CHRISTMAS COVER UP

12/12/201722/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

In the shadow of all its history,

in the sorrow behind its sparkle,

I sprinkle fairy lights on the drying roots

of this dying tree.

At the summit of all its beauty,

from the forest freshy felled,

I place a blood red rose on this tree

cut down from hope.

All words and photographs by damien B. Donnelly

THE STORY

10/12/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

How does

the heart

still pump,

how does

the blood

still run

when these

feet won’t move?

How do

the bones

not break,

how does

this skin

not shed

when these

hands cannot hold?

We dress

ourselves in

solid shields

of security

(see this shining steel)

that cannot sooth

the single soul

still shivering

in a body

still pumping,

still running,

still searching

for the answer…

are we

a whole story

here alone

and naked

and beating

and pumping

and bleeding

and crying

and crawling

through the hope

or just a half truth,

never truly told,

never really held,

never fully realized?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

WHEN WHITE FALLS BLUE

02/12/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 10 Comments

Snow falls and the darkness drowns in silence, a hush
from heaven, falling, so slowly, even crystals cry.
Are these the tears of angels weeping who’ve watched us
falling, like this slow snow, like tears, trembling?

Snow falls and there’s a stillness and still this silence
between us. Bruises covered in a cold candid coating
of fragility, every day more freezing, more frozen,
just not enough to numb. Snow falls and paths disappear.

I thought our tracks ran deeper, like this winter, this weight,
like this waiting, behind the window, behind this glass
I can’t see through, beyond the storm falling, Slow falls
the snow and sorrow slips, cold where once there was comfort.

What happens to my tears, who’ll watch them with wonder
as I look out at the snow, slowly falling, and think of angles?
Wasn’t I once your angel? Are you watching, now, at some
slow distance while these snowflakes concrete all confusion?

In time, this too shall melt and be no more than memory,
even snowflakes fall for but a season. Snow, falling, slow.
Wishing it were spring. Even white is blue in the falling light.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud

SLOW FALLING, day 30 of A Month with Yeats

30/11/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 6 Comments

I can’t believe this is it! 30 poems in 30 days inspired by Ireland’s greatest poet W.B Yeats. A poetry challenge created by the brilliant Jane Dougherty. Today is day 30 of this wonderful, inspiring, breathtaking adventure created by Jane Dougherty entitled A Month with Yeats. The final quote comes from the poem ‘The Lake Isle of Innisfree’.

“And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,” —W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog which no one should miss out on is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My final poem is called SLOW FALLING

Snow falls

behind the glass,

beyond the reflections

this window cannot see.

Snow, soft as the soul;

a canvas of white

fleeting purity,

as pure as that first kiss;

always caught, never captured.

Slow falls the first snow

as fine as feathered fragility

like that first time,

as tender as it was terrifying;

the feeling of discovery,

the fear of being discovered.

Slow comes the season,

and we are seasonal,

and we too are seized;

were we not yesterday

daisies dancing on hilltops,

a spring in our step

and blind to the slope,

were we not once sensory

below the sun, bonds burning

along bodies bare, but now,

beneath the snow,

red reigns regal,

enfants eyeing the skies;

hushed and hopeful

before the innocence

falls from their belief,

falls like this snow,

this frozen miracle

already melting

hearts we’ve had to hide

from the cold

and we can be cold,

like the morning’s first breath

beneath the crippling

clutch of winter

when his touch

is too far to find.

Slow falls the snow

beyond the glass, beyond the

shattered reflections of a world

of riots and reactions,

slow falls the snow

and I think of peace

and of people parading

under its hush of hope.

Snow falls and I wonder

how it would feel

to have a season

of slow falling peace?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

UNDER PARIS, day 29 of A Month with Yeats

29/11/201722/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 17 Comments

Day 29 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats and today’s quote is from ‘No Second Troy’

‘Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?’—W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem is called: UNDER PARIS

Caught

is the consciousness

in this constant climb

in this city of constrictions

and its current that constricts

and I can’t catch a breath.

And the barricades have broken.

Baffled

by the beat

my feet can’t follow

and so I am swallowed

sinking in this city of stone swamps

and its concrete that compresses

and I can’t get a grip.

And the barricades have fallen.

Stoned

is the spirit

of a soul now struggling

through these streets of revolutions

and its suburbs of no solutions

and not a single resolution.

And the barricades are weighing.

Turmoil

was her Troy

as this place is my poison

burning through this body of burdens

wondering if it was seduction or abduction

that imprisoned us both under Paris.

Are we to be buried

beneath this barricade?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

DUALITY, day 28 of A Month with Yeats

28/11/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 6 Comments

Day 28 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats and our quote today is: ‘I would that the Boar without bristles had come from the West and had rooted the sun and moon and stars out of the sky’ —W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog of beauty is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem is called DUALITY

And here

is where we battle

the truth;

east or west,

the sun’s heat

or the moon that spies

on our rest.

