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Donall Dempsey May 2017
AND THE WRITING BE OF WORDS

"Who left the **** door open!"
knowing who ****** well

"And the door of the icebox too...
...where is that no-good-man!"

A white chicken stood
in the middle of her kitchen

like a miniature chef
clucking to itself

pecking at plums
knocked over on the floor

left overs from yesterday.

"William..!" she hollered "...William!"


"Just wait 'till he sees
what I'll say!"

William lay staring at a sky
he would never see again

a fallen can of white paint
splurged all over barrow and grass

a manic splash of redgreenandwhite
like some stupid art installation.

It was raining.
The title is from the William Carlos Williams poem A SORT OF SONG. And of course this poem walks us through his two must famous poems THIS IS JUST TO SAY and THE RED WHEELBARROW but taking us to a different place.

***


A SORT OF SONG

Let the snake wait under
his ****
and the writing
be of words, slow and quick, sharp
to strike, quiet to wait,
sleepless.
-- through metaphor to reconcile
the people and the stones.
Compose. (No ideas
but in things) Invent!
Saxifrage is my flower that splits
the rocks.

William Carlos Williams
Donall Dempsey Sep 2019
AND TIME A THIEF

She hugged her books
to her *******.

Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.

She watched his mouth
move

alive with words
she heard nothing of

only
her name

"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"

A bead of sweat
trickled between her *******.

She tried to catch
her breath and

what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.

She squirmed
under his gaze

a butterfly
held by a pin

pleasure that was
pain.

"And that was how
I met your Dad!"

She tells this story
only when she's very very

tipsy
crying now

for the girl she was
- then:

the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest

the world
awaiting her.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2015
She hugged her books
to her *******.

Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.

She watched his mouth
move

alive with words
she heard nothing of

only
her name

"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"

A bead of sweat
trickled between her breast.

She tried to catch
her breath and

what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.

She squirmed
under his gaze

a butterfly
held by a pin

pleasure
that was
pain.

"And that was how
I met your Dad!"

She tells this story
only when she's very very

tipsy
crying now

for the girl she was
- then:

the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest

the world
awaiting her.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
AND TIME A THIEF

She hugged her books
to her *******.

Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.

She watched his mouth
move

alive with words
she heard nothing of

only
her name

"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"

A bead of sweat
trickled between her *******.

She tried to catch
her breath and

what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.

She squirmed
under his gaze

a butterfly
held by a pin

pleasure that was
pain.

"And that was how
I met your Dad!"

She tells this story
only when she's very very

tipsy
crying now

for the girl she was
- then:

the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest

the world
awaiting her.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2024
AND TIME A THIEF

She hugged her books
to her *******.

Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.

She watched his mouth
move

alive with words
she heard nothing of

only
her name

"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"

A bead of sweat
trickled between her *******.

She tried to catch
her breath and

what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.

She squirmed
under his gaze

a butterfly
held by a pin

pleasure that was
pain.

"And that was how
I met your Dad!"

She tells this story
only when she's very very

tipsy
crying now

for the girl she was
- then:

the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest

the world
awaiting her.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2017
AND TIME A THIEF

She hugged her books
to her *******.

Her ******* hardening into
her Othello and Algebra.

She watched his mouth
move

alive with words
she heard nothing of

only
her name

"...yadayadaMARY...
...yada yada MARY!"

A bead of sweat
trickled between her breast.

She tried to catch
her breath and

what he was saying but
it only gave her hiccups.

She squirmed
under his gaze

a butterfly
held by a pin

pleasure
that was
pain.

"And that was how
I met your Dad!"

She tells this story
only when she's very very

tipsy
crying now

for the girl she was
- then:

the Shakespeare & Maths
pressed to her chest

the world
awaiting her.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2020
AND WE'RE ALL MADE OUT OF TICKY-TACKY

Oh...Zeus
we haven't heard of you
for such a long time

Ah Yahweh yes
we can see you but
we can't hear you

And Allah we
can hear you but
not see you

if you look down
to the left you can see
the icon...turn your video on

now who isn't
here or rather
all here...un-mute yourselves please

I see on the chat line
that alas
Buddha can't make it

and the Dharmic religions
offer
their apologies

let's see who are we
waiting for
ahhh there's someone

in the waiting room
the Second Coming
I'll just let Him in...ping

ok shall we begin then
I am who am
the Lord God of Zoom

and here we goooooo
zooming across the known
universe in our little boxes
Donall Dempsey May 2024
"AND WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER?"

you exist in the space
between breath
and breath

the space between
second
and second

thought
and thought
the interstices of being

this is where
you live
since your dying

between time
and timelessness
between forever and now

hiding you
when Death
comes knocking

"And when did you
last see your father?"
Death demands

I hold my breath
like living underwater
I deny any sight of you

Death leaves as
it arrives
in a rage

claiming
that it
owns you

and so again
I breath you
back to life

live here father
between one second
and the next

between one thought
and the next
the interstices of being

I will not let
Death
own you
Donall Dempsey May 2017
"AND WHEN DID YOU LAST SEE YOUR FATHER?"

You exist in the space
between breath and breath

the space between
second and second

thought and thought
the interstices of being.

This is where you live
since your dying

between time and timelessness
between forever and now

hiding you when Death
comes knocking.

"And when did you last see your father?"
Death demands.

I hold my breath
like living underwater.

I deny any
sight of you.

Death leaves as
it arrives

in a rage
claiming that it owns you.

And so, again
I breath you

back to life.

Live here father

between one second and the next
between one thought and the next

the interstices
of being.

I will not let Death
own you.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2015
The lost Tarot card
doesn't know what to do.

it hadn't foreseen
getting lost &

finding itself
drowning in a puddle

as big as a lake
or so it seemed.

It smiled at the irony of
it being

a card of water
and moon

and the little boy
who will grow up

to be me
falls in love

with its
mystery.

The small boy doesn't know
it is a Tarot card.

Only that
the beautiful woman

pours eternity
from a jar

and that it  
flows through

every atom
of his being.

Right now she is
drying out

in summer sun
and curling

up at her
edges.

She leaves in the mouth
of a passing dog

who snaps
her up.

The boy's tears
chasing her

into
the forever.
The Star, a tarot card that will appear when the glimmer of hope is about to shine, when your generosity of spirit is making an impact and when your peace of mind has elevated your consciousness to the benefit of those around you.

The card of hopes and dreams of a higher, more significant nature. The card of shining because of inner worth or accomplishments.

The Thoth Tarot /ˌtoʊt ˈtæroʊ/ is a divinatory tarot deck painted by Lady Frieda Harris according to instructions from Aleister Crowley. Crowley referred to this deck as The Book of Thoth, and also wrote a book of that title intended for use with the deck.

Crowley originally intended the Thoth deck to be a six-month project aimed at updating the traditional pictorial symbolism of the tarot. However, the project was to span five years, between 1938 and 1943, as its scope grew ever wider. Crowley and Harris were meticulous in their work, and Harris painted some of the cards as many as eight times.The current edition of the U.S. Games Systems deck contains two prototypes of The Magus card as painted by Lady Harris, each making use of markedly different style and symbols. Completed by Lady Harris but then rejected by Crowley, these were never intended to be a part of the deck proper. They are now included as a bonus treat for aficionados of the deck. Neither Harris nor Crowley lived to see the deck published. The first full publication was by Ordo Templi Orientis in 1969, although this initial printing was seen by many to be of inferior quality, and in 1977 Harris' paintings were rephotographed for a second edition. A further update with new photography took place in 1986, while the current edition is based on a revision of this update which was first printed in 1996.

The illustrations of the Thoth deck are rich in symbolism, based upon Crowley's stated desire to incorporate symbols from many disparate disciplines, including science and philosophy, as well as to draw on his extensive knowledge of various occult system (as described in detail in his Book of Thoth). For example, The Hanged Man and The Moon draw from Egyptian mythology, and the Princess of Disks holds a disk bearing the Taijitu. The pip cards in the four suits (Wands, Cups, Swords, and Disks) depict their objects in carefully crafted positions; for example, the Four of Swords (which Crowley named "truce") shows four swords with their points toward the center of an imaginary square, suggesting a possibly tense peace. The card illustrations are uniformly stark and vividly illustrated throughout.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2018
"AN ETERNIday. . ."

The lost Tarot card
doesn't know what to do.

it hadn't foreseen
getting lost &

finding itself
drowning in a puddle

as big as a lake
or so it seemed.

It smiled at the irony of
it being

a card of water
and moon

and the little boy
who will grow up

to be me
falls in love

with its
mystery.

The small boy doesn't know
it is a Tarot card.

Only that
the beautiful woman

pours eternity
from a jar

and that it  
flows through

every atom
of his being.

Right now she is
drying out

in summer sun
and curling

up at her
edges.

She leaves in the mouth
of a passing dog

who snaps
her up.

The boy's tears
chasing her

into
the forever.
Donall Dempsey Apr 2017

AN EXCURSION INTO THE INTERIOR - Chap. 6

Being 9
lost in R.M. Ballantine's

THE CORAL ISLAND
hidden in some nook and cranny

invisible to all
who seek me

call me
"Donall....Donall...where is that boy!"

Words hide me from
the world.

I wear the cloak of invisibility
diving into words

what is to become of the boys - and me
sweating madly in Chapter 3

despite the snow
howling at the window.

***
Donall Dempsey Oct 2024
AN EXPLOSION OF SILENCE

out of the eye socket
of a sheep’s skeleton
an invisible cricket

sang & sang
as if its life
depended on it

and when I took
a step
towards it

a twig snapped
and the silence
was as loud

as an explosion
only without
the noise
Donall Dempsey Oct 2023
AN EXPLOSION OF SILENCE

out of the eye socket
of a sheep’s skeleton
an invisible cricket

sang & sang
as if its life
depended on it

and when I took
a step
towards it

a twig snapped
and the silence
was as loud

as an explosion
only without
the noise
Donall Dempsey Oct 2020
AN EYE FOR AN....

And every night he
would fall asleep in

a tatty and torn
Victorian armchair

a terrible monstrosity

his left eye
in his right hand

losing his grip on it
when he began to snore

so that that eye
with a clunk fell

rolling under
the out-of-tune piano

beside the forever sleeping cat
who accepted as a nightly fact

that maybe all humans
do that

and so the eye
saw the dawn

tip-toeing in
the French windows

as the cat woke up to go
asleep  again

giving the eye
a cursory lick.

