We kiss and cry
concurrently,
miserably happy,
oh happy misery
how sweet
your bitter pout
on my mouth
We love and lie
simultaneously,
lying fucking
fucking lying,
how seductive
your sweaty lies
between my thighs
We live and die
inexplicably,
dying to be happy,
oh happy death
how we crave
to know how it ends
before we even begin.
All words by Damien B. Donnelly
The train pulled away
it pulled at me
pulled all I’d known
away, leaving me
lost in a scent
that was neither
you nor I
but what we had
once been
before we’d broke
broken and pulled away
the train pulled away
pulled at broken bits
scented, soured, stained
and tourists pulled bags
this way and that, pulling
belongings bulging,
bags and baggage,
so much baggage, so much,
belongings, I don’t belong
I was empty handed
I was bagless,
covered in a stale scent
but without belonging
but weighed down
yes, weighted
with all the baggage
we’d accumulated
and curated
and cut down
and thrown out
and the train
pulled away
and you
slipped
away
They were conditioning,
conditioning attempts,
attempting to
condition them
under their conditions
with stimuli, using stimulus
trying to stimulate
his scrotum,
shock his scrotum,
to shock him,
shocking,
shocking stimuli
of scrotums on screens
Slide after slide
Shocking slides,
shoving more shocks
with each scrotum
into scrotums,
they called it
a mental disorder
order dismantled
ordered treatments
aversion,
aversive treatments
treat, treating
treacherous torture,
some transplanted testicles
giving gays boys
straight balls
to beef them
better then
push them
from being pansies
into to eating pussies,
they called them psychos
labeled them under
Psychosocial maladjustment
social adjustment needed
psychos shocking society,
shocked into submission
stitched out of condition
Converting conditions
Conditioned converting
Electroconvulsive converters
Causing convulsions
correcting characters
hunting the homo from the man
and hailing the new hetero
shocked, stunned,
silenced, desensitised,
submissive under stimulus
sectioned by stimulus
in days where we’ve still
to gain distance,
when being different
required medical assistance.
All words by Damien B. Donnelly
Movement
matters mainly
amid the currents of air
I caress
in flight
in dreaming
at night
I fall freely
on the breeze
I am taken,
turned, tuned
I am limitless
know no boundaries
I flit and flutter
at my own folly
forward falling,
I am light blazing
a burning star
burnt out,
barely visible
hardly begun
and yet unstoppable
I am man of the moon
I am the first step
I am freedom in flight
feathers rising in the night
all beneath a blanket of sleep.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
In the supermarket
on Saturday
in the 14th,
on the 14th,
in numb November,
in Paris, their Paris,
our Paris, my Paris,
people push grief
in comfortless trolleys
down shadowed aisles
of silence, strangers
claiming their spaces
in solidarity, in queues
of slow moving sorrow,
seeing shadow in places
where once there was light,
terror in crowds
where once there was music,
death in their streets
where once there was life.
In a supermarket
in the 14th,
on the 14th,
as the numbers rise
on a Saturday morning,
there is nothing available
on a single shelf
to fill the void
of what we lost
in the night.
It’s not the whole world
It’s not the end of the world
but it’s far too far from a perfect world.
on n’oublié pas
espoir est plus fort que horreur
Hope is stronger than horror
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
We twist and turn
as we tumble
into each other
away from ourselves
we are creature curious
entangled and entwined
in what others can offer
touching and tasting
trying hard to remove
the I’s from the us’s
we are covetous
we are envy
we are want
we are greed
we are ricochets
rocketing to-and-fro
between what we are
and what we crave
we twist and turn
and turn again
to the something new
the something shiny
the something still unseen
we twist and turn
and then we fall.
All words and layout by Damien B. Donnelly
16 Reasons why I can’t stop picturing Paris…
Jardin des Plantes, 5th arrondissement
Rue Tournefort, 5th arrondissement
Pantheon, 5th arrondissement
Rue Saint Jacques, 5th arrondissement
Parc Monceau, 8th arrondissement
Parc Monceau, 8th arrondissement
Nissim de Camondo Museum, 8th arrondissement
Nissim de Camondo Museum, 8th arrondissement
Pagoda Paris, 8th arrondissement
Rue Rembrandt, 8th arrondissement 
Passerelle Simone de Beauvoir, Bibliotheque Nationale du France, 12th/13th arrondissement 
Parc de Bercy, 12th arrondissement
Metro Lines, Bd Pasteur, 15th arrondissement
Rue Mabillon, 6th arrondissement
Jardin du Luxembourg, 6th arrondissement
Maison du L’air, Belleville, 20th arrondissement
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
It’s here. Over the summer months, http://www.originalwriting.ie launched three short story competitions and chose 10 winners from each to create its short story anthology 2015.
On Friday 6th November 2015, in Dublin’s Central Hotel, ‘Second Chance’ gets its rousing Irish launch.
Paris take a breather, Dublin here I come…
Original Writing are an Irish self publishing company, founded in 2006 and based in Dublin. They also run regular competitions to encourage and promote upcoming writers. Check out their website for details on their self publishing packages, resources and an unmissable blog with help, hints and everything a writer needs to know.
This is the book, in a box, printed, published and waiting to be read. Roll on Friday…
#GetWriting #GetReading
Time slips past
unannounced, unnoticed
age gains weight, adds numbers
carves lines, plots paths
tomorrow turns, becomes today
falls to yesterday
love slips past, everlasting
never lasting
hearts hold hands, change hands
change hearts
I do becomes I can, then I will try
I cannot stay
life slips past
ever evolving, ever learning
as we rise and fall
we crisscross, we get cross
we get crossed off
we get confused, we feel confined
compartmentalised
become complacent, begin to question
what we did, where we’re going
without ever knowing
what happens next…
All words and pictures by Damien B. Donnelly
We are all stars
we twist and turn and twinkle
we are the bright burning light
we blaze like the stars
twinkle, twinkle
we burn
we are burning
Like the stars
burnt out
tick tock
hurtling across the sky
hurting beneath the sky
where we cry
we are all stars
fast paced
fast moving
we are scuttling
scooting
shooting stars
shooting each other
bullets and diamonds
the diamonds in the sky
the diamond of my eye
the reflection
the defection
the glare
the stare
the star
twinkle tick twinkle tock
we are all stars
we are here now
tick
but long gone
tomorrow
tock
light years lost
in seconds
we are blazing brilliant
bright
on borrowed time
we are nothing
nanoseconds
we are empty
we have burnt it all
already
we are burning out
now
before we’ve begun
but our souls
they shine eternal
All words and graphics by Damien B. Donnelly
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
Spoken Word - Poetry, Flash Fiction, Prose
The Things That Are In My Head.
Stay Bloody Poetic
Author of 'Unmuted', 'Saudade' and 'Psychopathogen'
home of the elusive trope
Sharing writing tips, information, and advice.
Words about pictures by Michael Scandling
Writing, Poetry & Creativity | Angela T Carr, Dublin, Ireland
Kay McKenzie Cooke Website & Blog
Happy Soul🌙☀
My journey through photography
landscape and change
My poetry is my religion.
Colouring Outside The Lines
Expressing moments of Inspiration within a cozy setting
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Ps 147:3
Meanderings and Commentary
Art • Nature • Exploration
Poetry inspired by ethereal feelings, life events and personal philosophy.
A Journal of Brief Literature
Film, Music, and Television Critic
Writer
Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll
New Zealand
French magazine - art & visual culture
A palette of general thoughts & travel stories from all around the world
Jack Bennett
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
a poetry blog & online home to the work of José Angel Araguz, Ph.D.
By Miri Elm
Damien B. Donnelly 
