' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' ' Midnight At The Museum Poem by Dónall Dempsey

Midnight at the museum
& the costumes come alive

paintings step
from the walls

just in time
for the Grand Ball

& in the moonlight
on all its magnicent opulence

it is St, Petersburg
as the century turns.

Morning blossoms
over a Dutch canal

& the ghosts
of exhibts

take their stands
as the hoards of tourists

hunger for their glory.


*

Down in the museum's
kitchen

a talking shadow
comes to life on the wall

peels potatoes
& chants

'bout this
'n' that

what it was like

we stand entranced
as history unwinds

the normal day to day
stuff of existence

as we leave
we leave

the shadow talking
to herself

unaware that there is
noone there.


**********

Our visit to the Hermitage in Amsterdam(AT THE COURT OF THE TSAR) showed us wealth beyond all means...as headless...footless...handless dumnies wore thier ballgowns and uniforms in a surreal display of how it was...manikin after manikin as if waiting for the music to begin. In another room they all revolved on a tinkly faded carouse...it was like walking with ghosts!

Downstairs in the former kitchen of the old folks home a display had a talking shadow cast upon the wall relating information. It existed whether we were there or not....going endless over the same story as if a ghost had returned to her old haunts...a rather chatty old ghost peeling potatoes in a shadowy world.

From old folks home to grand museum...even the buildings don't stay the same!