THE KIND OF CREATURES WE ARE

14/10/201713/03/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

Strange are the creatures we are
beyond the bones that break
and the backs that bare,
striving to question our own conception
within this creation ever depleting

(and yet we all want more).

Strange are the creatures we are
beyond the fingers that fondle
and the footprints that fade,
striving to find a love completely,
a comfort to cover the concrete

(that we poured on the soil ourselves).

Strange are the creatures we are
beyond the blood that feeds
and the flesh that festers,
striving to hold the stars in our hands
now that our planet we’ve pulled apart

(the greener grass of another galaxy).

Strange are the creatures we are
beyond the tongues that taste
and the eyes that envy,
striving to have all that we can hold
not thinking what we’ll leave behind

(not thinking of those we leave behind).

Strange the creatures we are
beyond the heart that hurts
and the needs not enough,
striving to stay afloat within the fear
yet laughing as we’re carried away.

Strange the creatures,
these creatures we are.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

RAPTURE, THERE ARE NO ENCORES

30/04/201716/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 14 Comments

DAY 30 of NATIONAL POETRY WRITING MONTH; 30 POEMS IN 30 DAYS #NaPoWriMo

And down fell rapture, fell down, not up,
having claws now, clenched now
over the faithless who couldn’t fathom
what their lies and legions had begun,

and off flew the doves that once divined,
by his hand, (by whose hand exactly?)
that dry land where ships could stand.
They soar once more in search of other shores?

Worry not their weakening wings,
those precious things, make them not
our whores, have them listen not
to manmade myths once bound in books
by human hands, by hooks that humans
hang to, bare back brave bird, flap not
in fear, for hear this, here, this, this is it,
after rapture has turned to wrath,
after the columns have conceded,
there is only rubble to rummage through.

Raped were the fine forests
with ferocious flames, with claims
to conquests and conquerors
and contractors of condos,
and ashes are the only monuments
to the woods now, so no Arc, now!

Hark now, how the angles weep
over drought, and the shadow of doubt
over mankind, man now drained of kind,
no more the floods, (gone, just like those
woods) as oil is sucked from starving soil,
from sacred sands once known as native lands

And down fell rapture, not up, fell down,
crashed into oceans cast with cadavers
of the countless who’d been cast out,
cast off, caught in the current of a concern
that we couldn’t seem to cope with, refuge
reduced a raft we couldn’t keep afloat,

pain has purged paradise and all pleasure
plucked out by those pinched claws,
gripped jaws, savage with selfish
sensationalism, fallen too far
to the right to ever be truly right.

See me, it sings, serve me, and it slivers,
before the ravenous roar of wronged
rapture itself is swept from the stage.

In the end, there are no encores.

Rapture. No Rapture. A new rapture!

A deathly departure!

Down with the darkness it dives,
deep down, and with it ignorance
and arrogance, deaf ears and blind eyes,
and mouths that eat their own tongues
for no more is there need for words.

The war has been won and rapture
has fallen down, is done.

And no one stands in wait for us.
The Coming they prophesied
has properly been and gone.

But then wake did I
from darkening dream
and turn did I
to open window
where light was cast
in joyous beam

and thought did I
on entering day
that sights from dreams
in day don’t stay,
but slumber still
behind closed eye,
and tucked down tight
neath blankets sigh

and so walk did I
and work did I
and laugh did I
and hope did I
and eat did I
and smile did I

and the sun retired
and the stars stretched out
and I thought
there is not a single doubt
as I stared upon
the heavens gesture
and thought not man
can this vision fracture

III

then turn did I towards end of day
and hear did I, though in the distance,
a wing in flight, a fear now calling,

no dream this time,

but that rapture falling.

All Words and Sketches by Damien B. Donnelly

Congratulations to everyone who took part in #NaPoWriMo2017! Now Breathe!

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

FRIVOLOUS PHILANDERERS

14/04/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

Day 14; National Poetry Writing Month 30 new poems/30 Days #NaPoWriMo

I listen
to the river rushing,
pushing, washing,
I listen
to the water slipping,
seeping, weeping
over once regal rock
now withering, wuthering,
whispering.
I listen
to the water
trailing the last vestiges
of its veins
through what remains
of the terrains we’ve choke’n
taken and broken.
I listen
to the ferocious sound
of nature’s force
and hear the horse’s
gallop along the course;
the gallant getaway,
no longer blindly blinkered
to the frivolous philanderers,
the malicious meanders
of the bystanders
and their current commanders,
and in its hooves
I hear a wilderness at run
from the trampling of the gun,
the so-called fun
that has too soon undone
what the gods once begun.
I listen
to the rivers running
and realise
you can’t see the end
but you can hear it coming.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/frivolous-philanderers

COSTINGS

22/10/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 6 Comments

I read you
through pictures,
past and fading,
fast forgetting what it was
to be free,
what it was to be healthy.
I read you in
leaves that fall
from twisted trees
when summer is still shining,
when autumn has not yet begun,
when seasons no longer come when expected.
I read you
in rivers that are rising
and seas no longer salty
but bashed by bitter tears
the years have pushed with pollution
in place of finding a solution.
I read you
through hope no longer healthy,
no longer worthy to the wealthy
who’ve drained you dry.
There is no blood in stone,
there is no money making motive left unturned
but we are turned,
but we are undone,
have undone this wizened world
and home is now hardly a harbour
but a broken boat
waiting to be tossed from a world
once known, once cherished,
now blown to bits,
scattered fragments
like falling leaves,
like rising rivers,
like discoloured waters,
like extinct animals,
fading in pictures of what beauty once was
before man made demands without counting the cost.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/costings

THE BURNING WOOD

10/09/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

And so man
within his story,
with all his guts
and gluttoned glory,
failed to reach the heavens
with his flying ships
and roaring weapons,
looking upwards,
always upwards,
never sideways,
never backwards,
never wondering
how he stood
with his feet
in the burning wood,
on this one time fertile Earth
once filled with hope,
once filled with worth.

And the gods
laughed on high
from their positions
around the sky,
from their comets
in the clouds
encircling a world
now laid in shrouds
and its curious little creatures
with hungry hands
and augmented features,
clambering and clawing
over cadavers, though always falling,
trying to catch a glimpse
of what was lying
in wait on front of them
but missing the destruction
they were leaving
in their disruption.