She was not made
for sunlight
and silly,
she was not designed
for display
and distraction.
She loves moonlight
where her tears
find comfort in the stars
and her shadow
is more shelter
than cell.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Based in a Twitter poetry prompt from #WrittenRiver



wash away
on the water,
watch them whisper,
whimper and wither
on the waves,
on summer nights
under fading lights.

Watch worries wash away
leaving lithe light to linger,
to illuminate a longing
for all that is yet to come.

Words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Today is the 2nd year anniversary of part 2 of my life in Paris. I moved here on July 17th 2015. I first moved here form Dublin when I was 22. At that point I knew as little about anyone in this city or the city itself as I did about myself. Two years later London called and I packed a few bags and moved. When Amsterdam called 6 years after that, the bags had become boxes and the identity of who I was, a little clearer. I’d already learned that you can’t hold on to everything, regardless of how hard you try. And then, almost 10 years later, I returned to the city that first captured my imagination and carved so much of itself into the lines now more visible on my features that I could barely distinguish the lines of the city and the lines of the self. Needless to say,  the bags were bigger this time and I don’t just mean the ones under my eyes. From 22 to a month away from 42, all now visible in the partially filled boxes around my feet. Somewhere within these collections, are hints at who I am on route to becoming, I guess…



Back to the boxes; finding things forgotten
in seams not yet sealed and finding no room
for other things since stuck with too much tape
that I cannot take any longer in this movement
along another midway, a mild change of track
through to midlife, making home at another station
amid the mayhem of the moment, making room
to make more moments that will momentarily
fill more boxes when another move meanders
my way. We are made of movements from major
to minor and back again; I am right, he has left,
she is nowhere and everywhere and not everyone
understands, they’ve turned back, I’ve carried on,
I can hold happy alongside these boxes; bruised
and battered but far from broken, I can hold it all,
I will hold all that has been left. Back to the boxes;
to the treasures I’ve taken to be true and the truths
that have lead me to the lies I’ve cast to the curbs
I have crawled over and then crossed off. I cannot
carefully wrap each and every delightfully deceptive
distraction that comes a calling, whether correctly
considered or coldly comfortless, I too was created
be cared for, I too need room to be made for me
without the waste of words, do I not deserve a space
to call my space within all space, within all this
fleeting space we are speeding through?

My next bed will spring from my liking as I plaster
my own skin with my own desires. I desire to be
distracted by dreams not too distant. I will not
be packed in a box like these belongings;
longing to be lifted to the light. I am too fond
of freedom to wait for life to find me. I am moving,
with boxes on my back and cartons crammed
into the cracks of my consciousness. I will not wait
for life to come to me; this is me, see me, overtaking it.

All words and pictures by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:




We are creatures
concerned with creation,
edging the artistry
of alchemy
out of everyday ordinary,
eager to glean
the glory
out of the garden
we were given
to cherish.

Or, at least, we were!

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter Poetry Prompt from #SenseWrds



Muscle in movement to music
as cords are cut from corpse,
‘I was born in blue,’ he said,
‘tender twisting into tune,
I am rags rendered into rich,
suffering surrendering to the song.’
‘I was born in blue,’ he said
And his guitar the guts
through which he bled.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

Based on a poetry prompt from @Poetry Portrait 



Lost in a current
a cast of confusion,
but the river
remembers its route.
The water wades
into the ocean
& the drifting ends.

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter prompt from #WrittenRiver



Beauty bays
in the back gardens
of concrete
we’ve created,
simplicity shouting
from the shadows
of cites under siege,
precious petals
pulsing with potential,
lines of light longing
add contrast to contour,
like age adds interest.

Long days, lonely,
waiting to be witnessed
by more than just
the falling rain…

We all are beauty,
bending to the light,
bursting to be seen.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt from #ShapePoetry 



Only shadow remains
as I slip away from myself,
carving new forms
out of old bones,
eager for other arousals
to press through the restless.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Based on a Twitter poetry prompt from #WrittenRiver



As you
walked away
I watched you
curve through the current
of confusion that had
consumed us.

Once torn on the tide,
I waded out to let our worries
wash off on the waves
as a breeze buried its breath
against my body
like the kindness
that once caressed us
and all hurt once spoken
faded like the foam now dissolving

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt by #SenseWrds



I stood on plains,
broad & boisterous,
as our ancestors whispered
the wisdom fickle fellows
have since forgotten
and on my cheek,
as if the final fall
of grace from greed,
the kiss of zephyr
washed it’s hand
of what’s to come.

Allowed and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt from #DimpleVerse