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Where Or When - Dónall Dempsey


You wear a light summer dress
that covers your body
in flowers

that cling


here to a thigh...
...there a breast

that clings
like music

to the curve of a hip. . .
... the little splash of the hem of a dress

as the garden orchestra plays
seducing the hours

until they relent
and make love to the twilight

like humans make love
the kind of love that is made
when one is in love

and I remember this body
dancing now before me

totally in love
with the music

which
calls it...calls it

I remember this body

stepping delicately
from its shower

sighing with closed eyes
as I dried its wet nakedness

patting it dry
bit by bit

loving the big fluffy towelness of it

here a breast...
... there a hip

pausing
to kiss it

bit by bit

your eyes still closed
(a sigh trembling on your lip)

and I dressing
your body
in the flowers
that now in music
sway before me

offering me
its beauty

as it cuts
through time

in time with the music

a hand elegantly here
hair wildly flying there

as night becomes
morning

your voice nuzzling into my neck:
“Oh, darling...darling! ”

Now, in these early hours
I take off your flowers

scattered across a moonlit floor

kiss

here your breast...
... there a hip

kiss

your lips

for hours & hours

a rose in a vase
still wide awake

stares

until morning
like a holy offering

brings us
dreams and sleep

sleep

&

Dreams

* * *
WRITING...

WHERE OR WHEN

I was 9 when I first heard my first Rodgers & Hart song and I...just burst out crying. It was(and I’ll always remember) . . .MY FUNNY VALENTINE.

It was only the first few notes but that was enough...and then there was the words…and that was more than enough…too much. I couldn’t bear its beauty. I couldn’t bear its sadness. I couldn’t bear its truth... and I couldn’t bear to be without it. I not only loved it but adored it…worshiped it…every note...every word of it. I was glad to be part of the world that this was part of. It was bliss.

My poor old Dad had jumped up, frightened to death... thinking I had been stung to death by a bee or a wasp. He was greatly relieved that no wasp or bee had got me and understood the nature of loving something so much... seeing that it was he who had given this gift to me. Unable to read I had read many beautiful things in the book of my father’s voice. The book of his voice was beautiful to me and I read there willingly. Now, with relief seeping in (“Jaysus, you put the heart crossways in me! ”) he laughed at my childlike explanation:


“I’m crying because it is so beautiful...its beauty hurts me...it hurts my soul! ”


“Ah, Donall son...” he smiled “...the beauty of the world hath made me sad! ”

He was always quoting poetry as if it were his own as if he had made it up on the spot that very moment. It would take me years to untangle what was and what wasn’t his or him...but always poetry was the beauty of sound on someone’s lips regardless of whether I knew who wrote it...my dad’s voice owned it.

In the world of my early childhood(women seemed to be forever swathed in summer dresses with immaculate flower prints flowing all over the beauty of their bodies) . I cried because they were so beautiful. They hurt my soul.

A floral frock then was the essence of femininity and its spell has still not worn off(from the middle of the 1950’s) ... it lingers in my mind like woodbine twisting around the stem of honeysuckle…one at one with the other...the flower of my childhood adored like no other...its perfume lingering now in parfum upon the nape of my lover’s neck as I stroke back her hair to tell her that I love her... I love her! Her smile like her perfume still floating in the air after she is gone. “Oh woman much missed...how I cry to you...cry to you...”

As Hardy or my Dad or my own voice once cried..

I could always recognise a Rodgers & Harts song(even if I had never heard it before) because it would almost invariably make me weep. Gradually song after song that I wept to become known to me as being written by these two. Even now bringing my friend Gina to a show in Hampstead entitled ONE FROM THE HEART...it was hard to hold back the tears. I can’t hear a Rodgers & Hart in public or else... The actor playing Larry was Hart reincarnated...a sheer delight. When he sang the immensely sad SPRING IS HERE...oh God!
One of the earliest joys I could ever treasure was saving up pocket money to own for my very own...ELLA FITZGEARLD SINGS THE RODGERS AND HART SONGBOOK. I played it until there were no more grooves in it only the whisper of the ghost of it...I sang them in my mind whilst doing dishes... hummed them in homework...they becoming the soundtrack of my life and someday I had hoped to meet the love of my life and for a Rodgers & Hart song to come true.

And indeed it did... Frieda flew into my life as easy as a leaf floating through an open window settles itself upon a chair and settles itself in as if it were expecting to be served tea. Frieda was magical...she could turn herself into a fallen leaf…a piece of music to be danced to...a smile that could break a heart...a heart that smiled and smiled... a beautiful daring darling woman...essence of woman.

One night invited to a ball(garden orchestra and all) on a Valentine’s Day night she wore a beautiful floral print that imprinted her body on the back of the eye leaving no room for anything else to enter... I was totally enraptured.

During the evening the orchestra leader announced a selection of tunes by the most romantic writers of a song...Rodgers & Hart. I was in heaven.
Here was the woman I loved above all and we danced to tune after tune under a full moon. In the poem we are dancing to WHERE OR WHEN and falling in love all over again. Each time we saw each other we fell in love as if for the first time...we were constantly amazed at the wonder of each other and couldn’t take our eyes off of each other...each moment as if we had just met.

I remember Frieda having her shower and me wrapping a big fluffy towel around her as she stepped out. I kissed her breast and she closed her eyes... didn’t open then again until I had her dried and dressed her from her delicate under garments to her beautiful dress. Blind with love... I brushed her hair... put on her make up...prepared for her to leave for the ball and only then did she open her eyes and kiss me...tell me how wonderful it was to live in a world of just the sensation of me attending her every need...clothing her...looking after her...trusting each movement that happened to her as if nothing could happen to her. She said she had felt me so intensely and each touch was a little miracle...each kiss a little prayer. She said she had wanted to stay there forever. She laughed and I laughed at her laughter... delicious as water to a dying man in a desert. I was impossibly happy and hopelessly in love.

The poem(as is its nature) relates relentlessly what happened then and the magic of an afternoon that nodded off into twilight and night became dawning.
If ever there was a moment I wanted to keep and treasure for ever and ever it would be...this one.

Dónall Dempsey

Vital Statistics - Dónall Dempsey


75%
of women

wear the wrong
size bra.

15%
of women

send flowers to themselves

on Valentine’s Day.

Who knows
how many

hearts are broken.

Dónall Dempsey

THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF KISS(A Pre-Valentine Poem for Jan...man!) - Dónall Dempsey


Your drying dress
swoons in this summer heat

pining on a hanger
longing for the curves

your body
creates

your naked shadow
falling now

across my sweating
torso

caressing me with laughter

my name
so sweet

upon your tongue

translated as it is
into the secret

language of
kiss.

Dónall Dempsey

PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS(A Pre-Valentine Poem for Jan...man!) - Dónall Dempsey


We declare
- this our bedroom -

an independent
dominion

secede from
the United Kingdom

& the Commonwealth
of Nations

(although still enjoying
our European unions) .

Us a Republic
of Love

out on our own

our New Found Land
as Donne had done

a currency
of caresses

our national tongue
...kisses

needing nothing
but the other

to complete
our independence

flying the flag
of happiness

in this our brave
new world

of
Love.

Dónall Dempsey

Natural Jewel - A Haiku Sequence - Dónall Dempsey


THE POWER OF PRAYER

Top blouse button goes ping!
“Oh! That sort of thing is always happening! ”
Happen again...please!

I CANNOT TELL A LIE!

Ravishing cleavage!
“Are you looking at my breasts? ”
“Yes! Oh yes...oh yes! ”

NATURAL JEWEL

A trickle of sweat
comes to rest between her breasts.
Natural jewel!

NEVER VERY GOOD AT CARDS

Playing Strip Poker.
You fully clothed & me
completely...starkers!

THERE MUST BE SOMETHING YOU’RE GOOD AT?

So...playing Strip SnAP!
Huh! Slightly evens things up!
I’m quick & you’re nude!

BLISS

A cascade of hair
covers & uncovers where
her lips leave kisses.

STRIKING THE FIRST BLOW.

“So...hello” she smiled.
“It didn’t look like you would
say hello, so...hello! ”

ARE YOU TRYING TO TELL ME SOMETHING I SHOULD ALREADY KNOW?

Your breast touches my
arm by mistake on purpose.
You smile – all knowing.

SAINT VALENTINE’S DAY IN THE POSH RESTAURANT.

As I order wine
your foot teases my crotch.
“Yes...the...Char...don...ay! ”

SHE’S GOT IT ALL TIED UP!

“Can you tie my lace? ”
she plonks her foot in my lap
parts her legs & laughs.

HARD NOT TO BE.

Ever so gently
you brush against me softly.
“Oh! You’re so – hard! ”

PUBLIC MENACE

Walking down the road
you stop...adjust stocking top
as cyclist crashes.

SURPRISE...SURPRISE!

Clothes lie scattered on
each successive step of stairs:
You...naked - in bed!

SUNLIGHT DAZZLES THE WATER

Cradling our bodies
the boat rocks us back & forth
...gently...making...love.

HERE'S LOOKING AT YOU KID!

Watch Casablanca
cry: tell you you're my girl...you
tell me I'm your guy!

HOW CAN WE TELL THE DANCER FROM THE DANCE?

She dances naked
dressed only in the sound of
wind chimes & bracelets.

Husband & Wife Team

Party! And your boob
pops out...and I...pop it back!
I'm handy like that.

HAVING TEXT

“X X X “ she texts
& yes...he feels it as if
they were real kisses.

HOPE SHE REMEMBERED TO WASH HER HANDS

She, prim as a pin:
emerges from the LADIES
skirt tucked in knickers.


THE PAPER RESPONDS TO THE POEM

Writes a poem for me
about my naked body
on my bare bottom.

BECOMING MUSIC

You in a tutu
and...little else: my eyes wild
dancing with delight.

MY FAVOURITE FLAVOUR

Edible knickers?
Tasty! My favourite flavour..?
Mmmmmmm...you... you... you...you!

NOW, YOU'RE DECENT AGAIN!

Sewing button on..
your head near my crotch - you bite
the thread... job well done!

IN THE COLOURING BOOK OF OUR LOVE

Black painted toenails
beetles on a red carpet
white lake of spilt milk
YOU’LL CATCH YOUR DEATH...HERE PUT ON THIS!

Caught in that shower
you dry my male attire
as I wear your dress.

INDEX RISES

Your fluffy white towel
falls: reveals all your assets!
Stock market goes up!

WHEREFOR ART THOU?

Lost in reverie
she combs her beautiful hair
remembering...him!

YOU MUST REMEMBER THIS?

How can I forget..?
Kisses taste of Chardonnay
Camel cigarettes.

SOME LIKE IT HOT!

Boil kettle for tea
make love instead...as water
turns itself to steam!

ESSENTIAL FOOTWEAR

Knickers & fishnets
stuffed into the left hand shoe
fags/lighter in the right

HOT STUFF! '

The height of summer!
You in that little blue dress
...my ice cream melting!

REQUIRED VIEWING

I watch you watching
T.V. Soap(in the nude) .
Me... just glued...to you!

PRIVATE MEMBERS ONLY!

Oh! An erection
(kind of thing that grows on you)
Handy thing to have!

DIRECTIONS: YOU ARE HERE!

Go straight on into
your dreams: turn right at Love &
find yourself...in me.

How To Decide What To Get Him For A Present

She remembers how
he stroked...kissed.. her thighs: & buys
- the most shocking tie!

I Knew You'd Find It In The Bath! -

Note in a bottle
tells you: 'I'm shipwrecked in bed
...come & rescue me! '

EMPTY ENVELOPE

Eh? What can it mean?
Next letter explains: ' Sorry...
forgotl to put...letter in!

INTOXICATION

You pour me a drink
from your mouth to my mouth &
I am drunk on you.

IN LOVE WITH THE RAIN

The umbrellas merge
become as one as they fall
in love & puddles

* * *

Laughter & chatter
the share the same umbrella
totally in love.

* * *

Heads joined at forehead
lovers walking & talking
not noticing...rain.

JAILBREAK

Trapped in fluffy towels
one breast tries to escape but
gets stuffed back inside.

INDEX RISES!

Your fluffy white towel
falls: reveals all your assets!
Stock market goes up!

KNOWING ME KNOWING YOU

A curtain of hair
hides that knowing look I know
you are giving me!

Coming To A Haiku Near You!

Yes! Appearing on
Brighton pavilion...a kiss
starring me & you!

Death By Telephone

The phone rings & it's:
...not you! Rings again - still not
you! What will I do!

'Gulp! Gulp! Gulp! ' - A Haiku

Naked, she drinks milk
...spills out of mouth...over breasts.
She grins: 'Ya want...some? ! '

Dónall Dempsey

Coming To A Haiku Near You! - Dónall Dempsey


Coming To A Haiku Near You!

Yes! Appearing on
Brighton pavilion...a kiss
starring me & you!

*******

Coming Clean - A Haiku

“Take a bath with me! ”
You drag me in clothes ‘n’ all
Grab Life by the balls!

******
Communion - A Haiku

Butterfly alights
upon your pregnant belly
at one with our child.

******

Day after St. Valentine's Day - A Haiku

Lighting up a fag.
'Oh, God - Life is such...a drag! '
Love...gone up in smoke.

******

Dónall Dempsey

LOVE IS LIKE A 147(for Max) - Dónall Dempsey


Your death
lay hidden

waiting for me
curled up in the telephone

jumping out

as my mouth
mouthed the words.

“Yes...yes...I
understand! ”

I, understanding
nothing.

Trapped
inside this silence

unable to believe
the realness

of your smile
becoming

only
a memory.

