

by what I guess is
a poet.

The poet is
getting his face slapped.

The nostalgia
of the Infinite.

("What shall I love if not the enigma?")

"beautiful as the chance meeting on a dissecting-table of a sewing-machine and an umbrella".

Comte de Lautréamont

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

Donall Dempsey Oct 2015

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

Here, your laughter
fastened to the air

with a little twist
of memory.

Time, spell stopped
as it were.

Your laughter
pinned to this

particular place
this

little scrap of sky
and field

that to an unobservant eye
would mean nothing

...nothing at all.

But see, your laughter
unfurls its flag of self

snapping in the stiff wind
of what's lost is lost.

This simple second
alive for ever.

I pick it as
I would a flower

untouched by either

time or
death.

“Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.”
― Guy de Maupassant

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

Donall Dempsey Oct 2024

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

EVEN NOW, NOW, VERY NOW...

here your laughter
fastened to the air
with a little twistof memory

Time
spell stopped
as it were

your laughter
pinned to this
particular place

this
little scrap of sky
and field

that to an unobservant eye
would mean nothing
...nothing at all

but see,your laughter
unfurls its flag of self
snapping in the stiff wind

of what's
lost is
lost

this
simple second
alive for ever

I pick it as
I would a flower
untouched

by either
time or
death

*

The title is from Othello...

“Our memory is a more perfect world than the universe: it gives back life to those who no longer exist.”

Guy de Maupassant

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

Donall Dempsey Feb 2019

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

even our smiles
rhymed
once upon a time

these dunes
that summer
us students of kisses

both of us
majoring in the inexact science
of the making of love

all that love
now only photographs
never ever looked at

not realising that
we had it
when we had it

these dunes that summer
now just a seascape
like any other

stripped of memory
the sea merely sea
the sand only sand

hard now to think
what I meant to you
what you meant to me

somewhere along the years
we lost
each other

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

Donall Dempsey Feb 2018

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

EVEN OUR SMILES RHYMED

even our smiles
rhymed
once upon a time

these dunes
that summer
us students of kisses

both of us
majoring in the inexact science
of the making of love

all that love
now only photographs
never ever looked at

not realising that
we had it
when we had it

these dunes that summer
now just a seascape
like any other

stripped of memory
the sea merely sea
the sand only sand

hard now to think
what I meant to you
what you meant to me

somewhere along the years
we lost
each other

EVER EVER LAND

Donall Dempsey Dec 2022

EVER EVER LAND

EVER EVER LAND

every year
Summer would come

and take the train
down to Cork

throwing trees
and fields at him

so that cows
and chickens came

to see how he was
getting on

since the last time
time had gathered them

together in
the one place

he talked to rivers
and skies

made up stories
for them to recite

back to him
which they did

so that they could live
in his mind

his Uncle Mikey
was a magician

making words do
whatever he told them to

Ballea was a fairy story
of a farm

full of happy
ever afters

that made him the Prince
of his own story

and that childhood
was a land

where he would
live forever

EVER EVER LAND( for Mary Ford )

Donall Dempsey Dec 2024

EVER EVER LAND( for Mary Ford )

EVER EVER LAND
( for Mary Ford )

every year
Summer would come

and take the train
down to Cork

throwing trees
and fields at him

so that cows
and chickens came

to see how he was
getting on

since the last time
time had gathered them

together in
the one place

he talked to rivers
and skies

made up stories
for them to recite

back to him
which they did

so that they could live
in his mind

his Uncle Mikey
was a magician

making words do
whatever he told them to

Ballea was a fairy story
of a farm

full of happy
ever afters

that made him the Prince
of his own story

and that childhood
was a land

where he would
live forever

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

Donall Dempsey Jan 2018

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

from the corner
of my eye

catch your reflection

fish it out of a puddle
it had fallen in

love it as much as
your shadow filched from a wall

I loving even these
fragments of you

but the flesh
and blood of you

best of all

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

Donall Dempsey Jan 2019

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

EVERY LAST MOLECULE OF YOU

from the corner
of my eye

catch your reflection

fish it out of a puddle
it had fallen in

love it as much as
your shadow filched from a wall

I loving even these
fragments of you

but the flesh
and blood of you

best of all

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

Donall Dempsey Aug 2018

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

1893
saw the beginning of me.

I was born
in a railway carriage

between somewhere
and somewhere else

in an Europe that
would change with the map

the lines redrawn
by War

some unpronouncable
European nowhere.

A barrel *****
was playing a tune that

would soon be forgotten
on the station platform

when Mamma and I
arrived

at our final destination
the train breathing like a dragon.

Its whistle
cutting through time.

Later I would remember
a little wooden acorn

at the end of a string on the blind
tapping against the window

as if it were admonishing
the dawn demanding

entrance to
the room when I was three and

pulling the blind up and then
pulling the blind down.

"Shadow people"
thrown against the wall

would not survive
a morning.

All night they chattered
amongst themselves

prowling the room
that was holding me.

Debating whether to
eat me now or later.

"Beings" merely made from
the edge of a wardrobe or

a chest of drawers
the brass **** at the end of

my bed where clothes
thrown over a chair

made them come alive
I believe

in them until
I was nearly seven.

Too scared to ***
in the porcelain ***

wetting the bed
to the anger of Mama.

And now 1963
will more than likely see

the end of me
as I am

and the mind
that created who I was

offers me these
fragments of insignificance

that amount
to being a life.

I laugh as Noël
Coward warbles

in his shellac'd world
forever singing

"But I can't do anything at all
but just love you!"

I used to look after this chap who loved Coward as much as I and we would sing all the songs together as I cleaned him up or fed him. He showed me his Dad's diary and the last entry was basically this...so I thought it deserved not to fade away so I wanted to bring him back to a life in words!

Any Little Fish – Noel Coward 1931

Any little fish can swim, any little bird can fly
Any little dog and any little cat
Can do a bit of this and just a bit of that
Any little horse can neigh, any little cow can moo
But I can’t do anything at all, but just love you!

Any little **** can crow, any little fox can run,
Any little crab on any little shore
Can have a little dab and then a little more
Any little owl can hoot (to-whit, to-whoo)
Any little dove can coo
But I can’t do anything at all, but just love you!

Any little bug can bite, any little bee can buzz
Any little snail on any little oak
Can feel a little frail and have a little joke
Any little frog can jump like any little kangaroo
But I can’t do anything at all, but just love you!

Any little duck can quack, any little worm can crawl
Any little mole can frolic in the sun
And make a little hole and have a lot of fun
Any little snake can hiss, in any little local zoo
But I can’t do anything at all, but just love you!

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

Donall Dempsey Aug 2019

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

EVERY LITTLE FISH CAN SWIM

1893
saw the beginning of me.

I was born
in a railway carriage

between somewhere
and somewhere else

in an Europe that
would change with the map

the lines redrawn
by War

some unpronouncable
European nowhere.

A barrel *****
was playing a tune that

would soon be forgotten
on the station platform

when Mamma and I
arrived

at our final destination
the train breathing like a dragon.

Its whistle
cutting through time.

Later I would remember
a little wooden acorn

at the end of a string on the blind
tapping against the window

as if it were admonishing
the dawn demanding

entrance to
the room when I was three and

pulling the blind up and then
pulling the blind down.

"Shadow people"
thrown against the wall

would not survive
a morning.

All night they chattered
amongst themselves

prowling the room
that was holding me.

Debating whether to
eat me now or later.

"Beings" merely made from
the edge of a wardrobe or

a chest of drawers
the brass **** at the end of

my bed where clothes
thrown over a chair

made them come alive
I believe

in them until
I was nearly seven.

Too scared to ***
in the porcelain ***

wetting the bed
to the anger of Mama.

And now 1963
will more than likely see

the end of me
as I am

and the mind
that created who I was

offers me these
fragments of insignificance

that amount
to being a life.

I laugh as Noël
Coward warbles

in his shellac'd world
forever singing

"But I can't do anything at all
but just love you!"

I used to look after this chap who loved Coward as much as I and we would sing all the songs together as I cleaned him up or fed him. He showed me his Dad's diary and the last entry was basically this...so I thought it deserved not to fade away so I wanted to bring him back to a life in words!

EVERYONE WAS SOMEONE ELSE

Donall Dempsey Nov 2016

EVERYONE WAS SOMEONE ELSE

EVERYONE WAS SOMEONE ELSE

Neville Chamberlain
gets on at Barking.

Umbrella, stripped trousers
the whole kit and kaboodle

just like the cartoonists
drew him.

Almost expected him to wave
that piece of paper and declare

"Peace in our time!"

But he only snapped open
The Times

with Trump trumpeting
some more inane lies

like a Dumbo
on acid.

At the next stop
the Chamberlain look-alike

got off and
an entity like something

Beardsley would have drawn
got on...yawn...fell asleep.

A girl at the end of the carriage
looked like she had just stepped out

of an Edward Hopper .

People kept assuming
the likenesses of others

no one was
themselves.

Here was a real dead ringer for
Meatloaf.

There the Mona Lisa
in a micro-mini and

still wearing the same
elusive smile.

Me too
even I

had awoken this morning
a badly drawn boy

feeling like nothing but
a bunch of scribbles..

I stayed on to the end of the line...

not wanting to get off
just going nowhere.

The next stop
the American elections!

EXTRA! EXTRA!

Donall Dempsey Apr 2019

EXTRA! EXTRA!

EXTRA! EXTRA!

His voice hid
behind the morning's paper.

Questions met
with a shrug and a grunt.

Occasionally raised eyebrows
appeared behind the morning's headlines.

To lose a man
behind a newspaper

was just not cricket but
to be expected.

She sipped her tea
thinking of her lover's lips

and of kissing them
in an hour's time

at her
leisure.

EXTRA! EXTRA!

Donall Dempsey Apr 2016

EXTRA! EXTRA!

EXTRA! EXTRA!

His voice hid
behind the morning's paper.

Questions met
with a shrug and a grunt.

Occasionally raised eyebrows
appeared behind the morning's headlines.

To lose a man
behind a newspaper

was just not cricket but
to be expected.

She sipped her tea
thinking of her lover's lips

and of kissing them
in an hour's tea

at her
leisure.

FACING THE FACTS

Donall Dempsey Apr 2019

FACING THE FACTS

FACING THE FACTS

( To Betty Patton )

"Well, that's it!"
said the nose.

"I'm off!"

And so saying
it jumped off my face

trotted down the street
turned a corner and

...was gone.

Without even a by your leave!

My eyes could
hardly believe it.

"What...next...the ears?"
I stupidly said.

The ears took me at my word and
taking the nose as a shining example

tore themselves off
the side of my head

joined together
and flew off

like some kind of strange
fleshy butterfly

flapping madly.

"Well, hush my mouth!"
I had no sooner spoke

than the asaid fore-mentioned mouth
without saying a single word

flopped off my face
galloped off like a snail

leaving a trail
down the street.

I could see this
would end in tears.

The eyes( the ****** fools )
fell like ping pong *****

rolling themselves away
on the trail of the mouth.

I couldn't bear to see them go
but go..oh go...they did.

And yes, I had told the mirror
only this morning

that I had thought
my nose...ears...eyes and mouth

my worst features
but

I never thought
they'd take it so

personally.

Story time a long long tine ago for my little girl who didn't think her nose was a pretty as Marsha's nose It was a face off with noses, And she was only 5 for god's sake! I told her don't let the nose hear you or it will take itself off and this tale unravelled itself. Being 5 she took the tale very seriously indeed and was in fear of the nose doing a runner. After that if she glimpsed her face in the mirror she would say:"Ahhhhh nice nose...nose no go away....nice nose!" as if she could placate it like a little puppy. I didn't write poetry back then but these lines kinda capture the drama of the runaway nose and of how a little girl came to love the nose she knows.

FACING THE FACTS ( To Betty Patton )

Donall Dempsey Apr 2019

FACING THE FACTS ( To Betty Patton )

FACING THE FACTS

( To Betty Patton )

"Well, that's it!"
said the nose.

"I'm off!"

And so saying
it jumped off my face

trotted down the street
turned a corner and

...was gone.

Without even a by your leave!

My eyes could
hardly believe it.

"What...next...the ears?"
I stupidly said.

The ears took me at my word and
taking the nose as a shining example

tore themselves off
the side of my head

joined together
and flew off

like some kind of strange
fleshy butterfly

flapping madly.

"Well, hush my mouth!"
I had no sooner spoke

than the asaid fore-mentioned mouth
without saying a single word

flopped off my face
galloped off like a snail

leaving a trail
down the street.

I could see this
would end in tears.

The eyes( the ****** fools )
fell like ping pong *****

rolling themselves away
on the trail of the mouth.

I couldn't bear to see them go
but go..oh go...they did.

And yes, I had told the mirror
only this morning

that I had thought
my nose...ears...eyes and mouth

my worst features
but

I never thought
they'd take it so

personally.

FACING UP TO REALITY

Donall Dempsey Mar 2021

FACING UP TO REALITY

FACING UP TO REALITY

There is a tap
on my shoulder.

I turn around and
face Reality.

"Well, well..."
smirks Reality

"...Fancy
meeting you here!"

I smile inside my self
keeping a poker face.

Reality always insists
on calling me by that name.

"The name's...Imagination."
I remind it.

"Donall's...Imagination!"
giving it a Bondian spin.

"So, still keeping the poems coming
...I see!"

it smiles facetiously.

"How could I not...?" I answer
giving nothing away.

I do not ask Reality
to sit down.

It shifts from foot to foot
embarrassed that it knows me

and who may see it
talking to me.

"Well...be seeing you!"
it smirks yet again

seething with anger
that I and not it

is Donall's little pet.

I nod.
Say nothing.

"Ahhhhhhhh...tough!"
I say to its retreating back.

Trap it
in this poem.

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

Donall Dempsey Jul 2024

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

“In the dark silence, in the void of all sensation, something began to know it. Very dimly at first, from immeasurably far away, but gradually the presence approached. The dimness of that other knowledge grew brighter ...”

― Aldous Huxley, Time Must Have a Stop

the shepherdess turns
and in turning
turns into porcelain

as does the chasing shepherd
as they are caught in that
one fleeting moment forever

an ormolu clock
announces that it is the ormolu clock
and that time must have a stop

which is the Huxley novel
the Duchess has been reading
before she expired

dust gathers upon
the chasing and the chaste
porcelain figures

the ormolu clock
stopped in its tracks
has forgotten all about time

the novel lies on the floor
as if a victim of crime
dogeared at page 39

what happens next
the Duchess will
never know

and her fancy
of the porcelain come alive
dies with her

the fire stirs itself
and a loose coal
burns a hole in the carpet

the cat sees all this
and thinks nothing of it
resumes the process of sleeping

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

Donall Dempsey Jul 1

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

"FACTS ARE VENTRILOQUIST'S DUMMIES."

“In the dark silence, in the void of all sensation, something began to know it. Very dimly at first, from immeasurably far away, but gradually the presence approached. The dimness of that other knowledge grew brighter ...”

― Aldous Huxley, Time Must Have a Stop

the shepherdess turns
and in turning
turns into porcelain

as does the chasing shepherd
as they are caught in that
one fleeting moment forever

an ormolu clock
announces that it is the ormolu clock
and that time must have a stop

which is the Huxley novel
the Duchess has been reading
before she expired

dust gathers upon
the chasing and the chaste
porcelain figures

the ormolu clock
stopped in its tracks
has forgotten all about time

the novel lies on the floor
as if a victim of crime
dogeared at page 39

what happens next
the Duchess will
never know

and her fancy
of the porcelain come alive
dies with her

the fire stirs itself
and a loose coal
burns a hole in the carpet

the cat sees all this
and thinks nothing of it
resumes the process of sleeping

FADÓ FADÓ( LONG LONG AGO ) ( For Damien of the Carrolls )

Donall Dempsey Dec 2023

FADÓ FADÓ( LONG LONG AGO ) ( For Damien of the Carrolls )

FADÓ FADÓ( LONG LONG AGO )

( For Damien of the Carrolls )

a cloud morphing
into the great hand
of a God

that people no longer
have time to
believe in

it catches the sea
and tweaks it
into pleats

as an aunt
would do in dressmaking
in a long ago

and now the cloud
becomes nothing
but a cloud again

and sits itself
over the empty house
where clocks

locked into
the only living room
argue over time

of what is past
what is passing and
what may come

the furniture
covered in sheets
like old ghosts

who have forgotten
how to
die

silence settling
like dust
upon the highest shelves

the sea becoming
unstitched from the shore
will have to be pleated once more

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

Donall Dempsey Feb 2020

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

A drop of blood.

On the Indian Ocean.

Blue turning slow
l y red

as the Indian Ocean
is engulfed by this

singular drop of
blood

coast to coast
a crimson sea.

At first there is
no pain.

The thumb remains
unaware it has been

cut.

Paper cut.

First, the heart skips a beat
then the pain ~ rushes in.

