Day 29; National Poetry Writing Month 30 Days/30 Poems #NaPoWriMo


I am
that fine line
that divides
what is feminine
from what is
That fine line
that flushes
the fabulous
out of the fickle.
The reflection
of what once was
in something else
and might
one day
be called
another new look.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken at the Fashion Forward exhibition, Musee des Arts Decoratifs, Paris 2016


Day 25; National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo 

If I could reset the world
I would start it with a kiss
on a silent night
In the corner of winter,
summer has claimed the light,
dark corners need our attention
more than the sound of the sea
and the smell of the sunscreen.

If I could reset the world
I would start it with a kiss
on lips I’ve never tasted
in a place I’ve never been,
I am done with parted passion,
others have since traced these lines
and found the tremble too intense
and the trench too tough to traverse.
If I could reset the world,
I would start it with a kiss
and seal it with a bond
That time can’t comprehend.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Ayrshire, Scotland.


Day 24: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Hot flames
burn beneath
the breath of
whiskey’s heat,
dry and stale,
the eyes
like coal
never burn out;
never burnt enough,
trapped by heat,
suffocating heat,
slowly smoking
more smoke,
light, no light
in the darkness,
find the match,
burn it,
break it,
matches break,
all that is matched breaks
snaps like thin sticks,
fragile like brittle bones,
they all burn out
or break
but linger in the air
like whiskey
on the breath,
dry, stale…

All word and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:



Day 23 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Decades by four
and one year more
have tempered time
to twisting root
beneath this ever
changing shore.

Lands by four
and to one returned
as curious caught
upon my boot
my bags now tipped
with lessons learned.

Summer fires
have blazed this land
flames that fired
forbidden fruit
that etched their mark
upon this sand.

Kisses that sank
beneath the grains
while others I thought
to be absolute
now wait for time
to shift their stains.

The sun has often
turned to storm
hearts were hot
then tears dilute
as I break and fall
and rise through form.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Day 21 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Pulled are we
(OFF; no more)
from under and over
and pushed (panting)
by fleeting fate when we fail
to trust (when THRUSTS grow frail)
and the body rolls off, recoils
and the mind rethinks, returns. Let go,
did you, of that hand ONCE held
in that taxi ONCE, while thinking of another,
in that BED while sniffing out that longing
for SOMEONE missing while growing tired
of the taste of someone PAINFULLY PRESENT?
Fine is the line between decision and destination,
(that fine line that COMES quickly before it curdles)
between the CHOICES we make in a moment’s PLEASURE
and the paths that reposition our POWER.
Is it held by the BOTTOM or by the TOP?
We are FREE to release, (across your chest,
across our chains) we are free when released,
(emptied, exhausted) free from confusion;
untangled; no KNOT cannot be undone,
double negatives should never be done,
but we are UNDONE,
undefined or redefined,
reduced again
to that single state

                                MY, ME, I.

How quickly
we slip from tongues touching
all that is SACRED to a solitary scrubbing
of all that’s been SOILED.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Day 20 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

What is it
when he looks at me
that makes me want to
love him

and when he cries
that makes he want to
hold him

and when he hurts
than makes me want to
heal him

and when he lets me in
makes me want to

run and hide?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



Day 18 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Colours flap
in the wind,
colours catch
the feeling
of freedom
at daybreak
like thoughts
that take flight
in dreams
under blankets
over molecules
making matter
Dawn’s dew
delights seeds
now stirring
under soil
just as stars
shine significance
on a mind
on a pillow
at play.
There is
beyond the trees
and the run
of the riverbed
if you can catch it.
There is movement
in the dormant dreamer
beneath the blankets
and the shuttered eyes
if only you can wake it
to the light,
to the colour,
to the moment
that lets
possibilitiy fly
like colour on concrete,
like a bare bench
in the waiting park,
like trees attending
to shooting buds,
like a river
of thought
that cannot
be abated…

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:


Day 16; National Poetry Writing Month 30 Days/30 Poems #NaPoWriMo

One last lollipop stands
on the building lot,
stands on the parking place
paradise fast forgot.
So come take a good shot,
take a final swing shot
at this hot sweet spot cause
the stick in the ground
ain’t gonna stick around.
Yes, you got it, this black
and white bull’s eye
underneath the grey sky
hasn’t missed the cages
crushing down
beneath the weight
of a concrete crown.

Ladies and gentlemen,
there’s a new show in town
(in the musuems; trees, but pricey
if you wanna see ‘em, please!)
is about to shut down
this one last sweet spot,
this swinging hot spot,
so come on now, take a pop
while it’s all that you got,
this lollipop ticking down
on the grey parking lot
that paradise left to rot.



All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Day 15; National Poetry Writing Month 30 Days/30 Poems #NaPoWriMo

There’s a girl
this morning
on the metro,
unaware of the crowds,
unaware that I’m late.

There’s a girl
on the metro
packed with tears,
with tears in her eyes
and no place for more lies.

There’s a girl
on the metro
in the morning,
moving through motions,
through stations of grieving
and tunnels of tears.
Her breath is broken
like she’s been running
from something,
like this train
that we’re on
that keeps on breaking

and she’s breaking
this morning,
this girl
on the metro,
with tears
and tunnels
and stops
with no answers.

This girl
on the metro,
unaware that I’m late,
this girl who’s missing
something on the metro,
who’ll miss that someone
who’s making her cry,
who’ll miss that someone
when the lines divide

and leaves her
in tracks of tears.

All Words and Photographs By Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:


Day 14; National Poetry Writing Month 30 new poems/30 Days #NaPoWriMo

I listen
to the river rushing,
pushing, washing,
I listen
to the water slipping,
seeping, weeping
over once regal rock
now withering, wuthering,
I listen
to the water
trailing the last vestiges
of its veins
through what remains
of the terrains we’ve choke’n
taken and broken.
I listen
to the ferocious sound
of nature’s force
and hear the horse’s
gallop along the course;
the gallant getaway,
no longer blindly blinkered
to the frivolous philanderers,
the malicious meanders
of the bystanders
and their current commanders,
and in its hooves
I hear a wilderness at run
from the trampling of the gun,
the so-called fun
that has too soon undone
what the gods once begun.
I listen
to the rivers running
and realise
you can’t see the end
but you can hear it coming.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud: