TATTERED BROWN TROUSERS

 

Father ate all the flowers
in the back garden
because he couldn’t swallow
the promise of happiness
that bloomed within the home
he couldn’t find his root within.
Father left all the flowers
in the front garden,
too proud for others to see
him pulling from the soil
everything he needed help with
but had never been taught the words.
Father liked to laugh, first,
when others lost,
so no one could hear his own loss
tearing at him, like weeds twisting
behind the restraints he wore
like his inside out jumpers
and tattered brown trousers
he thought no one could see through.
Father ate all the flowers
in the shadows
of the back garden
and choked on a laugh
that no one understood.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

13th poem for National Poetry Writing Month

WHITE NIGHT, day 4 of A Month with Yeats

 

Day 4 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats Challenge and in a day behind but onwards we roll. The quote comes from To some I have talked with by the Fire “…till the morning break and the white hush end all but the loud beat of their long wings, the flash of their white feet.” W.B. Yeats

The link to Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/11/04/a-month-with-yeats-day-four/

My poem is called White Night

 

We are vessels

either being filled

or being emptied,

portraying pretty

or rotting as rebels.

 

We are angels

dancing in the darkness

of our own worth,

feet of feeble footing,

flapping wings

within our cages.

 

We are flowers

never quite knowing

our beauty,

pruning the potential

out of others,

never the full bloom

unfolding,

fighting the true nature

that is ours.

 

We are winged warriors

flying through the fog

of our fate,

not knowing

that decision and destiny

are like oil and water,

like light and dark,

like love and hate,

like hush and horror,

like a beginning

and an end,

beating breasts

to be fighters

instead of followers.

 

We can be angels

but choose too often

to be anger.

 

We live in dark days

and only dream through

the white night.

 

All words and photographs by damien B. Donnelly

CRASH

 

Did you wipe your feet
upon my head
before you walked
over me?

Allow me to bend first, at least.

Was I so accustomed
to your disregard
that I could not
feel you

tearing through me,
leaning on me,
raiding me,
raping me?

Did you wipe your sweat
across my brow
to save yourself
time?

Let me fetch you a towel first, my lord.

Was I so unaware
of your self serving scent
that I put myself
forward

in offering,
in sacrifice,
to serve and satisfy?

Was I the fool
you perceived me to be
while you pillaged me
of dignity?

I saw a light
in the beginning
in the distance
and again
at the end

I thought it
to be salvation
but it turned out
to be your reflection
in the mirror

I was standing
behind you
but, as always,
you didn’t see me

you couldn’t see
beyond yourself
and that self-centredness
that took us over

like the sharp glare
from the car light
when it’s too late

and Crash…

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

BITTER CHOCOLATE

 

I wanted to write you
a valentine,
Valentine,
now that it’s now longer
Valentines,
now that you’re no longer
my valentine.

I’m sending you
a card,

along with chocolates,

to balance
your bitterness,

like the ones
you never sent.

If you were now
my valentine
I’d eat you
like chocolates,

I’d suck,
seduce
and swallow you
in seconds

to forget you.

If you were still
my valentine
I’d press you,
perfectly,
like a petal
between the pages
of a book,

of a book
I never open
and then wait for you

to perish.

If you were now
my valentine
I’d do my best
to banish you

just as I vanished
from your vision,

just as you left me

famished
for affection.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Human Nature

There are moonlit nights

On sandy shores-

Barefooted and barely clothed,

Worries washed away on waves

And troubles left for other days.

 

There are soulful nights

In firelight lost-

All Red-wined up and caught in kisses,

Drunk in love and wrapped in arms

And blanketed in each other’s charms.

 

There are lonely nights

When loves away

And nothing known can soothe you,

Till comfort calls you on the phone

And reminds you that you’re not alone.

 

There are other nights

Dark and distant-

All sleepless in the shadows,

As silly, stupid, stubborn slips

Cause listless lies to leak from lips-

 

Those long dark nights when tongues are tied

And troubles start to tremble,

When sanity is cast aside

And the sense of self dissembles.

When the one you thought you knew so well

Can look to you a stranger,

While the world no longer looks the same

Before the truth of human nature.

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