RAIN IN SUMMER

In the summers heat
The raindrops fall
As the dust of August
Runs down the wall.
Inside the house
Lie endless cries,
Broken hearts
And comfortless toys.
A child on the outside
But silent within,
No one to play with,
No reason to grin.

Sadness falls
Like rain in winter,
Leaves in autumn
And the all too little
The hope of spring.

All she wants
Is to wish on the stars,
To fly with Venus
And twinkle at Mars,
To spread her wings
And take to the skies
To stay above clouds
Where the rain never cries.

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MUSICAL NYMPH

A blonde little child
Wearing big girls shoes
With eyes that were eager
To pick out life’s clues.

Playing her music
To brighten the room,
All Mitchell in styling
And sweet to the tune.

A flatmate, a friend,
A flourishing fool,
A daring disaster
All crazy and cool.

Pure in her spirit
And swanlike in flight
She lit fires in the bones
Of wild boys at night.

So gentle of soul,
A foundling, a stray,
A cute little pixie
Just finding her way.

A girl, a woman,
A green mother earth,
A virtuous angel
In a tight fitting skirt.

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FALLING ON FOREIGN SOIL

Amid a city of grey slate roofs
I had painted my slate white,
Washing everything I had been,
Had seen, had loved and lost.
Those old fears fell from me
Like Fall’s gentle snowflakes
As I stood on foreign soil,
In a foreign land, with foreign rain
Covering me and foreign words
Falling all around me and fearing
Nothing more than the possibilities
That lay await on front of me.

In a fantastically foreign taxi,
I sailed across foreign streets,
On the foreign side of the road
With that same foreign rain
Washing down the windows
As we rushed past shop fronts,
Sidewalks and sleepy streets,
So much to take in, so little in focus.

I remember that very first morning,
Opening windows and seeing you
In morning fresh, bathed in shiny dew.
Those famed rooftops, chalky grey,
Your buildings, creamy white
And your sky of brilliant blue.
Nothing was blurred anymore,
Nothing any longer a suggestion,
In that morning, everything was.

I walked you south to north that day
As morning fell to afternoon
Amid rays of October sunshine
And rested by your banks,
Gauloises in hand, Notre Dame in view,
And took you in, forever.

You ingrained yourself into me-
As deep as that rose window
In your Cathedral I gazed upon
On that very first day. And yet,
Today, so removed from you,
I still feel you, fall drawn to you,
Like a familiar call from home.

I got lost amid your left banks
That afternoon but you guided me
Back to the right path though I felt
No turn could ever be wrong
Least I missed a part of you
As yet unnoticed, like a sly smile,
Double take or a furrowed stare
Caught afresh on the face
Of a lover known so well.

Eventually, I passed Notre Dame
Every night, as a thousand taxis
Whisked me home
And I reminded myself, always,
To look at your Lady and rejoice
In the luck I’d found to be mine.

I may travel away to lands and rains
And taxis foreign to you but
There will always remain,
Inside us both, the boy
On the bridge, that day,
With cigarette in hand
And possibilities in mind,
Looking at you and falling.

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MOMENTS IN A WINDOW

 

An old man
Crossed the street
Below my window
And I wondered to myself
Where my future would lie.

I put my hands to my face
And still smelt of you
As if your body still
Entangled with mine.

I am now fully clothed
Though just moments ago
Lay nakedly revealed
In your arms,
Told you stories,
Shared your secrets,
But know not
If you know
My last name.

In the comfort
Of almost strangers
We let darkness take the day,
In the silence
Beneath that darkness-
We let your needs find their way.

In a world waged not by war,
Harmed not by hate,
Torn not by tears,
We’d lie together
With whoever
And in each moment
Let go our fears.

You drove me
Home again tonight
And along the road
We passed a sign which asked
Do you know where you’ll be tomorrow?
Of all the streets,
Of all the towns,
Of all of the predictable possibilities,
I wondered alone
As we sat together,
Like we’d just slept together,
Like we’d just kissed each other,
I wondered was it a sign
Just for me?

