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Poems
Science Revision/English Revision (For Scarlett)
(15/07/56 / Curragh Camp, Co. Kildare, Eire.)

Science Revision/English Revision (For Scarlett)

Poem By Dónall Dempsey

SCIENCE REVISION

They had all seen
the water

change its nature

slowly turning into ice

a cube
they could hold
...cold

a solid they could now throw
watching water break & shatter.

“John...take that ice…out of your mouth! ”

Now we go the other way
& the cube cried
with heat

& reemerged as it’s true self
“wet water”
as Peter put it.

Now
- as Peter put it –
-
(no one could quite put it as Peter put it)

we...“melted water”

(“Not quite Pete…not quite but
I can see you thinking! ”)

And the water
screamed into steam.

“Now…can anyone
remember the term

we use when

water becomes steam? ”

The Browning Motion takes the atoms
for a walk around the room.

I stare into their
little silent faces

their 8 year old brains
furiously ticking over

all knowledge appears
to have evaporated

until a hand screams:

“Please Sir...me Sir! ”
it pleads.

Pleased that someone
has not forgotten

I beam: “ Yes John...
you tell ’em! ”

“It’s...the... resurrection of
the water! ”

Water become spirit?
(I can see it as he sees it)

and a plastic Christ
on a plastic cross

can’t help but
stifle a smile

I trying not to laugh
thinking in my mind

of the evaporation
of Jesus.

*******
ENGLISH REVISION

I sit
on top of the hill

in an old English
graveyard

in the middle of Ireland

which has been here
since 1860 something or other

reading Elizabeth Gaskel’s
MARY BARTON

a teenager
on top of
a broken tombstone.

The dead don’t bother me.
I don’t bother them

on this the sunniest
of days

reading of a time
the men

buried here

were more alive
than I

now.

User Rating: 2,6 / 5 ( 18 votes ) 3

Comments (3)

I know why you are such a great teacher...for I see the love for your kids shine through on this one, the patience, the understanding, and your joy in their learning! Wish I had had teachers like you when I was in school!
pure romantic poem 'on the top of the hill in an old English graveyard'... the wind blows in the long hair - real pleasure to be read...
I can imagine you reading this, with all eyes upon your learned words and sparkly-sad-smiling eyes. t x


Comments