Day 22 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo
Silent in her own darkness
she takes a place
by the canvas of creation
and before its stillness
she lets the light
pour over all
that has slipped
between the shadows
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Photograph taken on front of La Fee Electricite by Raoul Dufy at Musee d’Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris
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
of SELFISH.
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 19 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo
We set our belongings
down in the settings
where others
once settled,
we sit at tables
and share meals
where others
once shared words,
maybe whispers,
maybe secrets,
maybe fears.
Can you see them;
smiling,
eating,
living,
dying
in quiet corners
we haven’t yet cluttered?
We set our hopes
down in places
others once
pondered
as potential.
Listen softly,
lived lives maybe
still listening,
still speaking
the wisdom
they once witnessed
before they became whispers.
We are houses,
we are homes
to those
whose shadows
we have settled
into.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio Version Available on SoundCloud:
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
mounding
over molecules
making matter
meaningful.
Dawn’s dew
delights seeds
now stirring
under soil
just as stars
shine significance
on a mind
on a pillow
at play.
There is
movement
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 17 National Poetry Writing Month
Dwelling
deep in the darkness
where hearts breathe less,
held hidden below the humour,
like a tumour, there’ve been shadows
dancing, all this while, to a beat he cannot follow,
to a music he cannot swallow, that cannot be
caressed, a syncopated sadness
with no cord considered,
with no harmony held
within this hell,
a scintillating
score
of deafening
silence, no more
synergy within the darkness,
no more energy where the light is less.
and less, in this darkness, dwelling deep below
the surface, where the beast makes mess and worms wiggle
through worries, wiggle through niggles, through all
of what’s been left, after all these years,
after the fight and the fears, after
the struggle, after the tears,
after the lies, the raw
lies, exposed
lies,
sharpened
lies that cut like glass,
glass that holds no reflection
but distraction, glass that cracks
with the weight of what’s been done. Crash
and see fragility smash on the floor
of the darkness with no door.
Dwelling deep down in the
darkness, there are
sharp edges
to swallow.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
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.
Taxi!
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,
whispering.
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:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/frivolous-philanderers
Day 13 of National Poetry Writing Month 30 poems in 30 days
Beau, tu sais?
Tu es beau,
c’est vrai.
Non, I say,
ca, c’est pas vrai.
Moi, je sais
d’autre chose,
mais beau?
Non, I say,
je ne suis pas beau.
Fragility I know,
mon ami s’appelle
fragilité,
pour lui
je porte a smile,
comme de vêtements,
like a shield,
mon sourire
est beau,
ca, tu peut dire,
ca, tu peut écrire,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
tu sais? Ca fait mal.
Mais merci, comme même,
c’est beau ce que tu m’a dit,
ce que quelqu’un m’a dit,
c’est beau, mais non,
c’est pas moi; I am…
je suis autre chose.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
A small press
The Things That Are In My Head.
Stay Bloody Poetic
Author of 'Sent, 'Fall', 'Unmuted' and 'Saudade'
home of the elusive trope
Fantasy Author
Words about pictures by Michael Scandling
Writing, Poetry & Creativity | Angela T Carr, Dublin, Ireland
Kay McKenzie Cooke Website & Blog
My journey through photography
landscape and change
My poetry is my religion.
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Expressing moments of Inspiration within a cozy setting
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Ps 147:3
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Peter Hillman's Photographic Exploration of South Staffordshire and Beyond (2026)
Poetry inspired by ethereal feelings, life events and personal philosophy.
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New Zealand
French magazine - art & visual culture
A palette of general thoughts & travel stories from all around the world
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If you want to be a hero well just follow me
a writing space curated by José Angel Araguz
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Cooking with imagination
Damien B. Donnelly 