MOTOR AND MOVEMENT 

 

 

Man or machine;
stable steel
or fragile filigree,
spinning through space,
through this space,
life the length of a thread;
never knowing
how deeply the spool is wound.
Man or machine,
we motor and move,
we spin tales
and cross lanes
looking for the link,
the correct cog to coil around,
to lighten the toil
we are threading through.
Man or machine;
one turns
and the other is turned.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

THE NEW LOOK

Day 29; National Poetry Writing Month 30 Days/30 Poems #NaPoWriMo

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I am
that fine line
that divides
what is feminine
from what is
futuristic.
That fine line
that flushes
the fabulous
out of the fickle.
The reflection
of what once was
incased
in something else
and might
one day
be called
another new look.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken at the Fashion Forward exhibition, Musee des Arts Decoratifs, Paris 2016

STARTING OVER

First day,
first frost,
fragile steps,
crisp blanket under foot
on grass like glass.

Crisp air,
slow movements
susceptible to change,
to ticking time,
travelling through
like the snow flakes
on sturdy shoots
above warmer roots

Fine day
for starting out,
finding freshness
in the unforeseen,
favouring the future
on lists
that never linger long,
resounding resolutions
penned in dissolvable solutions
on crisp sheets
all shattered
before the sun
can melt the snow.

A blank page,
a clear canvas,
crisp to caress,

careful how you press.

We are each of us
snowflakes
falling
through twisting time
undefinable,
indescribable,
irreplaceable,
often unreachable,
looking for a leaf
to light upon,
a place to rest
on this new day
in this new year.

Crisp white hope
glistens on fragile branches
that are already bending…

 

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

PAUSE AND POISE

 

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Running
through time,
through time
that can never be tempered,
through twisting trees and projected paths,
projecting thoughts yet to be pondered,
through mornings unfolding
while seasons fall to winter
and wither for a while all around me,
crisp carpets crinkle
with what was once light and leafy
but are now scattered sprinkles
of seasons shadows,
like thoughts once tasted
now toppled from the tongue
slipping underfoot;
from roots they rise only to return
as I break the silence
of early morning,
air crisp and clear,
cutting through motions of stillness
colours caught on careful carpets,
rust reigns regal
as orange opens into opulence,
opens into fragrance,
revels in its own resilience,
between the trunks,
below the benches
that have seen more time than I can wait for, than I can capture;
captured kisses,
paused breaths,
hands held,
all now scenes and scents seeping into the seated silence.
Running through forests,
all falling into that perfect promise
of pause and poise
all still while the earth turns, beauty below our feet

while we rage above it.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available at Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/pause-and-poise

FEATHERS IN FLIGHT

 

We are but fickle fellows,
like feathers that blow
at the beckoning of the breeze
and know not where we land.
We are the folly of fluttering fancies;
a collection of coincidental connections
that we cannot create, keep or control.
I found you once in a far flung field
and fought to find the freedom
to forge in you forever but wicked winds
wound my weakness in greater gales
and I lost my grounding in that garden,
never mine, never thine, never ours,
the petals perishing on prized plateaus
where passion never played to pleasure.
We are fellows of fluttering feathers,
too feeble to fight the forces
that blow us briefly onto bodies bare
and bring us back from that beauty
for fear we might one day
find the force to forge our own flight.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FRAGILE BEAUTY

Fragile beauty

Caught in the garden,

Flickerings of ruby red

Tenderly unraveling

From garlands of green

Amid a day

Named ordinary.

It is the fairest pleasure,

The simplest suggestion of perfection,

Nature unearthing itself

Onto the world

And yet

It is the easiest

To crush-

A cry of crimson

Carelessly caught

In the chaos

Of our calloused hands.

We are the blossom

Of our dull days

And are no more

Imperishable,

Unbreakable,

Immortal

Than a rose

Risen one day

To be clipped the next,

Never knowing

How a season can be

But a minute,

A year

But an hour,

A lifetime

But a day.

We hold the beauty

In our fragile fingers,

Careful we must be

How tightly

We clutch our lives,

For only in our hands

Can we shape it,

Share it

And ensure

It survives.

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