The continent of India
invaded by my blood.

i close the school atlas
in fear teacher will see.

Scream silently
put my thumb in an inkwell.

Disaster co-
-auglates.

The ****** pages
stick to ****** together.

The Indian continent
ripped apart

allowing one to see
to the next sea

on the other page.

I fail
Geography.

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

Donall Dempsey Feb 2016

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

A drop of blood.

On the Indian Ocean.

Blue turning slow
l y red

as the Indian Ocean
is engulfed by this

singular drop of
blood

coast to coast
a crimson sea.

At first there is
no pain.

The thumb remains
unaware it has been

cut.

Paper cut.

First, the heart skips a beat
then the pain ~ rushes in.

The continent of India
invaded by my blood.

i close the school atlas
in fear teacher will see.

Scream silently
put my thumb in an inkwell.

Disaster co-
-auglates.

The ****** pages
stick to ****** together.

The Indian continent
ripped apart

allowing one to see
to the next sea

on the other page.

I fail
Geography.

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

Donall Dempsey Feb 2019

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

A drop of blood.

On the Indian Ocean.

Blue turning slow
l y red

as the Indian Ocean
is engulfed by this

singular drop of
blood

coast to coast
a crimson sea.

At first there is
no pain.

The thumb remains
unaware it has been

cut.

Paper cut.

First, the heart skips a beat
then the pain ~ rushes in.

The continent of India
invaded by my blood.

I close the school atlas
in fear teacher will see.

Scream silently
put my thumb in an inkwell.

Disaster co-
-auglates.

The ****** pages
stick to ****** together.

The Indian continent
ripped apart

allowing one to see
to the next sea

on the other page.

I fail
Geography.

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

Donall Dempsey Feb 2018

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

FAILING GEOGRAPHY

A drop of blood.

On the Indian Ocean.

Blue turning slow
l y red

as the Indian Ocean
is engulfed by this

singular drop of
blood

coast to coast
a crimson sea.

At first there is
no pain.

The thumb remains
unaware it has been

cut.

Paper cut.

First, the heart skips a beat
then the pain ~ rushes in.

The continent of India
invaded by my blood.

i close the school atlas
in fear teacher will see.

Scream silently
put my thumb in an inkwell.

Disaster co-
-auglates.

The ****** pages
stick to ****** together.

The Indian continent
ripped apart

allowing one to see
to the next sea

on the other page.

I fail
Geography.

FAIRYTALE

Donall Dempsey Sep 2024

FAIRYTALE

FAIRYTALE

I sit by your bedside
watching your dying.

Only Love
nails me to this pain.

I unable to escape
your dying.

I tell you
Irish legends
& Hans Christian Anderson

as you become
again

(if only for a little while)

the child
you used to be

once upon a time

when wonder & delight
were new
as daylight.

“Tell me Lir! ”

“Tell me the Children of Lir! ”

I tell
of how

they are turned into swans
& the loneliness of eternity.

I too knit nettles
to break the spell

throw the garment over
your cancer’d body

so you can
return again
to being

the human
I have known.

This dying is cruel
beyond belief.

An insult
to your life.

I love you so much I would **** you
if I could **** you
but I...can’t.

I want every breath
of you

not to be your last.

You journey to your death
dancing with your pain

my little mermaid
my little ballerina

I guard
your dying

a Constant
Tin Soldier

as you become
foam

foam
on the sea.

Just a day ago
******* a sultana

I held
on the tip of my fingertip

telling me to call your name.

“I love
living in your voice! ”

“So nice...so nice! ”

And I a blind Prince

wandering now
lost in the fairy tale

of your Death.

I close
your eyes.

kiss the last warmth
of your lips.

FAIRY TALE

Donall Dempsey Apr 2019

FAIRY TALE

FAIRY TALE

I sit by your bedside
watching your dying.

Only Love
nails me to this pain.

I unable to escape
your dying.

I tell you
Irish legends
& Hans Christian Anderson

as you become
again

(if only for a little while)

the child
you used to be

once upon a time

when wonder & delight
were new
as daylight.

“Tell me Lir! ”

“Tell me the Children of Lir! ”

I tell
of how

they are turned into swans
& the loneliness of eternity.

I too knit nettles
to break the spell

throw the garment over
your cancer’d body

so you can
return again
to being

the human
I have known.

This dying is cruel
beyond belief.

An insult
to your life.

I love you so much I would **** you
if I could **** you
but I...can’t.

I want every breath
of you

not to be your last.

You journey to your death
dancing with your pain

my little mermaid
my little ballerina

I guard
your dying

a Constant
Tin Soldier

as you become
foam

foam
on the sea.

Just a day ago
******* a sultana

I held
on the tip of my fingertip

telling me to call your name.

“I love
living in your voice! ”

“So nice...so nice! ”

And I a blind Prince

wandering now
lost in the fairy tale

of your Death.

I close
your eyes.

kiss the last warmth
of your lips.

FAIRY TALE

Donall Dempsey Apr 2017

FAIRY TALE

FAIRY TALE

I sit by your bedside
watching your dying.

Only Love
nails me to this pain.

I unable to escape
your dying.

I tell you
Irish legends
& Hans Christian Anderson

as you become
again

(if only for a little while)

the child
you used to be

once upon a time

when wonder & delight
were new
as daylight.

“Tell me Lir! ”

“Tell me the Children of Lir! ”

I tell
of how

they are turned into swans
& the loneliness of eternity.

I too knit nettles
to break the spell

throw the garment over
your cancer’d body

so you can
return again
to being

the human
I have known.

This dying is cruel
beyond belief.

An insult
to your life.

I love you so much I would **** you
if I could **** you
but I...can’t.

I want every breath
of you

not to be your last.

You journey to your death
dancing with your pain

my little mermaid
my little ballerina

I guard
your dying

a Constant
Tin Soldier

as you become
foam

foam
on the sea.

Just a day ago
******* a sultana

I held
on the tip of my fingertip

telling me to call your name.

“I love
living in your voice! ”

“So nice...so nice! ”

And I a blind Prince

wandering now
lost in the fairy tale

of your Death.

I close
your eyes.

kiss the last warmth
of your lips.

FAIRY TALE

Donall Dempsey Apr 2018

FAIRY TALE

FAIRY TALE

I sit by your bedside
watching your dying.

Only Love
nails me to this pain.

I unable to escape
your dying.

I tell you
Irish legends
& Hans Christian Anderson

as you become
again

(if only for a little while)

the child
you used to be

once upon a time

when wonder & delight
were new
as daylight.

“Tell me Lir! ”

“Tell me the Children of Lir! ”

I tell
of how

they are turned into swans
& the loneliness of eternity.

I too knit nettles
to break the spell

throw the garment over
your cancer’d body

so you can
return again
to being

the human
I have known.

This dying is cruel
beyond belief.

An insult
to your life.

I love you so much I would **** you
if I could **** you
but I...can’t.

I want every breath
of you

not to be your last.

You journey to your death
dancing with your pain

my little mermaid
my little ballerina

I guard
your dying

a Constant
Tin Soldier

as you become
foam

foam
on the sea.

Just a day ago
******* a sultana

I held
on the tip of my fingertip

telling me to call your name.

“I love
living in your voice! ”

“So nice...so nice! ”

And I a blind Prince

wandering now
lost in the fairy tale

of your Death.

I close
your eyes.

kiss the last warmth
of your lips.

FAIRY TALE

Donall Dempsey Oct 2023

FAIRY TALE

FAIRYTALE

I sit by your bedside
watching your dying.

Only Love
nails me to this pain.

I unable to escape
your dying.

I tell you
Irish legends
& Hans Christian Anderson

as you become
again

(if only for a little while)

the child
you used to be

once upon a time

when wonder & delight
were new
as daylight.

“Tell me Lir! ”

“Tell me the Children of Lir! ”

I tell
of how

they are turned into swans
& the loneliness of eternity.

I too knit nettles
to break the spell

throw the garment over
your cancer’d body

so you can
return again
to being

the human
I have known.

This dying is cruel
beyond belief.

An insult
to your life.

I love you so much I would **** you
if I could **** you
but I...can’t.

I want every breath
of you

not to be your last.

You journey to your death
dancing with your pain

my little mermaid
my little ballerina

I guard
your dying

a Constant
Tin Soldier

as you become
foam

foam
on the sea.

Just a day ago
******* a sultana

I held
on the tip of my fingertip

telling me to call your name.

“I love
living in your voice! ”

“So nice...so nice! ”

And I a blind Prince

wandering now
lost in the fairy tale

of your Death.

I close
your eyes.

kiss the last warmth
of your lips.