Godfrey falling
on his knees

screaming to nobody:
"Where's my blasted eye!"

The cat yawning.
***

A day in the life of a glass eye.

Godfrey who used to say "Call me God!" used to put his glass eye into someone's pint and also say "Yer not gonna drink that are ya?" Then he would drink it eye and all and then pop the eye out of his mouth! When he was procrastinating and we would miss our train and one tried to hurry him up....he would yell "I'm coming...I'm ****** well coming!" and down the stairs would come the eye by itself...step by step.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2019
AN EYE FOR AN....

And every night he
would fall asleep in

a tatty and torn
Victorian armchair

a terrible monstrosity

his left eye
in his right hand

losing his grip on it
when he began to snore

so that that eye
with a clunk fell

rolling under
the out-of-tune piano

beside the forever sleeping cat
who accepted as a nightly fact

that maybe all humans
do that

and so the eye
saw the dawn

tip-toeing in
the French windows

as the cat woke up to go
asleep  again

giving the eye
a cursory lick.

Godfrey falling
on his knees

screaming to nobody:
"Where's my blasted eye!"

The cat yawning.
A day in the life of a glass eye.

Godfrey who used to say "Call me God!" used to put his glass eye into someone's pint and also say "Yer not gonna drink that are ya?" Then he would drink it eye and all and then pop the eye out of his mouth! When he was procrastinating and we would miss our train and one tried to hurry him up....he would yell "I'm coming...I'm ****** well coming!" and down the stairs would come the eye by itself...step by step.
Donall Dempsey Oct 2017
AN EYE FOR AN....

And every night he
would fall asleep in

a tatty and torn
Victorian armchair

a terrible monstrosity

his left eye
in his right hand

losing his grip on it
when he began to snore

so that that eye
with a clunk fell

rolling under
the out-of-tune piano

beside the forever sleeping cat
who accepted as a nightly fact

that maybe all humans
do that

and so the eye
saw the dawn

tip-toeing in
the French windows

as the cat woke up to go
asleep  again

giving the eye
a cursory lick.

Godfrey falling
on his knees

screaming to nobody:
"Where's my blasted eye!"

The cat yawning.
Donall Dempsey Jan 2021
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF WW2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF WW2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
Donall Dempsey Jan 2024
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF WW2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
Donall Dempsey Jan 2019
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF WW2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
Donall Dempsey Jan 2023
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF WW2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
Donall Dempsey Jan 2020
AN INCOMPLETE HISTORY OF W W 2

the doodlebug cuts
its silence deadlier than its whine
a baby crying

where there was a house
there was a house no more
a rocking horse survives the blast

the neighbours
across the road
move to a place called Death

"The road had a ruddy big hole
with a bus sticking out of it!"
Death always only a heartbeat away

"1939 & I
were such good friends
only time Love walked in my door!"

"Such a card he was
but he turned out
to be a cad!"

"Oh he was cad but
he was my cad
but I loved the bounder!"

"Yes, dear...the War
the War got him...
...he never came back!"

on the middle of mantlepiece
a black & white slice
of 1939

Spring is late...again
"Where have you been!"
shyly it smiles at me in flowers
Donall Dempsey Mar 2018
ANOIS TEACHT AN EARRAIGH
(NOW COMES THE SPRING )

- for Noreen -

Spring throws
a switch

and turns the flowers on
even the old stars come

to see
the newest season

and how
the world is getting on.

The blue ball
keeps on spinning

and we haven't fallen
off yet.

Birds keeping on singing
trying to tell us how

it is
but

...do we listen?
The title "Anois teacht an Earraigh" is from an Irish poem Cill Aodáin by the blind poet Antaine Ó Raifteirí (1784-1835). ;One of 9 children who caught the smallpox...it blinded him and killed the others. One of the last things he ever saw was the other children laid out dead.

He lived by playing his fiddle and performing his songs and poems in the mansions of the Anglo-Irish gentry.

His work draws on the forms and idiom of Irish poetry, and although it is regarded as marking the end of the old literary tradition, Ó Raifteirí and his fellow poets did not see themselves in this way.Raftery was lithe and spare in build and not very tall but he was very strong and considered a good wrestler. He always wore a long frieze coat and corduroy breeches.

All the Irish of my generation would have learnt this at school. The rousing Óró, sé do bheatha 'bhaile has almost the same line but it is the coming of summer and I often conflated them...whether it was the coming of spring or summer!  Ah well sure ya can have everything.

Such are the wee little things knocking about inside the head of an Irishman like myself...can't be helped!

I remember passing a little school one day and this wafted out in a myriad of little off-key voices and it was as if little flowers of sound flourished there in mid-air. It was a thing of fragile beauty and I plucked it from the Spring breeze and tucked it behind my mind. 40 years later it resurfaced and made itself known to the old man I had become.

But my now the world had gone on and it was a different Spring that wanted me to put it into words.

.But as we Irish have it: " Bíonn dhá insint ar scéal agus dhá leagan déag ar amhrán!"

