SOOTHING SOULS

17/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Mass has passed

and dolled up dames
roam the rues

with coiffed up curls
and cardi’s over shoulders
in summer
as Scholl’s sooth ~~souls~~ soles,

widows
window shopping
for treats to tickle time

that has left them behind.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

CAPTURED

15/08/201616/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Light
catches glass,
catches colour,
creates contrast
on walls
and water.
Light
leans in
and leaves
illusions on lines
where once there was
but shadow.
Buildings
become boats
baring sails
to beckon
the breeze
which billows
at its ease
through colour
caught on glass
with is captured
in the light.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photographs taken today at the Foundation Louis Vuitton in Bois de Boulogne, Paris.

A TRILUNE; THREE MOONS

14/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 15 Comments

This poem is in response to Jane Dougherty’s Trilune challenge from http://www.janedougherty.wordpress.com. So check out her beautiful blog and join in…

A trilune is a poem of three stanzas of three lines of 3×3 syllables each (that’s 9 in case you were wondering), circling a central theme. The rhyme is on the third line of each stanza so you get a pattern of abc dec fgc.

Here’s my attempt:

One man promised to catch her the moon
to pull it down from the sky at night
but she feared that the stars would then die.

One man told her he’d buy her the moon
that money was never a problem
but she found out that this was a lie.

The last man never spoke of the moon
but held her as if she were the stars
so to him she never said goodbye.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/three-moons-a-trilune

FESTERING FRUIT

14/08/201616/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

Berries blacken in the bowl,
their scent no longer salivating
summer’s sweet seductions,
winter withers in the distance,
while fervent flies are fluttering,
wings flapping to the rotting
arousal of carnality lost
to natures once fair bloom.
Tastes are truly to the barer born.
Bitter berries are black in the bowl,
their flesh no longer fresh but
turned, they are turning
bruised attention to things
with darker tendencies,
igniting interest in insects,
finding themselves delicious
to diptera’s wavering wings
now deciphering detours
to decomposing juices of festering
fruits who’ve waned in worth.
Black berries, once in bloom,
are eager to be devoured
before their time dissolves.

Are we but berries
battling in this bowl of life;
thirsty to be tasted and tried
before we are aged and expired.

If only we could be grapes
that age in barrels and bottles.

All Words and Drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/festering-fruit

Meet and Greet from Dream Big Dream Often

14/08/201614/08/2016 / deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

This is Danny’s weekend of Meet and Greet, get to know your fellow bloggers, make new friends, find new followers and new fellows to follow…

It’s the Meet and Greet weekend!! Ok so here are the rules: Leave a link to your page or post in the comments of this post. Reblog this post. It helps you, it helps me, it helps everyone! Edit your reblog post and add tags. Feel free to leave your link multiple times! It is […]

via Meet and Greet: 8/13/16 — DREAM BIG DREAM OFTEN

FEATHERS IN FLIGHT

13/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

We are but fickle fellows,
like feathers that blow
at the beckoning of the breeze
and know not where we land.
We are the folly of fluttering fancies;
a collection of coincidental connections
that we cannot create, keep or control.
I found you once in a far flung field
and fought to find the freedom
to forge in you forever but wicked winds
wound my weakness in greater gales
and I lost my grounding in that garden,
never mine, never thine, never ours,
the petals perishing on prized plateaus
where passion never played to pleasure.
We are fellows of fluttering feathers,
too feeble to fight the forces
that blow us briefly onto bodies bare
and bring us back from that beauty
for fear we might one day
find the force to forge our own flight.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

TOPPLING TOWERS

11/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 6 Comments

And so
he built
himself
a tower,
a tall
terrific
tower
on the
tip of a
tumulus
far from
touch and
tenderness,
a non tactile
tower that
nobody
could
topple
as he’d
already
been tripped up
time and time before.
And one day he climbed
to the top of his tower on the tip
of that tumulus far from touch and tenderness
and, true as time can tell, he toppled on the tip of it,

tail over tit, and tripped right over it
with not a single soul to intervene and so thwart his tumble.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

CRASH

09/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

Did you wipe your feet
upon my head
before you walked
over me?

Allow me to bend first, at least.

Was I so accustomed
to your disregard
that I could not
feel you

tearing through me,
leaning on me,
raiding me,
raping me?

Did you wipe your sweat
across my brow
to save yourself
time?

Let me fetch you a towel first, my lord.

Was I so unaware
of your self serving scent
that I put myself
forward

in offering,
in sacrifice,
to serve and satisfy?

Was I the fool
you perceived me to be
while you pillaged me
of dignity?

I saw a light
in the beginning
in the distance
and again
at the end

I thought it
to be salvation
but it turned out
to be your reflection
in the mirror

I was standing
behind you
but, as always,
you didn’t see me

you couldn’t see
beyond yourself
and that self-centredness
that took us over

like the sharp glare
from the car light
when it’s too late

and Crash…

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

DAYS IN THE DAM

07/08/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

It’s funny
how you slip in
along the side lines
on days that don’t deliver
that don’t distract.

It’s strange
how you pull me
from the pit falls
on days when I feel undone
when I feel attacked.

It’s alarming
how you linger
in the background.

It’s odd
how you hold me
despite the distance
even though
I thought us done.

It’s funny
how you trickle by
when bikes blow past
and windmills bellow.
Its funny how a land
can be as addictive
as a hand to hold
a tie to bind
and a heart to heal.