Around Here.
His battered old suit
simply his best
by not being worn
hangs on a hanger
waiting for a Sunday
or a christening or a funeral
to come ‘round
but nothing ever comes ‘round
‘round here
...only an occasional Sunday
or the funeral
that is your own
your last chance
to wear your best
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Ah Where Are The Newspapers Of Yesterday?
We chased
yesterday’s news
all over
the grass
laughed
as the old newspapers
ran this
way & that
“kites
without strings”
We pretended them.
Just add wind
& presto...fun!
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Kissing The Naked Stars
Your star
earrings
leave tiny star
like scars
that I like
to kiss
when you undress
your ears
& put your earrings
to bed in a musical
jewelry box
with a dancing
ballerina on top
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Yeah I Hate You Too!
Our life
was like
two marbles
in a box
chipped...cracked
that a child
forgot
or the bric-a
-brac down the back
of a sofa
a hairy half-sucked humbug
an out-dated coin
an earring that wasn't mine
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Theatre of the Self (for my old pal Al)
Incense
& music
candle light
& stained glass
these
my religion
the church
of the senses
my only existence
lost
in the sweet jangle
of the swinging brazier
prayer
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Clothes Have No Memories (for Doreen)
Your most prized dress
must confess
that it
cannot
remember
the swell of your breast
the rise & fall of your breathing.
Clothes have no memory.
It is Winter now and your summer
frock has totally forgot
the sheer sunny shockingness of being
(underneath it all)
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Death Takes The Piss
Death goes on the piss
(he's already had a few too many) .
Death goes on the tear
(looking the worse for wear) .
Death belche4s: 'The drinks...
...are on me! '
Death only wants a little company.
But, when last orders are odered
...nobody's there!
Death drinks alone
...then goes home.
Death thinks: 'It's a dirty job but...
... someone's gotta do it! '
'I just wish it wasn't me! '
Then goes on living -
- so that others may die.
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Just IS! (for Gina)
Because you are
the way you are
I love you
just the way
you is.
*******
JUST IS
Poetry is shadow
dancing with light.
Poetry is paper
longing to become voice.
Poetry is musical notation
turning into sound.
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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Kissing In The Dark
KISSING IN THE DARK
I write our names
on opposite pages
of an out-of-date
diary.
I scrawl myself
on JULY 27th 1986.
I scribble you
on JULY 27th of
that self same year.
It is now
JULY 27th 2012.
We exist...so:
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My Name in Sleep (Birthday poem for Helen)
I wash her hair
for her.
She loves the ritual
of suds & lather.
The hide & seek
of boo & peep!
I shape different shapes
build up swans & castles upon her head
show her my creations
laugh at her laughter.
Heap hats
upon her
crown her
call her
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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