One Man & His Dog Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Go
for a walk

in the wilds
of Connemara

anything to
escape

the artistic tensions
of poets & publishers

Jungian & Yoga teachers

sharing a summer

cottage together

not realising
the clash of egos

that would be
released.

Atomic.

Ostensibly I am gone
to pick mushrooms.

I begin to run

become the wind

take off my awkward
city shores

run with them
in my hand

then
my awkward one by one
city clothes

these but
the human trappings

of civilisation
clutched tightly

flapping
in my paw.

I all
animal now

run
naked as the wind

along the towering thundering
Cliffs of Moher

the sea crashing
600ft below.

Next stop
America!

Across the Atlantical
Ocean

a thunderstorm
(by Jove!)

pitches
its might

against my puny
naked humanness.

I a Lear-like
“poor forked
animal.”

I run
screaming into its madness

THE TEMPEST’s “Then...
...to the elements...

be
free! ”

Believing there is not
another soul

in this God forsaken
world

this moonscape
of a wasteland

I run faster
trying to escape

my self

leave my self
behind

whereupon I am
shocked

(in a lightning flash)

to
encounter
(as an astronaut would be
on the moon)

an old farmer
out walking his dog.

Tips his hat
to me politely.

“Nice day
for it! ”

is all
he says.

My bare
behind

leaving them far behind

as I run
run like the wind

naked along

the Cliffs
of Moher

into the embrace
of the storm

listening only
to what the Thunder said:

”Shanti.”

“Shanti! ”

“Shanti! ”