It might not be a white Christmas here in Paris or in Dublin, where I’m headed tomorrow, but it was once white enough to build a giant Snow Queen in the garden of Effelstown Cottage, the Donnelly homestead,  and to silence all movement in Amsterdam…

Merry Christmas everyone and a very, much needed, Happy New Year.



A North County Dublin Snow Queenimg_0862


Snow Covered Canals of Amsterdamimg_0593



Shades of Blue and White…





A lamp in a door, of course!



Dutch transport







Effelstown Cottage, Dublin , Ireland.


Al Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



It’s funny
how you slip in
along the side lines
on days that don’t deliver
that don’t distract.

It’s strange
how you pull me
from the pit falls
on days when I feel undone
when I feel attacked.

It’s alarming
how you linger
in the background.

It’s odd
how you hold me
despite the distance
even though
I thought us done.

It’s funny
how you trickle by
when bikes blow past
and windmills bellow.
Its funny how a land
can be as addictive
as a hand to hold
a tie to bind
and a heart to heal.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

All Photography taken in Amsterdam, The Netherlands 


I heard you today 
on the metro, 
in the morning, 
words falling
from foreign tongues 
as the train took me
so much further 
than the tracks permitted. 

I heard you today
in the distance,
after the departure, 
a language dissolving the borders 
that bind us now broken 
but a hold still held
that I hadn’t considered. 

I heard you today 
from the other side of the track,
on the other side of goodbye 
where I knew 
the grass was greener,
where the felt 
the need was greater,
I heard you
still existing 
nog steeds 
within me
but buried deep
under movement, metros 
and current concerns. 

I heard you today
on the other side of the metro,
in this new metropolis of old
while I stop
and fall
and break
and change
I heard you today
as you whispered 
from my memories
a delightful

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



There is silence
As if all the world is hiding
As if every soul is sleeping
As if every breath is breaking
As if every person’s perishing
In the silence

There is silence
As my eyes they drown in tears
For the loss of days and years
For the thoughts that became fears
While the energy disappears
Before the silence

There is silence
And all I know is dissolving
And all I had is disappearing
As if every fear is unfolding
And every tear is falling
Within the silence

There is silence
As if all my thoughts are tiring
And all my dreams are drowning
As if all my hopes are hiding
And all my buttons are breaking
And still the silence

There is silence
In the distance I’ve put between us
And in the things we can’t discuss
In the floods that try to drown us
In the frailty, in the fear and the fuss
Behind the silence

There is silence
In a city that’s turned against me
With it’s tone, stone cold and angry
A city that had failed to hold me
While another is waiting-
Hoping to set me free
From the silence




After years of painting you
Tones of turbulent indigo,
Tending and transforming you,
I’m busy building you back
To basic, a fresco of freedom
For us both in walls of white,
Whittled back to what it was
Before I splashed a signature
Of substance and delight, hoping
A house could be a home, hanging you
With shadow and light, filling you
With finite fragments of all that I’d known,
Looking for a secret place, a sanctuary
For a certain time, placing Joni’s
Travelogue, framed in browns
On the bedroom wall, reckless
Daughter and muse of mine, parcelled,
Packed and now waiting removal
From this very sojourn, this song
About the midway, this intersection
Of 30 and 40, a reflective pause
In this tiny town where I never
Thought to stay, this hallow place
That prickled like a cactus tree
Till I heard it in the wind, that
Hissing, that constant twisting
Urge for going, back to the road
That lays in wait for me, cursed and charmed
But there are those who are born to stay
And others who are born to take the highway.

In that reoccurring dream
Beneath the constant darkness
Of the night, I see myself, still
Smiling as the free man in Paris
And I can hear it, even in the light,
Despite all your lofty protestations
That this place could be my place,
Soulful solace amid the hookers
And hash, but the eyes of the woman
Of heart and mind on the wall
Foretold the fear that we now face;
I am a prisoner of the white lines
On the freeway, bound not to permanent
Position, slowing down long enough to find
A place to come in from the cold,
To rest amid the warmth, a refuge
From the road, a lesson in survival,
A need for nutrition, but I am flesh
And blood and creature curious, craving
More and more from this Hejira, this journey
Not destined to be here and always,
Forever was never our factor, bound
To your tiny rooms and hallways
I’ve seen it all from both sides now
And all I want is not here growing crabby
But there and hungry and happy.

I know you will haunt me, shadows
Circling my final flight like Amelia
Lost out on her search for shore
While the black crow flies towards
The something shining, something
Seen long ago and now felt even more.

We’ve been good friends, indeed,
A fact not fiction, a love not lost
But you’ve been a mere chapter
All the same, a long season of blondes
I’ve tired of but words run short
In me now, in this place where I’m
Paying the cost, in these rooms
That have closed in on me
As time slipped by so suddenly,
So I strip you back to before,
Yet different somehow, similar
Though faintly forever changed,
The footprints never fully fading,
This flight tonight will be final
Though the sky is ablaze with stars
That never burn brighter than when
They’re already fleeting and falling.

I laid for too long neath your roof,
Dreaming of another, darker, wondering
About the what if and what could be
But let’s not talk about fare thee wells
For the wind is in and it’s set me free,
Packed with a case of you to last me
Well as I spiral through this Circle Game,
This carousel of life that looks back on itself
Through time, returning to pivotal points
Already changing and bringing me
Back into frame, to something
Once remembered, something
That can hold me, something
To inspire me, something
To encourage me.

After years of painting you
Tones of turbulent indigo,
Turning and transforming you,
I am busy building you back
To basic, finding a freedom
For us both in walls of white
But no canvas is truly the same
After it’s first been rendered,
There’s always the shadow and light,
Always something that slips away,
Always the rest that sinks within,
Always the parts that cement and stay…

While the lady sings…

“I am on a lonely road
And I am travelling,
Travelling, travelling, travelling,
Looking for something
What can it be…
All I really, really want
Our love to do
Is to bring out the best in me and in you.”