Blue boy
harbouring at hints
from other hues;
breathless to be breezy,
tu sais? A longing
to lay with lavender,
on a lawn of iris
and amethyst,
to be lyrical with lilac
in its supple shade,
to whisper over walls
like blankets over bodies,
like worry over waves,
ready to be ruby
in red,
ripe and raw
like the apple
in the orchard;
teasing temptations,
like willing wine
on the tip of the tongue
flowing like blood
through the body,
glad to go towards green,
to the shamrock and the sage,
to be mellow in the moss
and jovial in the juniper,
to gain again on the grounding
that was my fertile founding,
bounding back to the beginning,
(we can never go back to before- really?)
to venture back to the verdant valleys,
face to face with the unearthing
of all that came after
in cut and colour of that solid soil
from the cedar to the ochre
(are my eyes hazel
because you are their home?)
returning to the roots
of my becoming,
see them still turning
in the bright bog,
Eire and her energy,
and the emerald smile
that still shines on me
so far from that distant isle.
The green light, that orgastic future,
(he called it), we beat on
but are bound back
to where we began.
.
Blue boy
with green eyes, (hidden in hazel)
white skin
and the orange;
(my diversion with the Dutch?).
Now I am red
and white and blue,
blue again, you see;
you can always go back to before!

Blue boy
harbouring at hints
from other hues.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly. Picture taken in Ireland in 2003.

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