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

photo-83

 

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.

13

The Irish Rose of Paris

You fancied yourself as a writer, I think,

So many tales fell, so breathlessly, from your memory.

I am sure it was upon a sweeping staircase

Where we first met, long before foreign men tempted

And twisted us with foreign tales and foreign lips.

You, with your cascading curl’s,

The color of chestnuts in autumn,

And long belted coats- always off and running,

Oblivious to the inmates that surrounded us.

You perfected aloof while I, too shy to say no,

Was dragged to the dorm’s salle-a-manger

By the tedious herd, to partake and party

Until I could peter out unnoticed on hand and knee

To avoid what seemed like another Irish wake.

Later, after introductions, we chain smoked

Life stories in the TV room; those early days

When your smoking choked even me and I wanted

So much to be everything that you effortlessly were.

You were my wild eyed Catherine,

Moving faster than time allowed the rest of us,

While I, your Edgar, looked on in awe and tried to keep up

As Paris turned into our very own Moors.

We prided and congratulated ourselves on our ability

To acclimatize with our newly loved surroundings

Unlike our neighbors; only content with Irish jokes

And Irish bars while in the heart of a city that offered

\So much more than the dung-filled,

Mud-trodden fields which they so missed.

You were my breath of air; my mystery and adventure.

Once, I even questioned whether we could fall in love

And I believe we did- though in no conventional sense.

I was your confident in the College

And your beloved friend as we carved ourselves,

As much as we were allowed by the citizens

And bureaucracy, into our city of light.

Do you remember that wet, dull and far too normal day

In autumn and our train ride through town?

You sang me the love song from Irish shores

And I reveled in how it never seemed to end.

I watched you as you swam through that life

Barely needing to rise for air.

You are mother now

And still forever the rambling teller of tales

While I, still a traveler on this unending road,

Am ever grateful at how seamlessly our paths still cross.

photo-82

Human Nature

There are moonlit nights

On sandy shores-

Barefooted and barely clothed,

Worries washed away on waves

And troubles left for other days.

 

There are soulful nights

In firelight lost-

All Red-wined up and caught in kisses,

Drunk in love and wrapped in arms

And blanketed in each other’s charms.

 

There are lonely nights

When loves away

And nothing known can soothe you,

Till comfort calls you on the phone

And reminds you that you’re not alone.

 

There are other nights

Dark and distant-

All sleepless in the shadows,

As silly, stupid, stubborn slips

Cause listless lies to leak from lips-

 

Those long dark nights when tongues are tied

And troubles start to tremble,

When sanity is cast aside

And the sense of self dissembles.

When the one you thought you knew so well

Can look to you a stranger,

While the world no longer looks the same

Before the truth of human nature.

photo-81

 

Paris- Within Me

What is it about you that daily replaces you In front of my eyes

No matter how far from you I travel?

Were you the first one I saw from above

With your grey slates,

Smokeless chimneys

And laddering towers to the Gods?

Specs of gallant green

Among your columns and follies,

Your marching boulevards

Like lines of proud soldiers-

Brandishing the Tri-Color

For fear the memory of Marie Antoinette

May fall forsaken.

The whitened Sacred Heart

Upon your butted highest spot-

Where Saint Denis fell to martyrdom

Long before the painters-

Doused in Absinthe-

Captured the high-kicking,

Rouged-up damsels

Amid the Moulin’s endlessly turning sails.

Your very own Taj Mahal-

Not so in keeping

With your concrete corinthian cornices

And grotesquely glaring gargoyles

And yet so missed when no longer in view.

And there,

Standing as proud as your citizens,

By the far reaches

Of your once bohemian Left banks,

Where cheers of toasts were often heard

Amid the enlightened quarrels of Sartre,

In praise for the flat-shoed Stein

And sorrow for the almost exiled Wilde,

Lies your most celebrated folly of all;

Your monstrous clunk of iron-

Within who’s restaurant Maupassant

Would willingly dine to be excused

From the very view in which he sat,

Which melted itself into the heart of me.

More than a dozen times

Have I scaled your heights

To always draw a fresh breath of awe

Upon the sight from your summit,

Like the minute memory of the goldfish;

Immeasurably forgetful

But struck again and again

By the beauty of its surroundings

As if witnessed for the first time.

Your streets planned out before me

With cars racing onwards,

Inwards and through-

So much like the blood

Pumping through the entangled archeries

Of my beating heart.

I am a million miles from you again,

On top of the world of another city

And yet you are next to me

Wherever I stand,

In front of me

No matter what I see

And beating

Still so fresh and fervently

Deep down

Within me.

photo-80

Wingless

I am me but sad,

So recently and gloriously happy,

Now still me- but sad.

 

I am me- but have loved,

Made love and gave it,

I still do, but now angry.

 

I have screamed to deaf ears,

No one listens- deaf ears.

 

I have dreams but not wings,

If i did I would know where to fly,

This is not my dream-

Here and sad,

Here and angry,

Here, where no one listens,

Here, alone while others are flying

Off.

 

Yesterday, I had wings,

Once upon a time

I knew who I was,

Here, in this present-

Who knows?

photo-79

 

Travelling

I am sitting in a cafe

In a city now called home,

I’ve travelled many roads to get here-

And most all of them alone.

 

There’s been multitudes of languages

And a million changing faces,

Solitudes of silences

And unforgettable embraces.

I am eternally the estranger

In a land of other locals,

Externally the optimist

As my now grey hair reduces.

I’ve found all the answers

To questions never wondered,

But have yet to find the answers

To the questions that I’ve pondered.

I am happy more than tearful,

Alone more so than lonely

And happy that my insanity

Has never toppled my stability.

I consume myself with worry,

Awake myself with doubt,

But take comfort when the laughter

Drowns all darkness out.

 

I am sitting in a cafe

In a city that’s now home,

But as every car passes by

I wonder where next I’ll roam…

photo-78