The old man
Will cross my street
To the pub
Every night
Till his end,
Of this
I am sure
That he is sure.
But if tomorrow
I will again
Smell your scent
On my hands-
Of this
I am sure
That I’m not sure.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

AMATEUR STATUS

 

November rains in the park-
Trying to be an artist,
Attempting to capture it all
In a quiet corner
Behind the trees,
Away from the winds,
Beyond eyeshot from anything daring,
Sheltered in a huddle instead of in the midst of adventure.

I thought I had found myself
But it was safe fake lies;
Pacifying the ego,
Trying to paint a Picasso
With colourless pencils.
Frozen by mid-afternoon,
Not suffering for art
But merely suffocating
In all that surrounded me
That I wanted to be part of but knew not where to begin.

I sat in your garden
And sketched you
Devoid of feeling and life,
I failed that day to capture
Or even comprehend you
But hung you on my wall
Nonetheless, as if to remind myself
Of all I still had to do-
I needed to paint you from within
And not just with colours sketched from the tips of my fingers.

Your multi-layered canvas
Was a daunting place to start
For my amateur attempts
At early adventure,
I was only dabbling
In shadow and shade;
Lightless and lifeless,
Playing with untapped possibilities
And dreamed-of doings
Instead of head-on,
Opened-up, fearless, dive-into, unknown experiences.

One million options beneath my feet
Waiting to be walked
And I picked the solitary seat,
On a Saturday afternoon,
In a secluded setting of your park
That stretched for miles
And bloomed with life all around me-
But not beside me,
But not for me, not with me.
I was as lifeless
As the painting I had sketched-
Fast movement needed
Least winter winds would wipe me forgotten before begun.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

A Wood Away from the World

 

I wandered through the wood
And wondered
What would happen
As I walked past the Willows
And Walnuts,
Worried for the world
Beyond the woods.

I watched
This wilderness
Of winding ways
And weathered wills
Where I worshiped the wisdom
Of these weighted monsters-
Magnificent in the marshes,
A million miles
From the mediocrity of man
And his madness,
Mindfully meandering amid
Mulberries, Maples and more
A million trunks
Like magical masts
Making their way
Through mighty mists
As irrepressible roots
Raided through
Rushes and ruins
Of rudimental riches
Rotting around the ground.
From Nature and nurture
To nourishment and nutrients
In nanoseconds
Neath this night
Nowhere near
The noise and nonsense
Of knob-heads
And nincompooptic know-it-alls
Whose knuckles
Gnaw at you needlessly
As they clamber
And claw their way,
Cunning and cankerous,
Across cadavers
Scarcely cold
To claim the crown.

I filed through the forest
And felt the freedom
In its fortune,
Forged far from
Frivolous, foolish fellows
And feared for the future.

I prayed
To pave a path
As pure as
This paradise
That paraded itself
In front of me.

As I parted
I borrowed some branches
To beat back
The bosses and bastards
Bombarding boardrooms
With bombastic beatitudes
Bordering on baseless
Overbearing, big headedness
But thought it better
To bore a path
Beyond these bellowing battles
And brooding barflies.

I wandered through the wood
And wondered what would happen
If we lost the beauty of nature
To the madness of man
And his gluttonous greed?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Toot of Transition

 

How still it is,
Silent
‘Neath the somber shade of night,
Beyond the light
Already long departed
And sleeping in the shadows,
Alone in thoughts
That twist and turn
And dig deep
Amid the this and that,
The important and redundant,
And all the while
The stillness builds-
Oblivious to the restlessness
Beneath my skin,
Between my toes,
A sense of something
In the as yet unseen-
Somewhere out there
My future already on the move,
Shaken into substance,
Substantially self-sufficient,
While I sit in silence,
In stillness,
In waiting,
Wrapped up cocoon-like
Beneath the hibernating blanket
Of this interim-
This condition of considered change.

I will soon slip
Into a sleep
Born of the metamorphosis
Of the moment,
Aware of who I was,
In the knowledge of who I am
And accepting of who I will,
In time,
Grow into.
Tomorrow will be the memory
Of who I was
While today exists only the dream
Of what tomorrow will bring.
This stillness
Is as teasing as the unknown
Route ahead-
The trail my feet have yet to thread,
To carve out a crater
That smacks of existence
Long after
I have journeyed on
And found fresher,
Unexplored lands
I shall,
One day,
For a time
Call home.

Somewhere,
Just out of sight,
On the edge of this stillness
A night Owl
Toots a tale of transition
Above the silent slumber
Of a world
With eyes closed-
Unconscious to the weighty wisdom
Of tomorrow’s light.
The erudite Owl,
Perched once
In another land,
In another time,
On virginal shoulders of Athena,
Who witnesses the world
Through eyes that see
Beyond the darkness
Of all that has been
And has yet to unfold
And carries
In his very presence
On this very night,
In this very stillness,
While all else surrenders to the silence,
A confirmation of the transition
Felt within me,
Sensed around me
And promising to take hold of me
As sure as he will spread
His well-worn wings,
Find his flight
And take to the shadows
Before morning finds it’s light

While all through time
A morphosis is made of me…

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

 

MH17

I am the morning’s excitement
And the afternoon’s adrenalin,
The suitcase that’s been packed
And the closet that’s been emptied,
I am the silly song
That you heard on the radio
As the taxi whisked you away.
I am all the commotion
And the confusion at the gates
And the skipping couple in the queue,
I’m the oversized baggage
And panicked search for passports,
I am the liquids left in handbags
That you can’t take with you.

I am the last minute shopping
At duty free prices
From beer and wine
To cigarettes and chocolates,
I’m the magazines you bought
To read on the flight,
I’m the books to forget on the beach.
I am the baby that cries
In the buggy in front of you
And the boy that smiles
In the line behind you,
I am the red ribbon worn
On the jacket of the man
Who types on the laptop beside you.

I am the final greeting
As you board the plane,
But I never once believed
I’d be your final step on earth.

I am all the anguish that’s been left in your absence,
All the pain that’s departed you from pleasure,
I am the empty space in the air above,
I am the void that’s impossible to measure.

I am the white balloon set free to fly,
You are now the twinkling stars that fill our sky.

The Lodger Among Us

Papa said I love you but he never learned to show it

Papa said I love you but I never really felt it

Mama said we’re fine but I wasn’t optimistic

Mama said we’ll run but that was only geographic

Papa wanted us alone with no one in-between

Papa thought the world was dark, all devious and mean

Mama thought her strong enough to never let him hurt her

Mama cried alone when she didn’t think I saw her

 

Papa didn’t smile and wore jumpers inside out

Mama laughed a lot and always dressed up going out

Papa watched the sports and read the papers all day long

Papa never listened and never thought he could be wrong

 

Mama always had the friends and family by her side

Papa never trusted and pushed everyone aside

 

Papa could’ve had all the happiness in his life

Papa conjured insults behind the kindness of his wife

Mama often said when I was grown we’d move away

Mama was the reason that we made it through each day

Papa watched the neighbors come and go behind the window

Papa judged and criticized from his pulpit in the shadow

Mama always saw the good in others on the street

Mama tried to cover up his bitterness and conceit

Papa never knew that his every touch unnerved me

Papa never questioned how his actions could revile me

Mama often said that her husband was oppressing

Mama always said that my coming was her blessing

Papa tried to hide from all the issues of his childhood

Papa failed to notice how they crept into my childhood

Mama tried her best to be Mother, friend and father

Mama wouldn’t let him be the reason we would falter

 

Mama was a hurricane, a pioneer, a fighter

Papa was a frightened man, a loner, an outsider

 

Papa thought through silence he’d be able to control us

Papa couldn’t see that through his silence he had lost us

Mama once believed that when you married you must stay there

Mama learned with time there’s just so much you have to bear

Papa didn’t understand the consequence of actions

Papa never thought about the force of our reactions

 

Papa was just someone else who lived inside my house

Papa was just someone else- neither father, friend or spouse

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Passing Relations

We found each other for a while, for a moment

That should’ve lasted longer, while we searched

For a new life amid ashes of ones already lived

With frailties and fractures and losses in each.

We stopped for each other- a bond too briefly bred-

And in delighted ignorance planned out a future

As inseparable as sky from sea or water from land

Yet time, in all its wicked wisdom and wily wit,

Proved us more porous than primarily perceived.

We began as shadows; you the night and I day,

Serving distant Eire abroad in separate solo shifts

On Chevelaret’s street, coaxing coins from 13th

With pints of the black stuff and stirring them with

Fine fiddles and fanciful folklore long before Bercy

And Bibliotheque created culture and credibility.

But I felt drawn to you, caught by your secrets

And intrigued- as if you were a rendering of me-

Born earlier though arriving later- same baggage,

Same story; that free-falling flight from home-

From the fields and folk, the gossip and groans

That somehow led you here to this paltry place

That must have rang out, upon first impression,

Like the end of the Earth or, at least, last stop

For long shots and last chances.  Eventually

The first rays of summer found us at home

In this quirky quarter- all cozy and crouched

In Chinatown’s shadow, settled into life, the bar

And each other- blind to what lay in wait for us

Beyond the horizon. How did it happen, then,

In that single summer, in that glorious summer

Where we’d promised to make it the best of times,

That we ended up losing each other? I sat there

On foreign steps, covering them in foolish tears

As passersby watched on with worry and waited

For explanations that I didn’t know myself,

For I knew not, that day, how we’d failed each other.

We’d been no more than oil and water all the time,

We’d foolishly deluded ourselves into thinking us

A more compatible blend. But I admired you then,

In that time, in that interim as spring fell to summer,

I admired you then for all that you were and for all

That you tried to be, for the wounds you revealed to me-

Wounds you could not cure and so I lifted you

And carried you and feared for you and wondered

How to get in and worried, later, how to get away.

But, of course, you heard me too and cared for me,

You carried me and cured me too, for a while,

Within that fickle and finite time we had and shared.

Was the mix we made too explosive from the start,

Were we faithed before we’d begun, did we share

Too much on opposite sides of a sacrifice, in a bond

We made, loved and let break- brother and sister-

For a spell and, once in a while, Mother and son?

I was the adopted boy, adapted to be your brother,

I was given up where you’d given up, the follow-on

You needed to see and you the listener I looked on

As a mother never seen and you cried for all you’d lost

And all that could never have been.  We tried to heal

Together broken hearts- ones we thought we’d left

Back home- but memories came flooding back,

Shadows we hoped the past would file to forgetfulness

But time was not willing so we looked to each other.

It was, for but a precious moment, a way of letting go,

Of moving on. How little, in the middle of it all,

Did we know how soon we’d let go of each other.

For we would never be enough and nothing could cure

The washed over lines the hours neglected to bury.

I was not, to you, the lost child found and you,

Not for me, the shadowed mother returned. Was that

Our downfall; we’d hoped from each other too much

And found not even a whole summer on that street

With its towering temples, viewless windows and lovers

Who came to divert us from what lay uncovered?

Brother and sister; sipping coffees, learning French,

We taught each other a lot but failed to learn to hold on.

Where are you now and do you ever, for a moment,

Wander in your mind down that street to the bar

Were we talked and laughed and cried till dawn

Before heading home together, to lie together,

In our tiny home, gossiping and giggling in separate beds?

I see you sometimes in my mind’s eye- smoke in hand,

As always, and eyes lit up with excitement as we danced

Through that bar- our bar on Saturday nights as we simply

Entertained the audience perhaps just as simply as we

Entertained each other. In my mind we will always be

Dancing like that before closing the bar and finding comfort

In a drink and each other; Brother and sister for almost a summer,

Dancing in the ignorance of what autumn had in store for us.

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