Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
Written May '85 when I was 14
It's truly a shame in our day and time
that a child goes hungry: it should be a crime.
We say look ahead to a bright new dawn,
but tell that to a mother when her child is gone.
The baby died in her arms - she fell fast asleep.
They're used to it now and don't even weep.
The sickness, the death, it's not in a dream.
It's so close to home, but it's not even seen.
The cities, the slums, the famine, the drought -
we've got to do something. It won't work itself out.
There's food in the world, let's show that we care.
The children are dying - it's so hard to bare.
Many are dying and many more dead.
No food, no clothes, cold ground for a bed.
It's a serious thing, and oh it's so fatal.
LISTEN TO ME WORLD!
There's hunger in the cradle.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
Are we all fooled
and living in a mere thought
of someone else's mind
who, for an instant,
dwelled upon the concept of humanity
and then gave it up as ridiculous.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
Written for my little brother Eric,
Feb. '85, when I was 14.
As he cuddled softly in my arms
like a helpless young fawn,
I could feel his heart race with fear and see
his fists clench with every boom in the sky.
The rain poured harshly against the windows,
and the trees were brutally beaten by the wind.
The leaves lay astray on the ground,
leaving the trees bare, alone and ashamed.
The thunder booms and the sky brightly lit
reveals an eerie grave of leaves.
They fall close, so as to stay warm
from the cold hand of the wind.
My brother lays heavy,
yet his limp body is as peaceful and calm
as a blue morning sky.
His is safe, for it's only a storm.
He wakes quickly and smiles
but is still afraid of the howling wind
as it makes its ghostly music
through the treetops.
A squirrel is safe in its nest
and no bird flies willingly tonight.
It's now calm in the house
and the rain is letting up.
It was only a storm.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
Written in '85 when I was 14
It is early, and to the East I see the night
being softly shed from the earth.
The moon is barely visible through the morning clouds,
like a feather resting peacefully in a nest of cotton.
The sun’s rays flow softly across the sleeping earth,
waking the silver linings of the clouds.
They show brightly now like the gold rim
on the fine china on my grandmother’s shelf.
As I walked silently across the beaches
the cold, crisp water grasped my ankles
and then quickly ebbed into the ocean.
I say nothing so as not to ruin
the splendid beauty of God’s creation.
Instead I lay back in the cool, damp sand
and dream silly dreams of the princess
who was taken captive in the beautiful castle
I built yesterday in the sand.
And consider how man’s creation was slowly
given back to the earth.
The air is no longer quiet but filled with love
and laughter from the children down the way and
from the small fishing boats leaving the harbor
to cast their traps.
I laid back in the sand to think,
and soon sleep takes me over
like total darkness to a small lonely candle.
When I awoke, the boats were heading home,
and the sun – tired of holding itself up –
fell reluctantly behind the horizon.
In the dusk of a once beautiful day,
I walk slowly home through the shallow water
near the beach and think to myself,
“Today was a good day. God must be proud.”
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
A broken heart is a grievous, heavy load.
Put it here on my back –
that burden that is too heavy for you.
For my love for you will bear it up – and you as well.
It is too much for your sweet frame.
And to tell all truth, it is my burden to bear.
So let me love you…because I do.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
I have no magic words to heal your heart;
I’ve caused deep wounds–black and blue and raw.
The memories, like relentless scavengers, they gnaw
To tear the fragile sinew of our love apart.
Your thoughts, I know, are like serrated blades,
With stinging blows almost too much to bear.
And a brassy heaven to echo back your feeble prayer
And make you wonder why you even prayed.
I cannot know the trepidation you must feel
Alone and empty, filled with doubt and strained.
To wonder: are “all things new” or simply feigned.
These last few months, an illusion or are they real.
Yet, unbeknownst–behind the scenes–stealthily they fly;
The answer to our forgotten prayers is sent.
From Heaven’s throne where once, with doubt, we went,
With tears, questioning if our petitions reached so high.
With hope, though love will not your scars erase,
We with doubting, trembling faith proceed,
And from the tempter’s vile grasp are freed,
With love anew we run the race.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
I have looked in vain,
but my name is not listed
among the “great” names of history.
My heart skips when I learn
a distant relative was
a name that others will recognize.
But the generations between
are all forgotten names and
long forgotten people.
What a cold, sad thought
that not a person in the world
thought about them once today,
except me.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|
Details |
Brian Dempsey Poem
When I think
Of all the hurt I’ve caused,
Of endless tears, I paused;
And you were there.
On the brink
Of utter ruin I see a ray
Of shining hope, bright as day,
And answered prayer.
Though the course
Of forever love seems hard,
Of forgiveness, though deeply scarred,
We go together.
With deep remorse
Of my sin and shame,
Of transformed heart - not the same,
We are forever.
Copyright © Brian Dempsey | Year Posted 2015
|