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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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of an out-of-date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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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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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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Bedroom Karoake
Pink Champagne & I
love your hair...eh?
With a hairbrush
I sing
(prancing like a prat)
doing Rosemary Clooney
doing her thing.
Come on a my house... my house a come on
Come on a my house...my house a come on
Come on a my house...to my house
I’m gonna give ya candy!
You in stitches
having never seen a naked man sing
an old 1950’s song
from his childhood.
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poem by Dónall Dempsey
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WHAT FOLKS DID(for Lyn)
She was born
into a world
without telephone...television
motor car or aeroplane
“all the damn modern things”
she never did get used to
even when they invidiously invaded her life.
Even now
in her little one room flat
at the end of her life
she berates the telephone.
“It just rings and...rings! ”
She loudly complains.
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The Ying & Yang Of Her Hair
One day I tell her
I love her hair
up.
Another day I tell her
I like her hair
down.
“Which is it? ”
She frowns
“Up
or
down! ”
“Ah...”
I say
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