CAPTURE BEAUTY

 

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

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

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

MOTION

We stop and start

like trains

caught between tracks,

caught between the gaps

of where to go

and how to get back.

We stop and start

like trolleys

left wheel veering right,

right wheel now left

of the centre

but the centre falls apart.

We stop and start

like breath

the taking in and letting go,

the filling up and that feeling

of deflation

as the air of our space is dispelled.

I am made

of minor movements

performed at high speeds

on packed platforms,

before halted at temporary stations

that bare no regard to my route

or my rhythm.

I consist of baggages

within carriages,

not always connected,

my head in the trunk

and my feet walking blind

through corridors

that follow no order.

I am oxygen,

a vessel of the big O,

I have no room really

to hoard,

I can only board,

my belongs are as temporary

as this element my lungs;

kiss, caress and release.

We stop and start

and start again

and then stop.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

PERFUMED POISON 

 

Coffee and smoke;

A perfumed poison,
Linger,
Devour and drink

This thing,

This delicious desire;
You naked,

I need a cup,

A kiss,

A breath of you,
One morning to make an eternity.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by the poetry magnet oracle.

ABSENCE

absence

I wake up
to the stillness,
to the stillness of the silence,
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows, 
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows in your absence,
still so present within all this emptiness

and then I realise
how much more room there is to breath.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken in the Amsterdamse Bois, Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

The Long Kiss

Longing to kiss you,

Long

And slow.

But first-

To tease temptation-

I would trace my finger tip

Along the line of your lip-

To feel

What soon I shall taste.

I imagine, now

Alone in the recess

Of my craving mind,

How we would move in

Closer

And I’d feel the heat

Radiating from your body

As we’d both shiver slightly

In the unison

Of that sensory touch.

I’d stand so close

That you’d feel my breath

Caress

The tiny hairs on your chin

And,

As my nose brushes past your cheek,

I’d take in your scent

Before our mouths fall in sync

And our lips would meet.

Tenderly,

To start with,

We’d close upon each other-

Lost in exploration

Of curves,

Of warmth,

Of shape and flavor,

The moisture building-

And we’d be unable to say

If it was yours, or mine

Our ours

And then,

Relinquishing control,

I’d crave to nibble

Upon that perfectly formed

Lower lip of yours

That I could feel

Pulsating against mine

And so I’d bite it softly,

As if to test you,

To tease you open

So as to feel your breath

Entering my mouth

And ever so naturally-

Almost innately-

I’d breath it in

As if to claim it

As mine-

Tried and tasted,

Before my tongue,

Eventually,

May find your cupids bow

And lick its way,

Cautiously,

But with mounting hunger,

To the tip your teeth

And,

As my eyes

Pour into yours

And our bodies tremble,

I’d enter you,

At last,

And find your tongue

Ready to greet me-

As if to welcome me in

Further

And deeper

While,

Simultaneously,

My hands

Would trace their way

Around your waist

And under your shirt-

One hand working its way upwards

Along your spine

To pull you closer,

While the other would

Explore its way

To the heat

Below your waistline.

Longing to kiss you,

I am,

Long

And lasting…

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