Poetry

MOTION

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We stop and start

like trains

caught between tracks,

caught between the gaps

of where to go

and how to get back.

We stop and start

like trolleys

left wheel veering right,

right wheel now left

of the centre

but the centre falls apart.

We stop and start

like breath

the taking in and letting go,

the filling up and that feeling

of deflation

as the air of our space is dispelled.

I am made

of minor movements

performed at high speeds

on packed platforms,

before halted at temporary stations

that bare no regard to my route

or my rhythm.

I consist of baggages

within carriages,

not always connected,

my head in the trunk

and my feet walking blind

through corridors

that follow no order.

I am oxygen,

a vessel of the big O,

I have no room really

to hoard,

I can only board,

my belongs are as temporary

as this element my lungs;

kiss, caress and release.

We stop and start

and start again

and then stop.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

HALIBUN, BREATHTAKING

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Round runs the route over rolling rocks to mouths of baying blue where sand is seduced by the suckle of the sun soaked shore as diamonds dart above the depths. Cut is the coast into rugged regal, beauty the more buoyant when more is taken and the frailty unfolds. By this bay of breathtaking, this sway of sky and sky, we shuffle in small steps over simple stones that have known stars long since lost, that will be washed by more waves than we could ever swim in. Feet will find footing here but their thread will be tethered only to temporary when put to the test. Beauty is breathtaking where nature is the breath and we, never around long enough to be able to truly take.

Though the rocks rumble

it’s man who will fall to soot

before stone to sand.

THE GARDEN

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The oracle speaks:

Go Goddess,

chant my wants on your wind;

elaborate fluff & lazy diamond dreams,

whisper me with delirious honey,

drive me to drunk, to drool,

I will lick language languid

from the beauty of your breast.

Sordid is screaming

but I hear a sweet symphony

has grow upon

those smooth skins

of your garden.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly with the aid of the oracle, obviously

BORDERS AND BOUNDARIES, NO.30, NAPOWRIMO

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We are born

through barriers that break,

water carriers through canals 

into comfort and concerns 

were borders are built

to nurture nature

while we are compartmentalised,

still, more silent, less severe;

fortunate, less so, white, less so,

gay, straight, one gender, 

less gender, clever, less so, 

a part of peace 

or placed into parts 

where peace falls apart.

We cross borders 

not all, not everyone, 

not the fortunate, not those

who can do so comfortably 

but the others, the less so,

running from rage, rape, ruin, less,

running to refuge, reprieve, relief, more. 

We build barriers to keep us safe,

to keep the flowers in focus

and not the fragility 

beneath their bloom.

We build barriers, bigger, higher,

sharper, not to shelter but to shield 

all we don’t understand, all we fear

until we are left inside with fear itself.

We are born

through broken barriers 

but fall too quickly to forgetful.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

BORDERS AND BOUNDARIES, NO.29, NAPOWRIMO

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I have parts of me 

twisted like rotten roots 

in drying soil

and parts of me 

supple as feverish fruit,

thirsty for attention.

I am both 

crumbling skin

trying to flee this figure

and sides so smooth

that they offer little hold.

I have broken borders

to be free

and built boundaries 

to hide parts of me

I don’t yet comprehend.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

BORDERS AND BOUNDARIES, NO.28, NAPOWRIMO

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Walls cannot keep us from war,

defences are not always the deterrent,

destiny is not capable 

of being confined in a cage.

I captured a corner of comfort 

but it grew cold, 

capturer and captive, 

alone is not alive,

solitude is not always 

the solution

when looking for solace.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly