IN OR OUT

 

Lilium lancifolium lies back
in a bed we repositioned
last spring under the scorch
of today’s mid-afternoon melt.

In a slow movement that set her
into structure, before the dawn woke
the rest of us, she assumes a position
to demonstrate the perfect pliancy
of her freckled petals and pushes
everything out to be eaten.

Next to her majesty, in the sluggish
shade of a white pot on the worm-
twisting soil, succulents seal in
all they will ever need to survive.

Somewhere in between I, myself,
am planted with all that I hold vital
willingly caged within these ribs
not even I can open while my fears

sway like stamen from this skin
as I pray for the wind to soon
introduce them all to flight.

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All words and photos by Damien B Donnelly

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY, JARDIN DES SERRES, PARIS

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All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

A lot of photographs, I know, I did edit, I promise, I took over 250 photos in about an hour while skipping like a 4 year-old around the place that was practically empty. I think this might be the city’s best kept secret and ‘how dare you’ Roland Garros, the neighbours, try and dig this place up to extend your tennis courts! This is priceless! Now who’s Out!

A FISH CAUGHT ON THE CURVE OF THE MOON

 

Love
is a red
Russian rose
on the run,
a bouquet
to brush the blues
from their burdens.

Hope
is his hand
on her head
in the night,
taking flight
as that blue bird darkens.

But
her moon
was in Pisces
and she was said
to be expunged
by her sensitive soul

but
in his hands
he still held her,
his red
Russian rose
and so
he painted a song
to perpetuate her soul.

Her moon
was in Pisces
and his heart
in the bloom of her hand.

All words by Damien B Donnelly. Painting, Le Paysage Bleu, by Marc Chagall

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 had never been taught the words.
Father liked to laugh, first,
when others lost,
so no one could hear his own loss
tearing at him, like weeds twisting
behind the restraints he wore
like his inside out jumpers
and tattered brown trousers
he thought no one could see through.
Father ate all the flowers
in the shadows
of the back garden
and choked on a laugh
that no one understood.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

13th poem for National Poetry Writing Month

BORDERS AND BOUNDARIES, NO.4, NAPOWRIMO

 

I thought I would learn something more fortuitous 

than just fear

in those hollow halls

I learned to hate,

but books were not bats

when boys became bullies. 

Fragility can grow like strength

but the wonder we weigh

on the fragile flower 

only overshadows 

the tears that stem 

beneath to petals.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

PICTURING PARIS, THE LAST BLUSH 

Today felt like the last blush of summer sunshine on the city that always shimmers, both in shadow and shade. These are some photo highlights I took this morning on my morning potter through the 5th arrondissement; heralded by Hemingway, the sunflower filled Jardin des Plantes and the touch of autumn rainfall on my shoulder along the Seine wth the rose windowed eyes of Notre Dame upon us all…


























All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly