UNDER PARIS, day 29 of A Month with Yeats

 

Day 29 of Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats and today’s quote is from ‘No Second Troy’

‘Why, what could she have done, being what she is? Was there another Troy for her to burn?’—W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com

My poem is called: UNDER PARIS

 

Caught

is the consciousness

in this constant climb

in this city of constrictions

and its current that constricts

and I can’t catch a breath.

 

And the barricades have broken.

 

Baffled

by the beat

my feet can’t follow

and so I am swallowed

sinking in this city of stone swamps

and its concrete that compresses

and I can’t get a grip.

 

And the barricades have fallen.

 

Stoned

is the spirit

of a soul now struggling

through these streets of revolutions

and its suburbs of no solutions

and not a single resolution.

 

And the barricades are weighing.

 

Turmoil

was her Troy

as this place is my poison

burning through this body of burdens

wondering if it was seduction or abduction

that imprisoned us both under Paris.

 

Are we to be buried

beneath this barricade?

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

THE GREEN BELT

 

Like bodies for burial, on belts
conveying commodities
to congested communities,
shrubs are shrouded
in sheets of plastic
that will not perish,
in weather
that can now only wither,
along concrete
too painful to penetrate,

as brick and beast
tower over twig and tree.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

LIFE BEGINS AT…

 

A new start,
A new life
Amid the shadows
Of one already
Lived,
Years ago,
A lifetime before,
Before me,
Before I,
Before this person I’ve become
While time has shifted
And birthdays were counted
And all the while
The past
Lingered,
Called,
Reminded me
Of all I once left,
So easily,
So casually,
In a taxi
That tore me away
Without thought,
Without worry
For all that would follow on…

A new life,
A new start
In another age
Seen through older, wiser,
Sometimes more silly, eyes,
I’ve tasted other worlds,
Other places,
Other lovers,
But this circle game of life
Has carouseled me back
To before
While moved on,
Revolving
While changing
Who I am,
Who I was
And taking me closer
To all that still can be…

A new start,
A new life
And new breath
And release…

FLYING IN AIR

I am airborne,
Life is being lived
Beneath me
Amid the flickering lights,
In the daunting darkness,
Like festive fairies twinkling-
All myth and mystery,
Miles away
Amid mountains
That look like molehills,
Meandering mechanically
In moving motors.

I am now living
In the breath held,
Passing through time,
Pausing,
Passive,
Patient,
Pondering possibilities,
Playing ability
Against probability
Wondering where I will rest
One day, that day
When wings ring out
With weariness
And my feet find their land again
And path to plod along.
I know
What lies beneath,
Have seen the suction
Of the cites
And their seduction,
Have seen the wonder
In the wilderness
Where wolves are wild
And winds are free,
But I am ignorant
Of what rests above,
Up there,
Out of reach,
Far from sight
In the darkening deafness,
Beyond the burnt out stars
And all understanding of existence.

I am airborne,
Live is being
Lived out
Beneath me,
Without me,
And I wonder
Are the souls
Who left me
Long ago
Flying above me?

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