A selection of my poems can be heard along with Janice Windle's on... in case you are curious as to what voice adds to the poem on the page. It's your choice!
We call ourselves SHADOWS OF OUR FORMER SELVES
A month ago I kissed a woman and we went to bed for a month....lost in the embrace of each other...unwilling to leave the sacred circumference of a cuddle. In this beloved space we wandered(in) and(out) of each other’s heads and shared the same heart.
One and one is...one.
Our pasts flew like tributaries into the present river of our big love.
She ripped up my loneliness right in front of my eyes and I laughed as the wind scattered it in all directions. She replaced it
(meticulously...mellifluously) with the ticking device of her love – her heart.
My heart chimed right in...time becoming timelessness.
Here I have come to live for ever if ever a forever there was.
Her kiss is the simplest most direct route to happiness...her touch... transforms me and makes me the man I should have been all this time that I wasn’t.
I climb inside her head and look out of her eyes at me and see myself as I am...a loved man. Well...loved...man! I blossom when her eyes smile at me and fall petal by petal in the presence of her absence.
Her love is the only thing I have ever wanted and could ever desire.
And so here I float above and beyond everything I have ever known...naked in the darkness...head thrown back in the ecstasy of my delight...being drawn ever further in... by the vortex of her... desire.
Me... new born to this universe of her...floating in an endless ocean of her love.
She draws me to her and paints me anew and I step forth from her canvas...still glistening with paint...as I come alive and take her hand...walk into the future that stretches before us and is ours...for the asking.
Painting of Mr.Dempsey by Janice A. Windle
Mr.Dempsey's heart tended tenderely by Janice A. Windle
Janice A. Windle played by Janice A. Windle
The part of Mr. Dempsey played by Mr. D.G.O.D. Dempsey
The lovers played respectedly by Janice A. Windle and by Donal Dempsey.
The poems played by themselves.
No poems were harmed or injured in the making of this love.
Donall of the Dempseys does what the words tell him. They hold him hostage in a page yet to be written. They demand that a million poems be left in a hollow tree in Central Park. So far he has only got 2065 and was to go to New York at Christmas…so maybe…perhaps. Perhaps not.
The words say no harm will come to him if all their demands are met by High Noon in Casblanca. The words(we are desperate people) have cut off a piece of his mind which they have given to the police to show they are serious. Time it would appear is running out on him. Jan is going out of her mind with worry. “He hasn’t got that much brains in the first place...is this my best side? ” she pleads. Stop this mindless violence and return the human at once the police request but the words aren’t saying anything. The rest is silence.