Nature is not alike;
red reigns over green,
browns bend to blend
and lilac leans,
perfect petals poised
over tiny tufts, trembling,
buds unfold from
stretching stars.
Nature is not alike.
Humanity could be harmonious
if we delighted in our differences
with dignity.
Nature is not alike. Why should we be?
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
A lot of photographs, I know, I did edit, I promise, I took over 250 photos in about an hour while skipping like a 4 year-old around the place that was practically empty. I think this might be the city’s best kept secret and ‘how dare you’ Roland Garros, the neighbours, try and dig this place up to extend your tennis courts! This is priceless! Now who’s Out!
A starlit day,
on a distant shore,
as if summer had sent it
swarming like a snowflake;
silken wings to summon the sunset,
a white moth to raise a sweet soul
departing.
And there,
as a star was added,
the bright moon was kissed
in berry blush as the sun settled
beneath the lake where the lost trout
turned through tresses of silver dancing
and he smiled at his love, since lost,
now glimmering
in eternity.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
This is from the series A Month with Yeats
There is a beauty within this space,
a creation considered
to compliment the concrete,
you can leave if you like
by the stairs or you can rest
for a while on the seat.
There is a soul within these veins,
a creation connected
to more than just the carcass,
you can leave if you like
by letting go or you can stay
for a time in the hold.
There are footprints upon this floor,
tracks that tingle
where others have thread,
weather will wither them
and winds will wear them
but they remain submerged, ingrained.
There are memories within this soul,
impressions that have permeated
and beats that have broken,
they are indivisible from flesh,
they are inseparable from spirit,
they are beauty within the space
of each and every person.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
This is a re post of one of my older poems
White starlight,
light and lucent,
springs from
the ailing earth,
in quite corners
of tended borders
so fine and fair,
fragility unfolding
precious petals,
perhaps to soften
the edges
of darker days
that have set
shadows upon
so many sunsets.
White starlight
cradles beauty,
a bold beacon
blooming amid
these burdens
that bind us
to broken branches,
she’s taking chances
ripe and rare
like subtle silk,
like flowing milk,
so bright and brave
to dare to bloom
amidst these months
of doom and gloom.
White starlight
in broad daylight,
a wonder witnessed
among this world
of weeds
and tangled vines
that strangle
the timid
and the truth.
White starlight.
Fear not fragility
for she was
born to fight.
This poem is a re post.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Beauty is breathtaking
where breath is less
and beauty is all.
Beauty is breathtaking
before it’s been taken from you,
then we are no longer bound to blind
and breath is less and less and less.
We breathe in beauty
in excess
as if it were endless,
as if we were never bound to be less and less and less.
We are chalk
marked for a rainstorm.
We breathe beauty with every breath,
with every kiss caught from lip’s press,
we press beauty into flesh,
flesh fresh on beauty that is fleeting.
Kiss him back,
Kiss her again
before it’s gone.
‘Kiss me,’ she whispers with eyes eager
and he kisses her eyes
and her lips grow eager
to feel the beauty that is breathless,
that draws in each breath, less and less and less.
We are not bound to be endless,
we are chalk
marked for the rain storming in the distance.
And so we press more and more and more
falling into the fragile fold
that holds beauty as it is falling,
for we are falling
into life,
into lust,
into love,
into loss,
into all that will fade
when the rainstorm has fallen,
for we all are fragile.
Capture beauty
before the breath grows less and less and…
All words and collage by Damien B Donnelly
This is a re post from my series based on the albums of Joni Mitchell
Beau, tu sais?
Tu es beau,
c’est vrai.
Non, I say,
ca, c’est pas vrai.
Moi, je sais
d’autre chose,
mais beau?
Non, I say,
je ne suis pas beau.
Fragility I know,
mon ami s’appelle
fragilité,
pour lui
je porte a smile,
comme de vêtements,
like a shield,
mon sourire
est beau,
ca, tu peut dire,
ca, tu peut écrire,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
tu sais? Ca fait mal.
Mais merci, comme même,
c’est beau ce que tu m’a dit,
ce que quelqu’un m’a dit,
c’est beau, mais non,
c’est pas moi; I am…
je suis autre chose.
Translation:
Beautiful, you know?
You are beautiful,
it’s true.
No, I say,
that, it’s not true.
Me, I know
something else,
but beautiful?
No, I say,
I am not beautiful.
Fragility I know,
my friend’s name is
fragility,
for him
I wear a smile,
like clothes,
like a shield,
my smile
is beautiful,
that, I can say,
that, I can write,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
you know? It hurts.
Thank you, anyway,
It’s beautiful what you tell me,
that someone tells me,
it’s beautiful, but no,
it’s not me; I am…
I am something else.
All words and self portrait by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost of an older poem.
1
The Depth under the Moon
Moonlight
melts
languidly
on liquid lakes
like suds on dishes
like snow on windows
like thicker skin over age-old scars.
Moonlight
floats
momentarily
on rippling reflections
like the tingle after kisses
like the scent after sex
like the pain after parting.
Moonlight
flirts on the water
to divine
whether the depth
is worth the dive.
2
The Garden of the Moon
There is a shadow,
like a dream too delirious
to light with language,
whispering more of what swam away
than smears this still water
I trudge through
below a bitter moon
that’s made his garden
in this breast of man.
3
Being Bold
Beauty is raw
beneath this blood red sky
where we lie delirious,
licking at lazy, drunken ships
trudging through bitter beds,
frantic to find our way to smoother seas.
‘Man is but a whisper,’ the Shadows
sing to the Sun but I
want to milk the storm
before my summer sinks
beneath the shade.
The moon cannot be the only light
to cast its reflection upon these waters.
Surely we too can be as bright
as the night.
Beauty is raw
but bold can be breath-taking.
All poems by Damien B Donnelly
Painting entitled Clair de Lune, Pornic by Alexei Bogoliubov, photographed at La Lune Exhibition, Grand Palais, Paris, 2019
All poems are older poems I am re posting.
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Poems, Poetry, Poets
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A small press
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home of the elusive trope
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Damien B. Donnelly 