BRIGHT LIGHTS IN GARDEN PONDS

 

Stars dance at the bottom of the back garden
where the rain waits in shallow ponds
for the earth to lick it dry.

Reflections are dependent on position-

you cannot catch the moon lying on the ground
from the front window where the sun lingered
a little longer today than the tear stained back
where stars tickle the empty earth we’d since weeded
while the moonlight’s absorbed by the shallows
never deep enough to hold the right answers
to the questions the imagination is too distracted
to decipher.

Breakable is dependent too on position and how we transition-

will the earth lick the stars from callous pond,
here, in the back garden while I sit trance-like,
in this window of the empty sky,
turning this piece of plastic over in my hands
to pacify panic, counting the intakes and holding…
one, two, three, four and then out… releasing
for a second longer like the sun that lingered earlier,
in the front, while I was out digging holes
in the earth at the back,

trying to get closer to the cure-

plunging pressured palms down into that hellish heat
to dry this pond of trapped starlight, allowing them
to rise again instead of dying out here,
on this empty earth.

There are times I want to quit this place, these concerns,
this kitchen, this garden, this land, this planet,
this moonlight and feel what it’s like to burn
through eternity and not just lay here,
waiting to be licked.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

YELLOW LIGHT

 

I never knew
how far I could bend
before I would break

until it snapped
before the sunrise
before the yearning
of the yellow light found me

longing,

looking for a lost breath
in the back of a dark chest
I had filled with every worry

that wasn’t mine.

Even an elastic
knows its limit
before it lies limp,

before it cannot recall
its own recovery,
before its tension
rips it from its reason.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

15th poem for NaPoWriMo

PLAY HIM

 

Play me
he pleaded
and she conceded,
trickle a tune
along my spine
make thee mine.
I’ll make you whine
she promised him
and so she played him
then she laid him
then she splayed him.
She teased the sheets
she scorched the score
and she nibbled on notes
he never even knew existed
and then she left him, lying there
broken, battered and gasping for air
pleading with her
to stop and save him
as she walked away
singing a solo.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

WITHOUT NEEDING

Rip from me
My heart
And allow me
Not to care.
To love
Right now
Is too worthless,
Too wearisome.
I am weighed down
With sadness
And torment.
Let me feel
Nothing
Anymore.
I beg you.
Let me live
Without needing
Or being needed.
Let me pack up emotions
And store them away,
Safely,
Securely,
I will hold them
Once again
In a time
When many suns
Have found their setting
And many wrongs
Have been righted,
In a time
When I have learnt
How to be
Who it is
The Person that I am.

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