Author: deuxiemepeau

UNDER LEAF IN THE GARDEN

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Here in this garden
beneath the trunks of trees, towering;
like funnels stretched to sun, suckling,
under a lid of leaves,
little leaves, light leaves,
the leaves of grass,
precious petals procure colour,
caresses of colour bursting bright
as if tempered by a tenuous touch,
like tears on the angel’s cheek at night
no longer seen, no longer heard,
colour, crawling through the chaos,
fragile flickers of faith
falling under footsteps.

I hear the heavens wail as you walk,
walls falling under flattening feet
as what was light and life
returns to soil,
fowled and foiled from strife.

We are all petals in the garden,
in this garden of greed and glory,
looking for a leaf to live under,
as we unfold the shrouds of our story,
ravenous to raise our arms to the sunlight,
striving to be seen in bolts of colour, bright,
breathtaking colour,
brilliant colour,
before we fall under foot
and return, once again,
to the waste and the worms
already twisting and turning,
already sensing our scent,
so confident they are
to conquer our carcasses
when our dreams are done
and our names carved into cement.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

When the rain pours in torrents

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A powerful poem of rain recollection by Jane Dougherty

Jane Dougherty's avatarJane Dougherty Writes

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When the rain pours in torrents,

And thunder chases lightning through the trees,

When running feet pound the rain-slick road,

And the frightened bark of the fox tears the night,

When wet gravel squeals and squeaks beneath heavy tread,

And boots clump through muddy pools,

When doors slam, and children cry into damp pillows,

I remember your face, moon-pale,

Bland as a salt pan,

And loveless as the chill mists of autumn.

I remember the thin black line of a mouth that never spoke,

Tight closed, a crack in a mud-parched riverbed.

I remember dark eyes, slipping and sliding,

That couldn’t see to tell the truth,

The tangling words and lies and flying hands.

I remember the weeping and wailing and the sharpening of teeth,

The night you went away.

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SHINING SHADOWS

/ deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

 

And so falls
a fleet of rain,
another sheet
to soak the street,
another sheen
to shine up shadows,
to wash away the steps
others have taken
along your paths,
to wash the traces
of all that came before.

And so falls
a ray of light,
another shimmer
of the summer,
another colour
to coat the concrete,
to sink into skin,
to bronze bodies
and burn away
the whimpers and whines,
to forget the sorrows
and let the shadows shine.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

LINGER LIGHT, LONGER

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Screen Shot 2016-02-27 at 12.28.15

Linger 
longer 
in this light,
this fragile luminosity, 
let me be your curiosity, 
shun the shadows for sadder days
for more somber sighs when it’s again the time to cry

but for now

linger
longer 
in this light, 
in this simplicity,
this momentary tranquility, 
entreat me your tenderness, 
your warm caress against my being, my body

linger
longer 
on the faces,
the passing faces,
the faces of people pacified,
of people satisfied in this light,
in this sun where shadows sat before
where shadows will rise again in minutes, in seconds

but for now,

it’s just light
not just light, LIGHT
radiant LIGHT casting reflections 
on what has been and what can be
on what is probable and all that is possible. 

Linger
longer LIGHT
Oh lovely LIGHT.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photographs taken on Ile de la Grande Jatte, Paris.

ABSENCE

/ deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

absence

I wake up
to the stillness,
to the stillness of the silence,
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows, 
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows in your absence,
still so present within all this emptiness

and then I realise
how much more room there is to breath.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken in the Amsterdamse Bois, Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

RIVERSIDE

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You were my friends, you were my childhood, our beds by the riverside, 
on the north side of the south, far from the troubles, far from the loyalists
and the loss, loyal to what, I ask?

I see us all now from the far side, from another side, you were always on my side, 
even when I wasn’t, sharing treats by the fireside on rainy days after sturdy stews
when even then we were off and running, dreaming in daylight of distance,
of diversions, of dignity, a ship called dignity to sail along our river,
so the deacons in blue sang, taking us away from all that was so simple,
so special, so sincere, our little lives by the riverside on the drives
and the crescents and the groves.

We drowned only our fears in that barely brook by the riverside,
by the Northside, childhood hang ups; being ginger, being tall, being gay, 
being small, I remember it all today, flowing in from yesterday,
bobbing along on the bottom of a beautiful steady stream
of memories, madness, moments, mothers.

I remember you all from here, from the other side of the river, on the far side
of the world, from the far side of growing, accepting, they call it, understanding,
surrendering but not forgetting, never forgetting, the pampering and the parties,
the new years with old friends, Dave’s guitars, John’s fireworks
and everyone’s songs; should old acquaintances be forgot, as if they could.

I see you all there still, even those who are no longer here, for me
you will always be there, be smiling, be eternal; barking, bold, brilliant, beloved,
you can never be missing if you’ve always been loved, and the others;
who blossomed, who grew, who married, who flew, some have children now,
grown from being children into children baring children.

We were friends, once, in the endless summers under tents with no pretence,
singing songs on the radio, singing through our little lives, a family of friends
who kicked our cans, as you said, played chasing, played games, played house,
mowed lawns, walked dogs, swapped toys and clothes, care bares and fancy paper,
next to the power station, ‘I love you to the power station and back again’,
wasn’t that what was said, when the power station was the end of the world.

All those fine families and faithful friends carried on now,
like the flow of the water, carried away from that riverside,
carried away to life on the other side, following along the course
but never once forgetting the source.

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All Words by Damien B. Donnelly. Photographs from back at the Riverside.

WILD FLOWERS

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We were flowers in a garden,
we were wild flowers,
we were weeds for the wasps
to suckle on,
to suck us off
to suck us dry.
We were unclear
out of focus,
a wash of colour
in the distance,
already extinct
never distinct,
ever changing
ever wilting
ever wanting
something more
something more lasting
someone more substantial.
We were flowers in a garden
beauty being stung
too soon
too shallow
too light
never quite right.
We were wild flowers
dying before we’d been plucked.

All Words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly