SHORT STORIES OF FEAR; A MATTER OF MUD

  A Short Story The Americans and British were bent on finding Jim Morrison while the Irish and Japanese, for some reason, longed to add more kisses to the now ball-less Sphinx lingering over the long decayed body of Wilde, who probably watched down over their stupidity, proffered some wicked wit as their rouged up […]

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SUCH MOVEMENT BEHIND A SETTING SO STILL

Silver sky settles over sun-soaked sea where we watch the future ripple reflections; cranes in the corner of Korea coming closer to a mountain once central to the frame. Silence and simplicity have never shaken with such an uncertain stillness.     All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly. This week’s ideas come from […]

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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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THE GARDEN OF THE MOON

  There is a shadow, like a dream too delirious to light with language, whispering more of what swam away than what smears this still water I trudge through below a bitter moon that has made his garden in this breast of man.   All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly This is a […]

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HOW MANY LETTERS DOES IT TAKE TO SPELL OUT ENOUGH?

  And as they bit into the apple they lost their right to the garden. Hands are tipped now with guns, now, instead of gold, instead of gloves. Rage is the new ricochet where once it was rock and roll; bullets are the new Beatles. Facebook has alerts, now, to say you’re alive, now, after, […]

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THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST

   We were meant to be nothing more than the compliment to you, calm and considerate not the conqueror; covetous and carnal. We were meant to be nothing more than the guardian of you; grateful and gracious not just gluttony grounded in greed. We were meant to be nothing more than the homemaker in you; […]

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IN MOTHER’S GARDEN

  Mother, the path has been puzzling and there are patterns now, penetrating patterns once thought impossible, entwined around veins, like vines that vie for vittles’ on walls already wavering, on buildings bare as if each brick banished is a breath broken, Mother, I carry more now than before but fragments have flown, not yet […]

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