A PANICKED PULL

Beat. Break. Beat. Break.

Is there a monitor of these movements

                that shift beneath the skin? A rummaging

within the ribs. I hear a broken bird

                beating against the bars of its cage,

broken.

All organs and organisms need oxygen and optimism.

Panic. Breathe. Panic. Breathe.

I shift within skin whose movements

                I cannot monitor. I have mounded

matters into metal I cannot master. Alchemist

                is not altruist. I can be an organ

of oxygen

but cannot count on optimism.

Breathe and so fill my lungs, air entering,

                blood flowing through arteries, the rising

and falling, the beating and beating

                and for every beat; a break, for each breath of air;

a drowning.

A bird was not born to fly under water.

Beat. Break. Beat. Break.

Medical is not the same as mental but mental

is now being measured out by medicinal.

Run. Rest. Run. Rest.

Running from the nest, the rest, the rest of me,

                    the mess that has been left in place

of all the rest that has left.

What has been left?

I stop in the park and watch the rest, watch a bird

                break from perch, bold and brave, unfold

against the force, feathers in flight, feathers in fight,

                winded in the chest. Pushed back. Pushing forward.

Pushed back.

Beat. Back. Beat. Back.

I cannot handle heights, I have felt too much

                the fall, my feathers are for fancy now.

I am done with flying. I am digging, deep

                within the ground, deep within the body.

I will pull out every root

till I pluck the panic

and catch a breath again that I can breathe.

Pull. Panic. Pull. Harder.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

THE RETURN

Breezes are back in bloom

and I am caught

by the curl of the curtain

as it catches

in the courant d’air

now coming in

with questions

for all that has slipped

into a sleepy silence.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

TAKEN

 

What to report?

To what port must you swim,

in how little can one drown

(shallow is often

the sister to shady)

air is not anything

until it is nothing

 

and nowhere,

 

(sometimes existence

is only revealed

through disappearance)

are you someone

until you are seen

in the eyes of another?

 

What to report?

to which port do we reinvent,

circumvent,

is it possible for one to prevent,

(can prevention deter

a discernable direction)

fear is not anything

until it is everything

 

and everywhere,

 

(this skin does not tingle

until it’s been touched

or torn)

 

is there still a light

in the darkness

of the ransacked room

of this ravaged organ?

 

What to report?

How do you report

the trust that was taken (for granted)?

 

I tied to report it

but trust,

once taken,

cannot be listed

as things stolen

on a police report.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

ELEMENTS

There is a sea

On front of me,

Its waters awash

With possibilities,

Waves of wisdom,

Its tides tickle my toes

Tempting me into its depths,

There is a sky

Above me,

Rolling with clouds

Of cotton candy,

Pillows of potential,

Folding and flexing

And forming my future fate,

There is water in the sea

On front of me,

There is air is the sky

Right above me,

I stand on the land,

And I am earthed,

I feel the fire within me

And it is burning.

All artwork and photos always by Damien B. Donnelly

A BIRD IN FLIGHT

Like a bird in flight
Alive on the wind
Carefree to where it will take me
I rise and soar

Like a bird in flight
Viewing it all at once
The wide world beneath my movements
I look and learn

Like a bird in flight
Arms spread out
To feel the clouds, to touch the trees
To sense and see

Like a bird in flight
I am airborne
I am the sum of all my parts
I am the fire that warms the water
I am the air the feeds the earth.

FLYING IN AIR

I am airborne,
Life is being lived
Beneath me
Amid the flickering lights,
In the daunting darkness,
Like festive fairies twinkling-
All myth and mystery,
Miles away
Amid mountains
That look like molehills,
Meandering mechanically
In moving motors.

I am now living
In the breath held,
Passing through time,
Pausing,
Passive,
Patient,
Pondering possibilities,
Playing ability
Against probability
Wondering where I will rest
One day, that day
When wings ring out
With weariness
And my feet find their land again
And path to plod along.
I know
What lies beneath,
Have seen the suction
Of the cites
And their seduction,
Have seen the wonder
In the wilderness
Where wolves are wild
And winds are free,
But I am ignorant
Of what rests above,
Up there,
Out of reach,
Far from sight
In the darkening deafness,
Beyond the burnt out stars
And all understanding of existence.

I am airborne,
Live is being
Lived out
Beneath me,
Without me,
And I wonder
Are the souls
Who left me
Long ago
Flying above me?

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A LOVE OF LAND AND SEA

We were the writers
Of our own world,
You and I,
Creators and curators
Of our own course
And from that first embrace
We built the blueprint
Of our future
Together,
We burnt our imprints
Onto each others flesh
And built a life around
The connection we made
Far from a world
Waged on wealth and war.
We were land and sea
You and I,
For a land without sea
Is just barren and bare
And sea without land
Is but droplets in the air.
We were land and sea
You and I,
And in our rising
I became the half and you
The rest of the whole,
The compliment
To the combination,
Perched so often
Neath star sprinkled sky
Staring at its bounty
Where our fate lay in wait.

By reaching out
I’d found you,
By looking back
You’d seen me.
Lying body upon body,
Soul upon soul,
Strength relieving weakness,
Playing in the fields
Of our own new world,
We created a new life,
They said,
One life,
Our Life.

We built a bond
And blurred the lines
Between you and I.

We had fallen
Deeply.

How did I let that go?

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