Or to English it for you: " There are two tellings to every story, and twelve versions of every song!"

This is my version with its pale and almost see-through hope with only the Irish title hanging on in there.

This is the great Frank O'Connor's translation.

Now with the springtime
The days will grow longer
And after St. Bride's day'
My sail I'll let go
I put my mind to it,
And I never will linger
Till I find myself back
In the County Mayo.

"Anois teacht an Earraigh
beidh an lá dúl chun shíneadh,
Is tar eis na féil Bríde
ardóigh mé mo sheol.
Go Coillte Mach rachad
ní stopfaidh me choíche
Go seasfaidh mé síos
i lár Chondae Mhaigh Eo."

His most famous poem is his Is Mise Raifteirí ...again a beloved staple of a 60's Irish school day.

Is Mise Raifteirí an file,
Lán dúchais is grádh,
Le súile gan solas,
Le ciúnas gan crá.
Ag dul síar ar m'aistear
Le solas mo chroí
Fann agus tuirseach
Go deireadh mo shlí

Féach anois mé
Is mo chúl le bhfalla
Ag seinm ceoil
Do phócaí folamh

I'm Raftery the poet,
Full of hope and love,
With eyes without sight,
My mind without torment.
Going west on my journey
By the light of my heart.
Weary and tired
To the end of my road

Behold me now
With my back to the wall
Playing music
To empty pockets.

And here is the first verse and chorus of  Óró sé do bheatha abhaile!

’Sé do bheatha, a bhean ba léanmhar
do bé ár gcreach tú bheith i ngéibhinn
do dhúiche bhreá i seilbh meirleach
's tú díolta leis na Gallaibh.

Chorus:

Óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
óró, sé do bheatha bhaile
anois ar theacht an tsamhraidh.

Hail, oh woman, who was so afflicted,
It was our ruin that you were in chains,
Our fine land in the possession of thieves...
While you were sold to the foreigners!

Chorus:

Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Oh-ro, welcome home
Now that summer's coming!
Donall Dempsey Feb 2019
AN ONABOOBOO

she copies my cat
laughs as the word leaps
into my voice

she sticks to her own
word for cat
"Onabooboo!" she chants

"C-A-T...spells. . ?"
I prompt her
"Onabooboo!" she screams

I leave her to her word
for now a cat must be
an "ONABOOBOO!"

I smile as she
her own little Adam
names things as she wants them to be

and so darling daughter
invents her own language
words flock to her

even now all this time later
I still pause before the word "C-A-T"
try hard not to call it an "ONABOOBOO!"
Donall Dempsey Feb 2016
AN ONABOOBOO

she copies my cat
laughs as the word leaps
into my voice

she sticks to her own
word for cat
"Onabooboo!" she chants

"C-A-T...spells. . ?"
I prompt her
"Onabooboo!" she screams

I leave her to her word
for now a cat must be
an "ONABOOBOO!"

I smile as she
her own little Adam
names things as she wants them to be

and so darling daughter
invents her own language
words flock to her

even now all this time later
I still pause before the word "C-A-T"
try hard not to call it an "ONABOOBOO!"
Donall Dempsey Feb 2020
AN ONABOOBOO

she copies my cat
laughs as the word leaps
into my voice

she sticks to her own
word for cat
"Onabooboo!" she chants

"C-A-T...spells. . ?"
I prompt her
"Onabooboo!" she screams

I leave her to her word
for now a cat must be
an "ONABOOBOO!"

I smile as she
her own little Adam
names things as she wants them to be

and so darling daughter
invents her own language
words flock to her

even now all this time later
I still pause before the word "C-A-T"
try hard not to call it an "ONABOOBOO!"
Amazing that this little scrap has survived...a torn bit of a child's exercise book. I was teaching my little one to spell cat and so I turned the letters into a basic cat drawing. She then copied not only the word but the word-drawing which highly amused her. She thought every word could be transformed so. But she insisted that a cat was nothing but( to use her evolving language)nothing but an ONABOOBOO! Where that emerged from inside her imagination I have no idea but still to this day a cat is and always will be an ONABOO BOO!
Donall Dempsey Apr 2019
AN ONLY AND ALWAYS NOW

The future
could hardly be

imagined
it lay

an hour away
which for a child

was a small
infinity.

Time had
no divisions.

The clock didn't tell it
what to do.

The world was only
and always now.

The moment made
of sunlight and that was all

that was needed
to be known..

It was summer holiday
land

and Time so to speak
stretched endlessly away

world
without end

ahhh men
running up the hill

all rifles
and shouting

trying to be soldiers
boys pretending to be men.

Oh look - a dog!

His mother's voice
lassoing him with her voice.

"Stay there!"
he commanded the world.

"I have to go in for bit but
...I'll be back!"

The soldiers shrunk now
to a dot in the distance.

The world  become
the dog's bark.
Donall Dempsey Apr 2020
AN ONLY AND ALWAYS NOW

The future
could hardly be

imagined
it lay

an hour away
which for a child

was a small
infinity.

Time had
no divisions.

The clock didn't tell it
what to do.

The world was only
and always now.

The moment made
of sunlight and that was all

that was needed
to be known..

It was summer holiday
land

and Time so to speak
stretched endlessly away

world
without end

ahhh men
running up the hill

all rifles
and shouting

trying to be soldiers
boys pretending to be men.

Oh look - a dog!

His mother's voice
lassoing him with her voice.

"Stay there!"
he commanded the world.

"I have to go in for bit but
...I'll be back!"

The soldiers shrunk now
to a dot in the distance.

The world  become
the dog's bark.
Donall Dempsey Mar 2024
AN ORDINARY DAY IN 1863

from out of the silence
a bell's voice
steps out on the air

shattering the frozen blue
of a sky cluttered with
the shriek of seagulls

a tiny church
packed to the brim
with humans singing hymns

the dead talking
to themselves
all the time

the living
never listening to
what they have to say

praising this
the newest
of days

a morning
opening to
the future

a leaf falling
on a broken grave
a lichen-eaten  name

two aliens
observing all
as it happens

discovering
and quoting
Shakespeare to each other

"Lord
what fools
these mortals be!"
AN ORDINARY DAY IN 1863

from out of the silence
a bell's voice
steps out on the air

shattering the frozen blue
of a sky cluttered with
the shriek of seagulls

a tiny church
packed to the brim
with humans singing hymns

the dead talking
to themselves
all the time

the living
never listening to
what they have to say

praising this
the newest
of days

a morning
opening to
the future

a leaf falling
on a broken grave
a lichen-eaten name

two aliens
observing all
as it happens

discovering
and quoting
Shakespeare to each other

"Lord
what fools
these mortals be!"
Donall Dempsey Feb 2020
ANOTHER COUNTRY

The hands of the clock
try to grab hold of me

as I dive through
its tick tocks

into the depths
of my private time

where mere mechanical timekeepers
and paper calendars

can not  hold me
to account.

I abandon time
leave it far behind

free now
from this fragile world

of flesh
and bone

my very being
my own.

Memory is "another country
they do things differently there."

Here a second is
a century.

A moment made of
timelessness.

PastPresentFuture
collapsing into one.

And I a child again
for whom time

does not exist
only this forever now.
Donall Dempsey Feb 2019
ANOTHER COUNTRY

The hands of the clock
try to grab hold of me

as I dive through
its tick tocks

into the depths
of my private time

where mere mechanical timekeepers
and paper calendars

can not  hold me
to account.

I abandon time
leave it far behind

free now
from this fragile world

of flesh
and bone

my very being
my own.

Memory is "another country
they do things differently there."

Here a second is
a century.

A moment made of
timelessness.

PastPresentFuture
collapsing into one.

And I a child again
for whom time

does not exist
only this forever now.
Donall Dempsey Jul 2021
ANOTHER NICE MESS

my face looks at me
as if it can't believe
what it is seeing

my face
hangs among the trees
like a Cheshire Cat

"Well..!" my reflection
nods at me
as it hangs in the blackness

"Here's another nice mess
you've gotten me into!"
my reflection is crying
Donall Dempsey Sep 2021
AN RUD A DÚIRT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20

"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmm the sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.

*

The éan beag that told me all this against the wishes of the sky...was the drud or druideog...the common starling or as in the W.B. Yeats' poem THE STARE'S NEST.

It liked to quote the lines to me in its own charming voice.

"We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty;"

And here was my little stare friend opening my mind out and turning the key.

When caught by the sky telling tales to humans the little fella tries to get out of it by telling the sky "I don't have any Irish at all!" but in Irish. Of course the sky although knowing everything didn't however know any Irish!

I was uncertain of the lines about uncertainty in the Yeats and was trying to remember the Callimachus about people not listening...how a mountain never listens to a sea. And David Cooke when he was staying with us was delighted to find some Greek that he both loved and could indeed read and I thought I betcha David could tell me. But of course not having a David Cooke at hand I stumbled along in these lines and offered up the poem to him.
Donall Dempsey Sep 2020
AN RUD A DÚRIT ÉAN BEAG LIOM
( A Little Bird Told Me)

- for David Cooke -

"For a bird of the air shall carry the voice, and that which hath wings shall tell the matter."  - Ecclesiastes 10-20


"Oh!" said the bird
" A human who..."

( and I never saw such
a surprised starling )

"...can understand
our language!"

"You can speak!" I blurted out.
"So, I see can you!" gasped the starling.

"The strange thing is...!"
I framed my words carefully

"...we can understand each other!"
the starling finished my sentence.

"But how..?"
being human I had to ask.

"Forget the hows and whys!"
friend starling replied.

"Just relish the moment
the such and suchness of it all!"

I made up my mind
to do so.

"Everything talks if
you only listen!"

the starling continued
its lesson.

"The mountains talk
to the seas continuously!"

The starling so
informed me.

"But humans never ever
(well hardly ever)listen!"

chirped the starling
playfully.

I see it had been listening
to Gilbert and Sullivan.

"And..." the starling went on
it was us birds who taught them!"

I could tell it was proud of
the whole nation of birds.

"Well, I'ill be...!" I sad.
"Yes..." said the starling "...a poet!"

"Poets know the language
of everything"

The starling stated
as if it were a law.

"What the reed in the rushes
told the lake..."

"Or how the sky sees
and says it all..."

Then its feathers trembled
with the change in the air.