The sound of your laughter
in my mind

starting the tears.

*******

Casting around for words for a Valentine’s Day card(we had been making fractal constructions) we finally decided to go with Max’s definition of what Love is..

This was highly coloured by Max’s all abiding love for snooker and his hero Ronnie O’ Sullivan.

The card now read: “LOVE IS...LIKE A 147…

IT CLEARS THE TABLE FASTER THAN A RONNIE O’ SULLIVAN.”

A 147 being the biggest break you can get in snooker.
Max had the most amazing energy and delight in life…he lived fully in the moment.

The world is a lonelier place without his love of life.

Dónall Dempsey

SUPER...MAN...JUST SUPER MAN! (being a pre-Valentine for my Jan) - Dónall Dempsey


I wanted to be
your Superhero

but all the be best ones
were already taken.

Superman...Batman...Spiderman
(oh how they roll off the tongue)

Dr. Strange or Daredevil or
Green Lantern even!

So I had to become
my own one.

Now I hear you cry
kiss-less & cuddle-less

but have no fear
for I am here

created by your own
longing

a Superhero to suit you!

'It's...it's
Mr. Kiss Kiss & Cuddles Man! '

'To the rescue! '

'Oh...my hero! '

Dónall Dempsey

Happy Valentine/Un-happy Valentine - Dónall Dempsey


HAPPY VALENTINE

You hurt my heart.

It still sings!

I love the way you do
'...those things! '

UN-HAPPY VALENTINE!

You hurt my heart.

It still stings!

F**k Feb.14th &
all '...those things! '

Dónall Dempsey

Biography of Dónall Dempsey

Dónall Dempsey is an Irish poet who writes from London and Southeast United Kingdom. He lives alone in London without even a cat! Dónall has read with John Cooper Clarke and Paul Durcan on Irish television and has made two radio programmes for RTE. As the RTE GUIDE so succinctly put it: “ the only way to read a Dónall Dempsey poem is to have it performed by the author.” SONATA FOR POET AND COMPOSER was a radio collaboration performed by Dónall and the composer Jolyon Jackson. Dónall had stopped writing and performing for many a long year, but a recent head injury and paralysis caused him to confront this lapse and resume the mantle of poet. I guess if that’s what it took then that’s what it took. He is now manfully working his way through both paralysis and poetry and hopes to get out of one and enter the realm of the other.

COME VIENE...VIENE!
(WHAT COMES...COMES!)


The sun is
preaching her sermon

to the town
of Praiano

that clings to the cliffs
in wonder.

Here in her hand
of light & water

she tells the parables
of pebbles.

One wave waves to another
as she walks upon the water.

Bells undress Time
disrobe her of her hours.

Lemons grow
big-bellied on branches

pregnant
with yellow.

The juice
of the Future

praying in a church
of trees.

Here, a congregation
of butterflies & bees.

Grapes dream of being
turned into wine.

Figs ripen
with pleasure.

The gods of pagan times
survive

disguised as statues.

I only believing
in the religion of

a woman's
laughter.

And even now
as darkness

grows
upon the rose

it's as if
the sunlight never leaves

only changes
colour

and the sunlight darkens
only to blossom

into the next morning
in love with Time.




CHE COSA SI FA

Il sole
sta predicando

alla citta
di Praiano

che miracolosamente
si aggrappa alle scogliere.

Qui nella sua mano
di luce ed acqua

racconta le parabole
di ciottoli.

Un' onda fluttua verso un'altra
come cammina sull'acqua.

Le campane spogliano il Tempo
la svestono delle sue ore.

I limoni crescono
rigonfi sui rami

gravidi di giallo.

Il succo
del Futuro

che prega in una chiesa
di alberi.

Qui una congrgazione
di farfalle ed api.

L'uva sogna di essere
trasformata in vino.

I fiche maturano
con piacere.

Le divinita dell'epoca pagana
sopravivono

transvestite in statue.

Io credo solo
nell religione

di una risata di una donna.

E anche ora
come il buio

aumenta
sopra la rosa

e come se
la luce del sole non andasse mai via

ma cambia
solo colore

e la luce del sole si oscura

per fiorire
la mattina dopo

innamorata del Tempo.


Copyright © 2010 Dónall Dempsey

*******
I wrote this poem last year after coming back from Praiano( between Amalfi and Positano ). I had been going there for the last two years and fell in love with the place. So this is a love poem to a place and a love poem to life just busy being itself. I wrote it first in very poor Italian( hardly have any) and then translated it into English. My Italian wasn't up to it, so my friend Marisa helped make it flow! I lost both English and Italian versions and only discovered them this year after coming back from Ischia.