Poetry

COLD CONDITIONING OF THE NOT-SO-DISTANT PAST

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They were conditioning,
conditioning attempts,
attempting to
condition them
under their conditions 
with stimuli, using stimulus 
trying to stimulate
his scrotum,
shock his scrotum,
to shock him,
shocking, 
shocking stimuli
of scrotums on screens
Slide after slide 
Shocking slides,
shoving more shocks
with each scrotum
into scrotums,
they called it
a mental disorder
order dismantled
ordered treatments
aversion,
aversive treatments
treat, treating
treacherous torture,
some transplanted testicles
giving gays boys

straight balls
to beef them
better then
push them
from being pansies
into to eating pussies,
they called them psychos
labeled them under
Psychosocial maladjustment 
social adjustment needed
psychos shocking society,
shocked into submission
stitched out of condition
Converting conditions
Conditioned converting 
Electroconvulsive converters
Causing convulsions
correcting characters
hunting the homo from the man
and hailing the new hetero
shocked, stunned,
silenced, desensitised,
submissive under stimulus
sectioned by stimulus
in days where we’ve still
to gain distance,
when being different
required medical assistance.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

 

 

 

 

IN FLIGHT

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Movement
matters mainly
amid the currents of air
I caress
in flight
in dreaming
at night
I fall freely
on the breeze
I am taken,
turned, tuned
I am limitless
know no boundaries
I flit and flutter
at my own folly
forward falling,
I am light blazing
a burning star
burnt out, 
barely visible
hardly begun
and yet unstoppable
I am man of the moon
I am the first step
I am freedom in flight
feathers rising in the night
all beneath a blanket of sleep.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FRIDAY 13TH, PARIS

/ deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

 

In the supermarket
on Saturday
in the 14th, 
on the 14th,
in numb November,
in Paris, their Paris,
our Paris, my Paris,
people push grief 
in comfortless trolleys 
down shadowed aisles 
of silence, strangers
claiming their spaces
in solidarity, in queues 
of slow moving sorrow,
seeing shadow in places 
where once there was light, 
terror in crowds 
where once there was music,
death in their streets
where once there was life.
In a supermarket
in the 14th,
on the 14th,
as the numbers rise
on a Saturday morning,
there is nothing available 
on a single shelf
to fill the void
of what we lost
in the night.

It’s not the whole world 
It’s not the end of the world
but it’s far too far from a perfect world.

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on n’oublié pas
espoir est plus fort que horreur

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Hope is stronger than horror

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All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FALLING

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We twist and turn
as we tumble
into each other
away from ourselves
we are creature curious
entangled and entwined
in what others can offer
touching and tasting
trying hard to remove
the I’s from the us’s
we are covetous
we are envy
we are want
we are greed
we are ricochets
rocketing to-and-fro
between what we are
and what we crave
we twist and turn
and turn again
to the something new
the something shiny
the something still unseen
we twist and turn
and then we fall.

All words and layout by Damien B. Donnelly

WHAT HAPPENS NEXT

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Screen Shot 2015-11-03 at 12.45.33

Time slips past
unannounced, unnoticed
age gains weight, adds numbers
carves lines, plots paths
tomorrow turns, becomes today
falls to yesterday
love slips past, everlasting
never lasting
hearts hold hands, change hands
change hearts
I do becomes I can, then I will try
I cannot stay
life slips past
ever evolving, ever learning
as we rise and fall
we crisscross, we get cross
we get crossed off
we get confused, we feel confined
compartmentalised
become complacent, begin to question
what we did, where we’re going
without ever knowing
what happens next…

All words and pictures by Damien B. Donnelly

DIAMONDS OF THE SKY

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We are all stars
we twist and turn and twinkle
we are the bright burning light
we blaze like the stars
twinkle, twinkle
we burn
we are burning
Like the stars
burnt out
tick tock
hurtling across the sky
hurting beneath the sky
where we cry
we are all stars
fast paced
fast moving
we are scuttling
scooting
shooting stars
shooting each other
bullets and diamonds
the diamonds in the sky
the diamond of my eye
the reflection
the defection
the glare
the stare
the star
twinkle tick twinkle tock
we are all stars
we are here now
tick
but long gone
tomorrow
tock
light years lost
in seconds
we are blazing brilliant
bright
on borrowed time
we are nothing
nanoseconds
we are empty
we have burnt it all
already
we are burning out
now
before we’ve begun
but our souls
they shine eternal

All words and graphics by Damien B. Donnelly 

Firefly Magazine and The Fable Online

/ deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

 

Today, two online journals are featuring my work and I am so proud to be a part of both of these amazing literary collections.

Today was the launch of the first issue of Firefly Magazine, a journal of luminous writing, showcasing poetry, flash fiction, short stories and art. Check out issue one through the link below. You can find my work in the poetry section. There are some amazing talents to be found in this brilliant new journal and check out their submission page as they are always looking out for new voices and artists. Congratulations to the Firefly team and all their garden elves for producing such a beautiful and impressive first edition. I wish them continued success.

Website: http://fireflymagazine.weebly.com

Twitter: https://twitter.com/magazinefirefly

The Fable Online today published its 9th Issue, perfectly in time for Halloween and I am thrilled to be among the Flash fiction features with a suitably ghoulish little story of love, longing and the sweet taste of revenge in the shadows of Paris. There are 13 new pieces of work in total with a mixture of spookily flavoured Flash Fiction and Short Stories.

Website: http://www.thefableonline.com/2015/10/issue-9-halloween-special/

Twitter: https://twitter.com/FableOnline

#Getting Creative

Happy Halloween, Happy Writing, Happy Submitting, Happy Autumn

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

(this photo was last week during a stroll through autumn in the Jardin du Luxembourg)

FINE LINES

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There is a man, in the rain, in a hat,
getting wet, growing mad,
calling connards to the penguins
of Parisian pedestrians plodding past him.

There is a man, with cigars and a beer,
by a bin, full of madness, next to tourists
lost in maps as the rain pours down
on the wrong choice of shoes.

There is madness descending
on cursing cars and pelting rain,
on pedestrians pushing and babies crying,
on tourists tutting by one man who laughs
at them all, at it all, at nothing around him
and the chaos inside him.

There is rain on the man
on the side of the street
with a certain kind of scent,
who stores papers on his pockets,
the written worries of the world,
a madness that his mind cannot fathom.

There is a madness manifesting
in multiple ways in man and his muddles
next to puddles in the rain, by a bin,
on a street, at a pedestrian crossing
Where tourists are waiting their turn.

There is a fine line that divides
all the roads we can cross
and the madness
we cannot seem to conquer.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly