All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Fragility
ART ISN’T EASY
Colour
catches on canvas as we lean towards light,
a beam to break the boredom like a breath
above the water after diving up from darkness,
ripples run across the current,
ink spreads out like veins upon this page;
art isn’t easy, breathing isn’t any better-
both come up from down below,
rise through risk into life, into looking lively.
The texture of the wave is as temperamental
as the tone that sets itself out upon the page.
I dab the brush, horse hair taps connections
and colour comes at a gallop. It is clear-
control is not concerned with the creator.
This body needs air, runs broken, breathless-
breath and then less and less and less
and sometimes, sometimes I need to turn back
and teach the lungs how to draw. In.
Ink dries and petals stand, enchanting time
with their dismission of the word wilt.
Colour catches on canvas, clear and captured
and I lean in with the hope of drawing fresh
breath before the dive recalls me to paint
panic.
All words and paintings by Damien B. Donnelly
SNOW WHITE
I saw you, one morning,
blanketed in white,
a speckled canvas of virgin purity,
all colour lost out to a simpler shade of simplicity.
No more that magnificent mass of contrast and contradiction,
just quiet and gentle unencumbered distinction.
Distant laughter carried on a breeze
swirling round trees caught motionless in time,
branches bare but for the kind kisses of that slow falling snow.
I saw you like this, one ordinary morning,
as tears formed icicles on my face, snowflakes falling
from your skies to hide your valleys and hills
as my feet disappeared beneath the snow-white earth.
I saw you, like this, one extra ordinary morning,
and that long lost smile
reappeared.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Merry Christmas everybody, Dami xx
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 this cold cotton candy coating of fragility,
every day more freezing, more frozen,
just not enough to numb. Snow falls
and all paths disappear, I thought our tracks
ran deeper, like this winter, like this weight,
like this waiting, behind the window, behind
this glass I can’t see through, beyond the storm
falling, slowly. Snow falls and the sorrow
slips in, cold where there used to be comfort.
What happens to my tears, who will watch them
with wonderment like I look out now at the snow,
slowly falling, and think of angels?
Wasn’t I once your angel?
Are you watching at some slow distance
as these snowflakes cover my confusion?
In time, this too shall melt and be no more than memory,
even snowflakes fall for but a season. Snow,
falling, slow. Already wishing it was spring.
Even white is blue in the falling light.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
EARLY AUTUMN
The sky is burning,
the last light eclipsed by the night
and we stop and stare like fools at its blaze,
not seeing within this gaze possibility falling
though our hands like snowflakes in a season
that has kept captive the summer.
The sky is burning
while we travel in taxis, all of us
back-seat partakers being driven down roads
we know not where they lead as our minds run
tattered threads along all the tracks we wanted to press
with our own print but we cannot choose a direction
like a snowflake cannot control its pattern.
The sky is burning
with a fine filigree of fire and ice,
with thoughts we try to catch hold of but flames
are ever changing as no snowflake is ever the same
and we take hold of other dreams others dreamt of
in other beds, under other skies blazing
through futile snowstorms and we melt,
like a snowflake
in the dry heat of an early autumn.
All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly
ATTENTION
I glisten to distract,
like a snowflake;
the sparkle before the melt.
Particles of fleeting perfection
floating through the hands of time,
falling through all these imperfections.
If only my clutch were tighter, truer,
if only I knew more of my own truth,
too many skins already slipped through,
too much prediction put on that perception
of perfection that can never be preserved.
A snowflake
cannot be caught intact. We cannot catch a cloud.
We cannot always clear the way for the truth.
Perfection: a twist of our perception,
a precious perspective from a single point
never again to be seen. What if it’s never seen at all?
Glistening like a snowflake, falling.
A snowflake can be a melting tear
or a tiny miracle on track to disappear.
Truth; an elusive illusion, a deathly desire
tenuously tied to what I present to you
and to how you perceive me.
To what we fear and what we are willing to reveal.
I glisten,
to distract attention
from all about me that doesn’t sparkle.
All words and designs by Damien B. Donnelly
THE SWEPT AND THE SWEEPERS
Fragility falling
through fine flecks of fair filigree,
perfect patterns of individuality speckled
on imperfect individuals.
Snowflakes melt
on steaming skin thin on time,
too thick to break through, you cannot always sink
below the surface of an iceberg,
we cannot break through
all that lays beneath, all the lies below the surface,
it gets hotter the closer you come to the cold truth,
only in space can a spec appear spotless.
Fragility falling
through the folds of a snowstorm,
we are the swept and the sweepers, we must be swift,
icicles can injure, perfection can pierce.
I can be broken,
I can be better, I can be broken, but it takes time
to rebuild. I can be a snow-swept filigree
falling through the perfection of time
and time,
with all its perfection, with its constant movement
and minutes, is as fragile as that snowflake.
All words and drawings by Damien B Donnelly
LONG DAYS
Beauty bays
in the back gardens
of concrete
we’ve created,
simplicity shouting
from the shadows
of cites under siege,
precious petals
pulsing with potential,
lines of light longing
add contrast to contour,
like age adds interest.
Long days, lonely,
waiting to be witnessed
by more than just
the falling rain…
We all are beauty,
bending to the light,
bursting to be seen.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost.
NO COMPARISON
And they say that man
is master and should marvel
at all he can make
but there’s no mistaking
the meaning of majesty
when the seas and heavens
shake.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
GOLDEN HARMONIES
Sight sees,
on Sundays,
beds of bowing
sunflowers, bowing
in beauty, not weeping
from weary, caught under
careful clouds; to comfort, not
to crush, sweet simplicity in growing
gardens, growing gold, going on, going green.
Sight sees, on Sundays, harmony reigning majestically.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Damien B. Donnelly 