Fragility

SONG OF THE SEASON

/ deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

 

Come behold nature;
this beautiful blossom,
breathe the berry,
warm wind on the daffodil,
Eden’s sweet sanctuary,
bloom beneath a blanket of peace,
a murmur through the mountain vine,
prairie bright with ancient rain,
thrive seed through sacred stone,
He sees a song in every season,
gentle garden, wild wind,
listen, live, love.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost

TO LINGER, LONGER, MAYBE

/ deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

 

Like a whisper
tissue is painted with purpose,
silk spun from crisp cuts,
white scented with sapphire
parading into Prussian
(fragile of frame and filigree),
like a thought
an image opens, a petal unfolding,
shades seep into substance
as the edges fade
(how quickly we fall to forgetful)
light, liquid, linger, a little longer.
Thoughts tied in twists of emerald
shimmering,
simplicity on a simple stand,
in a liquid light
and the memory leans in.

We are more fragile
than we know.

We could be more lasting
but only time will tell.

Not everything will linger
on after our whispers
fall to a fade…

  

All words and photographs y Damien B. Donnelly

This is a Repost

BALLOON

/ deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

Balloon,
the balloon,
see the balloon…

see thoughts float
through space,
meander through the mind,
wild thoughts, drifting thoughts,
black thoughts, orange thoughts,
thoughts arriving unannounced,
uninvited, unaware of the current climate,
thoughts that rise like balloons
on silent streets
on sleepy Sundays
in the suburbs
to shock and surprise

(though if no one ever sees it
was it ever really there?)

Thoughts float
through time,
suggestions, signs
from unconscious minds,
disruptive thoughts, distracting thoughts
(I held his hand in a taxi while thinking of another)
Time ticks through thoughts
as we scurry through strange streets
grasping the wrong hands
throughout this diversion,
this constant drawing in of air,
drawing in on inspiration
wherever necessary
wherever noticed

(see the balloon!)

Thoughts float
like balloons,
like bodies,
never knowing
if it’s a considered curve
or just a current we’re caught in

(if it cannot be captured
can it ever be caressed?)

Thoughts float
like balloons
though the air

(oxidising, fuelling, thinking)

Thoughts float
fragile and free

some never to be caught,
some never to be caressed.

Thoughts float
and then fade,

balloons blow
and then burst.

Capture me, it, them, all, everything

before I/we/it all fade

before I/we/it all burst.

Balloon,
the balloon,
see the balloon.

See,
see the being,
see the beginning,
see the beginning of something bright

even on silent streets
in the sleepy suburbs
on Sundays

where simple things can shine…

   

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a repost

 

WHITE STARLIGHT

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

 

White starlight,
light and lucent,
springs from
the ailing earth,
in quite corners
of tended borders
so fine and fair,
fragility unfolding
precious petals,
perhaps to soften
the edges
of darker days
that have set
shadows upon
so many sunsets.

White starlight
cradles beauty,
a bold beacon
blooming amid
these burdens
that bind us
to broken branches,
she’s taking chances
ripe and rare
like subtle silk,
like flowing milk,
so bright and brave
to dare to bloom
amidst these months
of doom and gloom.

White starlight
in broad daylight,
a wonder witnessed
among this world
of weeds
and tangled vines
that strangle
the timid
and the truth.

White starlight.
Fear not fragility
for she was
born to fight.

   

This poem is a re post.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

CAPTURE BEAUTY

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Beauty is breathtaking

where breath is less
and beauty is all.

Beauty is breathtaking
before it’s been taken from you,
then we are no longer bound to blind
and breath is less and less and less.

We breathe in beauty
in excess
as if it were endless,
as if we were never bound to be less and less and less.

We are chalk
marked for a rainstorm.

We breathe beauty with every breath,
with every kiss caught from lip’s press,
we press beauty into flesh,
flesh fresh on beauty that is fleeting.

Kiss him back,
Kiss her again

before it’s gone.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispers with eyes eager
and he kisses her eyes
and her lips grow eager
to feel the beauty that is breathless,

that draws in each breath, less and less and less.

We are not bound to be endless,

we are chalk
marked for the rain storming in the distance.

And so we press more and more and more

falling into the fragile fold
that holds beauty as it is falling,

for we are falling
into life,
into lust,
into love,
into loss,
into all that will fade
when the rainstorm has fallen,

for we all are fragile.