And here

is where our paths

divide;

the war to be won

or the human

we are fighting

to become.

And here

the Indian

draws the honor;

mild man stands

in the boar’s breath

with integrity

in hands.

And there

in the east

with helmet high;

fearless fighter

bares the beast

and blunders into battle

as bloody blighter.

Are we then

of both moon

and sun;

tied tightly

to burning planet

and that eye

watching nightly?

Can we

be honest

behind the armor;

can the blood

we gorged

be erased

by a single flood?

Can we

be both brave

and beast,

can we cry

for the famine

and still eat

at the feast?

Are we not

confusions caught

between the confines;

are we not stars

burning bright

like the sun

but in the falling night?

Are we born to be beasts

or born to brave the beast?

Let us be wild boars;

fearless

in the face

of our foe,

gregarious

in our greed

to grow.

All words and paintings by Damien B Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud…

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/duality

THE CHILD INSIDE THE MAN, day 27 of A Month with Yeats

27/11/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

It’s day 27 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats which means all of us who’ve taken part in this fantastic poetry challenge have created 27 new poems inspired by Ireland’s greatest poet. Today’s quote is: ‘Once more the storm is howling, and half hid under this cradle-hood and coverlid my child sleeps on.’ W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog of treasures is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem today is called THE CHILD INSIDE THE MAN

Oh child, sweet child, sleeping so

beneath these big shoes and ties

knotted to a life of change and choice,

but we had to run, had to keep going,

didn’t we have grow up so quickly;

stand up, show up, give up, pay up.

Oh child, sleeping child, so sweet

beneath this bitter battle we must wade

through, the waves come not solely

on the current, not timely like the tides

but in the solitude, in the silence

we thought to be a comfort, I feel you

twist through the dreams you still dream,

that I have lost hold of, that I have let

slip from a grasp now older, less bolder.

But you, dear child, sweetly sleeping

as I make movements meant to be manly,

meaning to be mature, how I hear

your voice, amid the louder, broader,

vulgar tones beyond the preying

playgrounds of concrete corporations

and communal conformity, yours

so soft and gentle amid the riots

and the roars, yours so soothing

amid all that is smothering. I see you

too sometimes, in the mirror, briefly,

a spark of what was once a projection, now

but a reflection; wide eyed

and hearty of hope, I see you, laughing

at my troubles, calling me to come play,

to see the adventure in the danger,

to see the impermanence of these little

interruptions that come a calling.

Oh child, sweet child who painted

pictures to make the grey days

more grand, who penned poems

to let the pain find its place to perish

on the page instead of in the person.

Oh child, sleeping child of my youth,

how much I still have to learn from you.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph from my first day at school, aged 5.

Audio version available on SoundCloud…

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/the-child-inside-the-man

IF ONLY, day 26 of A Month with Yeats

26/11/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

Today’s quote for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats is from ‘The White Birds’: ‘I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!’ W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem today is called IF ONLY

We are land birds,

bound birds,

we have made homes

in twisted trees

growing hallow

growing hard.

We are land birds,

ground birds,

we have been deluded

by illusions

growing careless

growing cold.

We are land birds,

drowned birds,

in a dying desert

growing doubtful

going dry.

If only

we had been sea birds,

crowned birds

in a current caressing,

wings wild

at the will of the waves,

weightless instead of weighty,

free falling

on a bed of floating foam,

flexible instead of friable.

If only…

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud…

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/if-only

A WHITE WING RISING, day 25 of A Month with Yeats

26/11/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

Day 25 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats and the quote is: ‘And when white moths were on the wing, and moth-like stars were flickering out, I dropped the berry in a stream and caught a little silver trout.’—W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem today is called A WHITE WING RISING

A starlit day,

on a distant shore,

as if summer had sent it

swarming like a snowflake;

silken wings to summon the sunset,

a white moth to raise a sweet soul

departing.

And there,

as a star was added,

the bright moon was kissed

in berry blush as the sun settled

beneath the lake where the lost trout

turned through tresses of silver dancing

and he smiled at his love, since lost,

now glimmering

in eternity.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

RED CARPET, day 24 of A Month with Yeats

25/11/201722/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

I’m running behind on Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats poetry challenge but better a tad tardy than a no-show. Yesterday’s inspirational quote was: ‘We know their dream; enough to know they dreamed and are dead; ‘ —W.B. Yeats ‘

My poem is called RED CARPET

We dream

of what can be,

not of what was, we

are here because of what

came before, what we will be

is based on what we believe,

on what we have learned

to be true. There are

footprints already

in place,

already paved,