Sun sets and then rises and in between
we kiss, catch the kisses that come
upon the current, catch the kiss,
the continent is not always ours
to conquer. Tides come and tides
retreat, touch is temporary, flesh
is polished pink below the sensuous sky
but falls from fold like sands in the
glass that hoards the hours, like clouds
that can never be caged. Sun sets
and we blaze our orange blossoms
into passing nights, the night’s gale
calls of connections in the passing,
passion is precious until it too passes.
Sun rises and then falls, catch light;
catch the fire before it drowns
on the water, catch the colours to paint
the coming of the grey, to keep afloat
until the next kiss. Catch colour,
catch kisses before the sun sets,
let worry waste upon the wave,
tomorrow’s light will be blue enough.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
20th poem for National Poetry Writing Month
Damien B. Donnelly 
Catch the colour catch the fire—love it! Just do it!
Thanks Jane, I’ve decided it’s time for a little faith in possibility, for a while 🤭
Good for you. And thanks for deflecting my thought too 🙂
It’s my easter egg in inspiration form just for you!!! If you were here I would offer you a slice of Easter Simnel Cake which I just took out of the oven. My grandmother hopefully would have been proud 🤞🤭🤗
Thank you! Sorry to have disappeared. We were out collecting firewood believe it or not. Husband spotted some tree branches the big wind the other day had brought down in the lane and he went to get them under cover of darkness. I held the flashlight and the guard dog. The people round here think we’re funny enough as it is.
Erm isn’t simnel cake meant to sit for months in the pantry like a Christmas cake before you can eat it? I don’t remember. I didn’t like simnel cake—had a marzipan aversion. I’m easy these days so save me a piece if ever I creep out of the woodpile 🙂
That’s a poem in itself the pair of you under flashlight and guard dog scavenging for firewood. The songs the villagers will sing of you one day
I don’t mind them singing. Round here it’s a shot gun fired in the general direction you’d have to be careful of.
Holy chapsticks! What a picture of rural life, Bordeaux is in which century exactly? 🤭
Bordeaux is quite enlightened. This is the dreaded 47, the byword for rural backwardness. Everybody in Bordeaux y compris the sdfs (I had a lot of sdf friends) thought we were stark staring to go and live in the Lot-et-Garonne. They say there’s no smoke without fire…
What Jane said. 🙂 But also, I like the rhythm of this, like the tide rising and falling.
The photo is gorgeous!
Thanks Merril. That was sunset at Mont Saint Michel last summer, where the tide comes and goes at an unbelievable speed, you got to catch it while you can. Easter greetings and I hope the storm has passed you 🤗🤗🐣
Thank you. It’s beautiful–I’m glad you caught it. The sun is shining now, finally. 🙂 Enjoy your Easter!
That wee bit of info about the speed of the tidal change just adds so much to my reading of the poem. I understand that.. a NZ harbour up north that I know also has this characteristic!
I thought it was a myth but no, I witnessed it last summer, a vast desert of sand that was drowned in about 20 minutes! Impressive!! Happy Easter 🐣
An incredibly fast transformation! Happy Easter 🙂
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Well, we do a love a garland gloom, don’t we. Love that you’ve gone for a little colour though
this is stunningly beautiful………..”let worry waste upon the wave,” amazing words.
Thank you so much Wendi, I am so glad you liked this 😊
my pleasure, thank you for sharing it with others.
Breathtaking!
Kisses do come in colors…like the sun and the moon, like the sky and the tides. This is beautiful, words and rhythm, filled with life. (K)
Thank you so much Kerfe, time to embrace possibilities again 🤞