Capture beauty
before the breath grows less and less and…

   

All words and collage by Damien B Donnelly

This is a re post from my series based on the albums of Joni Mitchell

SHEDDING

/ deuxiemepeau / 10 Comments

 

When all the fuss has faded
like guilt that glides from gloss,
when I’ve pulled back the hair,
when I’ve crept from the clothes,
when my flesh is all that you see
and there is nothing left
to hide the parts of me
I never wanted to be,
Will you…? Will I…?
When my tears come like the floods
with no temperament to temper the tempest,
when there is no laughter to kneel neath,
when I bare no gift to beg you like me
and there is nothing left
of the roles I’ve roped myself into,
of the masks I’ve twisted my face around
to veil my own identity, Will you…? Will I…?
Will you be able to read
the life lived between the lines,
will you see the soul
that slipped within the shadow?

I wrote it down
but ink fades faster than these pains
that have patterned
themselves into permanent
beneath this skin
I’m now unseasonably
and unceremoniously shedding,
scars that parade now in the spotlight,
in the parts of the play
I have been permitted to perform.
But they are scattered
between the scenes,
broken into awkward acts.
When the curtain finally falls
and I cast off the costume, Will you…? Will I…?

Will you understand what it took to get here?
Will you look further than the festering flesh?

I am more than just skin on the bone.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

From an earlier poetry series entitled Between the Bone and the Broken

I AM…

/ deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

 

Beau, tu sais?
Tu es beau,
c’est vrai.
Non, I say,
ca, c’est pas vrai.
Moi, je sais
d’autre chose,
mais beau?
Non, I say,
je ne suis pas beau.

Fragility I know,
mon ami s’appelle
fragilité,
pour lui
je porte a smile,
comme de vêtements,
like a shield,
mon sourire
est beau,
ca, tu peut dire,
ca, tu peut écrire,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
tu sais? Ca fait mal.

Mais merci, comme même,
c’est beau ce que tu m’a dit,
ce que quelqu’un m’a dit,
c’est beau, mais non,
c’est pas moi; I am…
je suis autre chose.

 

Translation:

Beautiful, you know?
You are beautiful,
it’s true.
No, I say,
that, it’s not true.
Me, I know
something else,
but beautiful?
No, I say,
I am not beautiful.

Fragility I know,
my friend’s name is
fragility,
for him
I wear a smile,
like clothes,
like a shield,
my smile
is beautiful,
that, I can say,
that, I can write,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
you know? It hurts.

Thank you, anyway,
It’s beautiful what you tell me,
that someone tells me,
it’s beautiful, but no,
it’s not me; I am…
I am something else.

 

All words and self portrait by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost of an older poem.

THE CURRENT OF CREAMY COFFEE

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I sink beneath your skin
like sea
sweeping over sand,
you, a thousand grains
glistening
while I wash over you
in warm waves,
your salty sweat

sweet

below my current.

I slip between your lips
like cream
coming into coffee,
our senses fired
like frothed fluid
as we pound passion
into fragile
flesh

once fresh,
now feverish,
once timid,

now tasted

once begun,
we can never go back

You are now the sea
and I the sand,
upon your back,

I am now the coffee
and you have taken

to the cream.

HEAVY DUTY

/ deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

 

Heavy. Duty.
Responsibility is weighty.
Weighs on the burdens,
on the burdens that mount.
How the distance mounts over
the months. The years. The tears.
The fears. The identities.
The identities we partake in,
we personas we put on,
we pretend to, we play with,
the personalities
we scrub away to start again.
Once again. Heavy. Duty.
The responsibility of owning
the ownership,
of always ending up
on our own. Heavy.
Shedding parts of ourselves
like snake skin, too thin to shake.
Thin are layers we’re left with,
the leachers leach their lot
and leave us with little.
Little are the layers now.
Lighter. But Heavy.
The Duty.
Responsibility is heavy
in the hands of just one.
In hearts not always held.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

From an earlier series of poems entitled Between the Bone and the Broken

SCARLET RISING

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

 

Eat the storms, Mother said,
boil these beds of bitter blackness
until the dream rips through the rain
and translucent turns to trust,
even a diamond must ache
in the darkness until compression
can no longer compound its shine.
Eat the storms, Mother said,
slip the shivering skin out
under shimmering sky until touch
recalls the sweet music of scarlet rising
caught below the lick of leaf lost
to the shadow of the shade,
even the petal must rise above the thorn
before its fragility can dance in the light.

Eat the storms, Mother said,
but I didn’t hear it, at first.

It takes time to swallow the truth
and teach the tongue
to taste the refreshment of the rain.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Poem for Day 5 of National Poetry Writing Month