Silence
is as subtle
as settling shadows
while simplicity shines on streets
serene.
Serene
as streets shine in simplicity
and the shadows settle
into subtle
silence.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Photography taken on the road in Hong Kong.
My own take on a Mirror Cinquain- it’s not the standard but neither am I.
Moments on the metro
still moving
still cruising
still choosing
still cosy with commuters
who don’t communicate,
why does commuter
look like communication
when no commuter
communicates?
Moments on the metro
still moving, still stopping
still breaking, still taking chances
still stealing glances
penning poems
nodding into naps
bags loaded into laps.
Moments on the metro still
madams with makeup
making faces
like painting Picasso’s
checking mirrors
to see if the eyes line up,
lines, lines of metros, moving
moving down the carriage
of non communicative commuters
cool, classy, kookie, crazy,
the man behind who smells
of starvation and stale streets,
buskers belting out bad notes
and getting bad looks
instead of crisp notes,
the red hat with the short skirt,
the tall ones, the tired, the tourists
plotting their positions on plans
too small to make sense of
too much to capture,
Moments still moving on metros
trailing tracks through tunnels
on the underground
under the ground
under the cars and the bikes
and the feet walking and taxis swerving
and cursing at bikes and pedestrians crossing
the wrong way, the wrong side
as rain falls and puddles
splashing into gutters
as water trickles down
from daylight into darkness
onto tunnels where it finds us
moving still, on metros.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
And off she ran
a blonde bird in flight,
a bright baby bird
into the night,
focused and flapping
as if chasing the morning,
as if orchestrating the trees,
as if transported by the breeze
flying over fields of youth,
twists and turns and truth,
folds of frivolous folly,
courting clouds in curiosity,
looking for a reason
to rhyme upon,
a reason to ride on
and she will fly
in spiralling circles
that surround you
before circling you
in widening widths,
further stretches,
further afield,
a blonde bird
but blue to you
and the agony of letting her go
and the ecstasy of having her back
but she is bound
with those big eyes,
those beautiful eyes,
to brighter breezes,
to warmer beaches,
bound for bigger things
like the grass growing
over fading footsteps,
like the trees
towering over ticking time,
like the clouds
wild to the will of the wind,
to far flung lands she will fly
as you sigh,
to other fields,
to foreign fields
to set down findings,
feelings, foundations,
familiarities foreign to you,
foolish to you
but faithful and fruitful to her,
a home in other hills,
a happiness to harbour
in other homes
and then one day
when the breeze beckons
you catch her scent on your shoulder
where it wasn’t there before
and you will find her
once again
in a field familiar to you both.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
He moved in shadows
in ghostly strides that gained on nothing
but grains that slipped through the hands of time,
She lingered in loss
under caged cobwebs where the widow in black
had weaved her the witch from a pantomime.
She lived two floors up
an attic assembly of ageing antiques
fading to dust and distinctly untouchable,
He was basement left
a sunless space where nothing grew
disregarded, depressed and growing dysfunctional.
She existed in memories
where arms that once held her faded in frames
He shivered in silence
too afraid to attempt, too old to make claims.
She cried on Saturdays
and still shopped for two in her one roomed space,
He ate from boxes
of pre prepared food and longed for taste.
She died on a Tuesday before morning mass
he died that night from a cold he thought would pass .
They laid them together, side by side,
in the depths of the morgue, in a silence that sighed.
Two people who’d never exchanged a word,
two people lost in the shadows of the world.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
All words and artwork by Damien B. Donnelly
I imagine you
on a stool,
not a chair,
always a stool,
by a window
smiling
as you watch us
from heaven,
I imagine you
on a stool,
not a chair,
with gentle curls in your hair
and a cardigan for comfort
and a slice of fruit cake,
nothing fancy,
with some butter
watching us
down below
from somewhere above
from somewhere beyond,
rolling your eyes
as our dramas unfold,
tiny little dramas,
family filled dramas,
nothing different,
nothing changed,
like the stool in the kitchen
where I cook now
in your kitchen,
your stool in the kitchen
where once you sat
watching us all,
the comedy of us all,
the tears of us all,
the joy of us all,
altogether,
all the time,
all talking
at the same time,
I imagine you
listening,
perhaps dosing a little
at our delirious dilemmas,
I imagine you listening
and then smiling a little
from up there or over there,
just a touch beyond our skin,
just a breath beyond the breeze,
and then saying our name
so its echo can catch a wing
and sail down to earth,
down to us all,
while you watch
from the stool
from the window
just above
with love…
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
In remembrance of Nana Francis Donnelly, 8 years absent from vision but not from heart.
All words and artwork by Damien B. Donnelly
Act 1: Dance into Night
I will call you
like a lullaby
at the end of the day
when the world has hushed
and I will lay you down
into this realm unreal
as the light falls
to the night
Act 2: Movement in Flight
I will kiss you
like morning dew
as the day beckons
and the shadows have settled
and you can fly from this embrace
while its touch still presses
like our lip’s print
upon our skins
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
In the morning
by the river
gently waking
all nature is reflected
in the slowly moving current
in the trees as they bare witness
in the grass as it bares its blanket
in the morning.
I saw you like this
at the birth of morning
as day spawned its dawning
as I rowed out onto the water
and I sailed on ever further
from the darkness into light
in the silent stillness of the morning
as if I were following creation
on back to its conception
as if all before had vanished
as if the earth had shed all blemish
in the stillness of the morning’s silence.
I saw you like this one morning
as I waded out into the reflection
on the river that caressed creation
in the morning, still and silent
like I were back at the beginning
to see how it all had started
before we stripped it, raped it, starved it.
I saw you like this
one morning
as I sailed
along the river
as I looked into the waters
flowing
forever onwards
and saw all that time could never capture
and a beauty we can never truly hold
and I wondered
who will worship
all this wonder
when we’ve killed
each other off?
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
1
Beneath the pillars
of your past,
I posted letters
between your walls
and wondered
if they rubbed up against
the souls of your saviours,
if they met with memories
that were made and measured
bruised and battered
between your bricks and mortar
before being buried in blood
2
How many letters of love,
lined in lust and longing,
have perfumed your pillars
working their way
through your worthy walls
and haunted halls
in search of hungry hearts
to hold them
to open them
to hear them
All words 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
Art • Nature • Exploration
Peter Hillman's Photographic Exploration of South Staffordshire and Beyond (2026)
Poetry inspired by ethereal feelings, life events and personal philosophy.
A Journal of Brief Literature
Film, Music, and Television Critic
Writer
Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll
New Zealand
French magazine - art & visual culture
A palette of general thoughts & travel stories from all around the world
Jack Bennett
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
a writing space curated by José Angel Araguz
Thoughts and Perspectives From the Mind of a Common Girl
Cooking with imagination
Damien B. Donnelly 