"Well, I must fly!"
chuckled the starling.

"Well, well..." boomed the sky
in perfect Blueness.

"Was that a human
I saw you talking to..."

thundered it vastness
dark clouds looming on its horizon.

"Noooo - not me!"
lied the starling

for whatever
reason.

"Hmmm..!" hmmmmthe sky suspiciously
"He looked a bit Irish to me!"

"Níl Gaeilge ar bith agam ar chor ar bith!"
stammered the starling.

And the day continued on
talking to Time incessantly.
The éan beag that told me all this against the wishes of the sky...was the drud or druideog...the common starling or as in the W.B. Yeats' poem THE STARE'S NEST. It liked to quote the lines to me in its own charming voice.

"We are closed in, and the key is turned
On our uncertainty;"

And here was my little stare friend opening my mind out and turning the key.

When caught by the sky telling tales to humans the little fella tries to get out of it by telling the sky "I don't have any Irish at all!" but in Irish. Of course the sky although knowing everything didn't however know any Irish!


I was uncertain of the lines about uncertainty in the Yeats and was trying to remember the Callimachus about people not listening...how a mountain never listens to a sea. And David Cooke when he was staying with us was delighted to find some Greek that he both loved and could indeed read and I thought I bectcha David could tell me. But of course not having a David Cooke at hand I stumbled along in these lines and offered up the poem to him.
Donall Dempsey Mar 2017
ANSEO A TÁ TÚ
(YOU ARE HERE )


Spring had come
dressed the farm

in its best green.

Even the sky
wore the latest blue

a sort of shy
eternity.

Birds had been
perfectly positioned

after a great deal of thought
by whoever had put them

there.

Furrows crawled lazily
across the face of a field

glistening with a newness
that the day couldn't

help but be
excited by.

The trees were beside
themselves

madly in love
with time

who had been kind
to them for ages now.

Ballea lay
smiling before him

Even its very name
made his heart dance.

Even the very saying of it
made his soul swoon.

"Anseo a tá tú!"
he says to himself.

The Irish sweetening
each loved syllable.

"You are here!"
he reminds himself

in case one of the birds only
spoke English.

And never was the boy
who had come back

in the shape
of a man

as delighted
as he.


"Anseo a tá tú. . .indeed!"
his ghost smiles to his self.

*


I am wishing that in his dying my father will return  to the little farm in Cork and complete his life cycle by being the ghost of the little boy who adored the earth and sky of his native place. I wanted to hold his hand and bring him here even if only in words. Da...you are here!
I am wishing that in his dying my father will return  to the little farm in Cork and complete his life cycle by being the ghost of the little boy who adored the earth and sky of his native place. I wanted to hold his hand and bring him here even if only in words. Da...you are here!
Donall Dempsey Mar 2017
ANSEO A TÁ TÚ
(YOU ARE HERE )


Spring had come
dressed the farm

in its best green.

Even the sky
wore the latest blue

a sort of shy
eternity.

Birds had been
perfectly positioned

after a great deal of thought
by whoever had put them

there.

Furrows crawled lazily
across the face of a field

glistening with a newness
that the day couldn't

help but be
excited by.

The trees were beside
themselves

madly in love
with time

who had been kind
to them for ages now.

Ballea lay
smiling before him

Even its very name
made his heart dance.

Even the very saying of it
made his soul swoon.

"Anseo a tá tú!"
he says to himself.

The Irish sweetening
each loved syllable.

"You are here!"
he reminds himself

in case one of the birds only
spoke English.

And never was the boy
who had come back

in the shape
of a man

as delighted
as he.


"Anseo a tá tú. . .indeed!"
his ghost smiles to his self.
Donall Dempsey Mar 2021
ANSEO A TÁ TÚ
(YOU ARE HERE )

Spring had come
dressed the farm

in its best green.

Even the sky
wore the latest blue

a sort of shy
eternity.

Birds had been
perfectly positioned

after a great deal of thought
by whoever had put them

there.

Furrows crawled lazily
across the face of a field

glistening with a newness
that the day couldn't

help but be
excited by.

The trees were beside
themselves

madly in love
with time

who had been kind
to them for ages now.

Ballea lay
smiling before him

Even its very name
made his heart dance.

Even the very saying of it
made his soul swoon.

"Anseo a tá tú!"
he says to himself.

The Irish sweetening
each loved syllable.

"You are here!"
he reminds himself

in case one of the birds only
spoke English.

And never was the boy
who had come back

in the shape
of a man

as delighted
as he.

"Anseo a tá tú. . .indeed!"
his ghost smiles to his self.

*

I was wishing that in his dying my father would return  to the little farm in Cork and complete his life cycle by being the ghost of the little boy who adored the earth and sky of his native place. I wanted to hold his hand and bring him here... even if only in words. Da...you are here! You have come home...walk into the light.
Donall Dempsey Feb 2018
AN UNFAIRY STORY

whilst fretfully she sleeps
Frog Prince kisses the Princess
turning her into a beautiful frog

yes, and well...they lived
happy ever after as water
in the bottom of a deep deep well

what kind of fairy story
were you after....ahhhh
the grim human kind

frog prince & frog princess
hop happily about a bit
eating delicious(ribbit)flies

oh how our love has
spawned
tadpoles will be tadpoles I suppose

now it's time
for us to croak it
remembering our happy once upon a times
Donall Dempsey Feb 2020
AN UNFAIRY STORY

whilst fretfully she sleeps
Frog Prince kisses the Princess
turning her into a beautiful frog

yes, and well...they lived
happy ever after as water
in the bottom of a deep deep well

what kind of fairy story
were you after....ahhhh
the grim human kind

frog prince & frog princess
hop happily about a bit
eating delicious(ribbitribbit)flies

oh how our love has
spawned
tadpoles will be tadpoles I suppose

now it's time
for us to croak it
remembering our happy once upon a times
Donall Dempsey Feb 2024
AN UNFAIRY STORY

whilst fretfully she sleeps
Frog Prince kisses the Princess
turning her into a beautiful frog

yes, and well...they lived
happy ever after as water
in the bottom of a deep deep well

what kind of fairy story
were you after....ahhhh
the grim human kind

frog prince & frog princess
hop happily about a bit
eating delicious(ribbitribbit)flies

oh how our love has
spawned
tadpoles will be tadpoles I suppose

now it's time
for us to croak it
remembering our happy once upon a times
Donall Dempsey Feb 2019
AN UNFAIRY STORY

whilst fretfully she sleeps
Frog Prince kisses the Princess
turning her into a beautiful frog

yes, and well...they lived
happy ever after as water
in the bottom of a deep deep well

what kind of fairy story
were you after....ahhhh
the grim human kind

frog prince & frog princess
hop happily about a bit
eating delicious(ribbitribbit)flies

oh how our love has
spawned
tadpoles will be tadpoles I suppose

now it's time
for us to croak it
remembering our happy once upon a times
Donall Dempsey Aug 2017
ANY LITTLE FISH

.•´¯'•.¸¸><((((º>
in and out
¸.•´¯'•.¸¸><((((º>...°°°
among her thoughts
¸.•´¯'•.¸¸><((((º>...°°°
her first-seen-fish still swims
.•´¯'•.¸¸><((((º>
Donall Dempsey Jun 2017
ANY ONE VOWEL OF THE SINGER'S CHOOSING

The photo freezes
us into

this exact
instant.

Yet leaves out
the intense heat.

We locked into this
kiss forever

happening in colour
frozen in B&W.

Curiously there are no
insects in this

photographic world.

Yet so many
on that "then."

We are at once badly
smitten & bitten.

Our friend's song
also is not

captured
as the world stops

for just that
instant.

Her naked voice
stripped of words

her vocalise
tangled amongst

sunlight and leaves.

A fingerprint in purple
paint( added years later )

is not visible
on this

day of days
a thing tangible

as a soul
made visible

in deep purple.

The photo also fails
to convey

your lip's softness

the kiss's smell
of Chardonnay & menthol ciggies.

Sweet sweat
trickling into eyes wide open

our breaths
mingling.

I take in all
the photo elects

to leave
out.

The kiss
hidden now

by death...
...the death of days

and that infamous
famous purple fingerprint.
***
Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14, is a song by Sergei Rachmaninoff, composed and published in 1915 as the last of his "Fourteen Songs", Op. 34. Written for high voice (soprano or tenor) with piano accompaniment, it contains no words, but is sung using any one vowel (of the singer's choosing). It was dedicated to soprano Antonina Nezhdanova.
Ha ha...I just like the phrase...it is the instruction to the singer and I had only heard it sung on an O so my friend was doing A...I...E...U...and Y versions for me! All this singing floating about as the camera goes click in the middle of a kiss and we are trapped in a b&w forever. It was going to be called WHAT THE PHOTO LEAVES OUT but I'm much more pleased with its present title! Singers tend to do "O" versions mostly! Although there is a theremin version!
Donall Dempsey Jun 2018
ANY ONE VOWEL OF THE SINGER'S CHOOSING

The photo freezes
us into

this exact
instant.

Yet leaves out
the intense heat.

We locked into this
kiss forever

happening in colour
frozen in B&W.

Curiously there are no
insects in this

photographic world.

Yet so many
on that "then."

We are at once badly
smitten & bitten.

Our friend's song
also is not

captured
as the world stops

for just that
instant.

Her naked voice
stripped of words

her vocalise
tangled amongst

sunlight and leaves.

A fingerprint in purple
paint( added years later )

is not visible
on this

day of days
a thing tangible

as a soul
made visible

in deep purple.

The photo also fails
to convey

your lip's softness

the kiss's smell
of Chardonnay & menthol ciggies.

Sweet sweat
trickling into eyes wide open

our breaths
mingling.

I take in all
the photo elects

to leave
out.

The kiss
hidden now

by death...
...the death of days

and that infamous
famous purple fingerprint.
***

Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14, is a song by Sergei Rachmaninoff, composed and published in 1915 as the last of his "Fourteen Songs", Op. 34. Written for high voice (soprano or tenor) with piano accompaniment, it contains no words, but is sung using any one vowel (of the singer's choosing). It was dedicated to soprano Antonina Nezhdanova.

Ha ha...I just like the phrase...it is the instruction to the singer and I had only heard it sung on an O so my friend was doing A...I...E...U...and Y versions for me! All this singing floating about as the camera goes click in the middle of a kiss and we are trapped in a b&w forever. It was going to be called WHAT THE PHOTO LEAVES OUT but I'm much more pleased with its present title! Singers tend to do "O" versions mostly! Although there is a theremin version!
Donall Dempsey Jun 2015
The photo freezes
us into

this exact
instant.

Yet leaves out
the intense heat.

We locked into this
kiss forever

happening in colour
frozen in B&W.;

Curiously there are no
insects in this

photographic world.

Yet so many
on that "then."

We are at once badly
smitten & bitten.

Our friend's song
also is not

captured
as the world stops

for just that
instant.

Her naked voice
stripped of words

her vocalise
tangled amongst

sunlight and leaves.

A fingerprint in purple
paint( added years later )

is not visible
on this

day of days
a thing tangible

as a soul
made visible

in deep purple.

The photo also fails
to convey

your lip's softness

the kiss's smell
of Chardonnay & menthol ciggies.

Sweet sweat
trickling into eyes wide open

our breaths
mingling.

I take in all
the photo elects

to leave
out.

The kiss
hidden now

by death...
...the death of days

and that infamous
famous purple fingerprint.
Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14, is a song by Sergei Rachmaninoff, composed and published in 1915 as the last of his "Fourteen Songs", Op. 34. Written for high voice (soprano or tenor) with piano accompaniment, it contains no words, but is sung using any one vowel (of the singer's choosing). It was dedicated to soprano Antonina Nezhdanova.
Donall Dempsey Jun 2022
ANY ONE VOWEL OF THE SINGER'S CHOOSING

The photo freezes
us into

this exact
instant.

Yet leaves out
the intense heat.

We locked into this
kiss forever

happening in colour
frozen in B&W.

Curiously there are no
insects in this

photographic world.

Yet so many
on that "then."

We are at once badly
smitten & bitten.

Our friend's song
also is not

captured
as the world stops

for just that
instant.

Her naked voice
stripped of words

her vocalise
tangled amongst

sunlight and leaves.

A fingerprint in purple
paint( added years later )

is not visible
on this

day of days
a thing tangible

as a soul
made visible

in deep purple.

The photo also fails
to convey

your lip's softness

the kiss's smell
of Chardonnay & menthol ciggies.

Sweet sweat
trickling into eyes wide open

our breaths
mingling.

I take in all
the photo elects

to leave
out.

The kiss
hidden now

by death...
...the death of days

and that infamous
famous purple fingerprint.

*

Vocalise, Op. 34, No. 14, is a song by Sergei Rachmaninoff, composed and published in 1915 as the last of his "Fourteen Songs", Op. 34. Written for high voice (soprano or tenor) with piano accompaniment, it contains no words, but is sung using any one vowel (of the singer's choosing). It was dedicated to soprano Antonina Nezhdanova.

Ha ha...I just like the phrase...it is the instruction to the singer and I had only heard it sung on an O so my friend was doing A...I...E...U...and Y versions for me! All this singing floating about as the camera goes click in the middle of a kiss and we are trapped in a b&w forever. It was going to be called WHAT THE PHOTO LEAVES OUT but I'm much more pleased with its present title! Singers tend to do "O" versions mostly! Although there is a theremin version!
Donall Dempsey Dec 2020
A PIECE OF CAKE


I resolve
to have no

New Year's
resolutions.

The resolutions
I don't make - I can't break.

I can...&...I will
I tell myself...

my self doesn't believe
a word of it.

New Year's Resolutions
a piece of cake!

The cake....wins!

My resolve
dissolves

before a piece of cake
unable to lose weight


Let me -
"Eat cake!!!"
Donall Dempsey Dec 2018
A PIECE OF CAKE

I resolve
to have no
New Year's resolutions

the resolutions
I don't make
I can't break

I can...&...I will
I tell myself
my self doesn't believe a word of it

New Year's Resolutions
a piece of cake!
The cake....wins!

my resolve
dissolves
before a piece of cake

unable to lose weight
let me
"Eat cake!!!"
"Be at War with Your Vices, at Peace with Your Neighbours, and Let Every New Year Find You a Better Man."

Whether this be the real Ben and nothing but the Ben is getting hard to tell but wise words all the same.  Fake quotes but good words if by Mr. Apocryphal or Mr.Anonymous?

Or more possible Bens...

""A long life may not be good enough, but a good life is long enough.

Be at war with your vices, at peace with your neighbors, and let every New Year find you a better man.

Love your enemies, for they tell you your faults."

Or translated from the Spanish?

"Have peace with all men, war with all vices, and concord with thyself. Make thy words agree with thy thoughts, thy actions with thy words, and thy desires with thy actions."

Or alleged sayings attributed to Publilius Syrus...

“Keep thy word, even to an enemy, and have only good thoughts towards him; it is better to receive an injury than to do one.”

“Forgive others often, thyself never; for one must live at peace with men, but at war with one’s own vices.”

“Let us rival each other in gentleness and goodness, for this is the noblest emulation.”

Ok ok so it gets hard to say who said what where and when or how...the important thing is to live the words and be their action in the realness of your world. Just....do it.
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