confusion – Deuxiemepeau Poetry by Damien B. Donnelly

PERMISSIBLE TO ASK?

I take the boat out on the water, rowing out to come into the stillness in this place where space is still displaced. Chez moi, c’est quoi, c’est où ? Il est permis de demander ? Merci, I say, still, when I should just stay still, like this water where I row out, stretching […]

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BACK HOME, A SHORT STORY OF THE COMFORTS OF COMMUNICATION AND CONFUSION

-Where’s the thing? she asks, her mind racing faster than the push-up response of the recline on the sofa. -What thing? I inquire, startled out of a semi-induced state of hibernation to save myself from the 2nd instalment of the evening of Emmerdale which was briefly interrupted by 23 minutes of Coronation Street and […]

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WHEN WHITE FALLS BLUE

Snow falls and the darkness drowns in silence, a hush from the heavens falling, so slowly, even crystals cry. Are these the tears of angels weeping who’ve watched us, falling, like this slow snow, like their tears, trembling? Snow falls and there’s a stillness and still all this silence between us. Bruises covered in […]

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GONE, THE GARDEN

Gone is the garden, we are paved now in parts no longer potential to growth, to goodness. And the crow caws in the corner, flesh festering into feather. Gone is the garden, we have paved paths over all that was precious while thinking thoughtless, if only we’d thought less about what we wanted and […]

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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 […]

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BORDERS AND BOUNDARIES, NO. 14, NAPOWRIMO

I hear you crying from the runway, as you tried to run away, I was already off a fold on the wings of flying while you sat there, waiting and crying, wishing colour was no more than a past you could turn from. I hear you crying above these clouds I am trying to […]

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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 […]

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I CAME TO THE CITY, PART 3; GONE, THE GARDEN

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SYNCOPATED SADNESS

Day 17 National Poetry Writing Month Dwelling deep in the darkness where hearts breathe less, held hidden below the humour, like a tumour, there’ve been shadows dancing, all this while, to a beat he cannot follow, to a music he cannot swallow, that cannot be caressed, a syncopated sadness with no cord considered, with no […]

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AT ODDS, AT THE TABLE

Day 3: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo Always that fine line between what slots together and what slips in between, those black spots of doubt that cannot be fully folded out like linen that lingered too long before being laid, like chopsticks that fight for form between fingers foreign, like this morning, in the park, […]