IN THE BOX; BOUND

10/06/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

Imagine beauty
bundled in a box,
locked from light
and bound to blindness,
imagine your eyes
banished to its bounty
while it smothers in silence,
deep in the darkness.
Imagine freedom
in that very box,
bound, blind
and banished.
Imagine strength
deprived of that force,
see it tampered, tainted
and tarnished.
The refugee
on the road
holds hope
in a box bound,
breathless for the day
it can be opened.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspiration came from the poetry prompt ‘Box’ from @Microprompt on Twitter.

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

THE QUEST ACROSS THE SEA

09/04/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

Day 9; National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Wander, he thought, and wander did he
across the land and over the sea,
adventure, he thought, but distraction came free
as distance dissolved the boundary.

For a while, he thought, a while to flee,
to see what rests, to see what can be,
understand, he said, this need to flee,
understand, accept and set it free.

Relax, he thought, and relax did he
across the land and over the sea,
feel, he thought, the possibility,
let dreams delight in discovery.

But hold, he though, what you cannot see,
those hearts you left across the sea,
release, he said, if it’s not to be,
all bonds too fragile you must set free.

Just fly, he thought, all across the sea
fly like a bird, uncaged, and set free,
draw the vision and see what can be,
feed on the flames of positivity.

For a while, he thought, a while to flee,
your name, your nation, their opinion of me,
but to find yourself again is the key
and not lose yourself in that quest to be free.

All Words by Damien B. Donnelly. My own self portrait aged 18

Audio version available at Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/the-quest-across-the-sea

FIRST THRUST

18/03/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

There
in the crook of hope,
like fluff caught
in the navel,
of youth barely tasted,
(I had barely licked air)
of freedom newly found,
(note: first flights often fail)
of fulfillment
before it failed
(before we faded),
I am in a bed
in Belfast
no longer bloody
(the city not yet I)
no longer blown to bits
(the streets not yet my hope)
and we are better
than I believed,
trusting in our thrusts,
truer than we were
and more lasting,
more intact
than reality
left that first kiss
(already gone once it’s given)
of something bright,
of freedom felt
before it was shattered
on my bed;
bloody
and blown to bits,
I, not the city.

We were never
more than momentary
(a training ground
for grown-up toddlers),
a meeting at Bewelys
(when it was creative
and cozy like cuddles
when it’s cold
and still accommodating
after clubs)
when Dublin
was still my day,
was still within interest
(when its size didn’t matter;
isn’t it all relative?)
a courting over coffee
(footsies in the shadow
of a table that wobbled
on the third floor
near the theatre
and therein the warning;
unstable and all an act)
in the afternoon,
in the aftermath
of my outing;
freshly feathered bird
on the first flight
from the nest
from the tit;
the search
for something new
to suck from,
so full on faith,
so blind to the fall
but eager to climb
over dreams,
over desires,
over you in the end,
(or up from under you)
obstacles to rise to,
to arouse me
(did you arose me
or just your attention
to trembling erection?)
obstacles that came
until they were gone
and other conquests
(obstacles become conquests)
took their place
in my head,
in my bed
after I’d cleaned up
what had been left
broken
by our blast.
A bright wave
in the dark enlightenment
of a Dublin night
by the shore
swept off the ring
that wrapped us
(faith falling from finger)
when your wandering ways
and hands and eyes
(that turned like tides)
washed over
my innocence
(my Disney-like devotion)
and drowned
your deviations
and my dedications
to the blind side.
We’d been better
in Belfast
after the conflicts,
in that bed
that night
before our conflict,
but that was just one act,
one thrust
before dublin
demolished
the trust
that was an illusion
revealed
behind the crook
of the curtain
of our pale play
with too trite twists.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/first-thrust

FRAGILE WINGS

22/11/201624/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

And the butterfly
flies with folly
on fragile wings

a million flaps
between
earth and sky
to light
to carry
troubled things.

All Words and Sketches by Damien B. Donnelly

METAMORPHOSES

28/08/201616/03/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

Changing currents,
currently, body and soul
converging concurrently,
control lost to illusion;
divinity divining, dividing delusion
directing hands of fate
or falling me from faith,
body leaning in
bending to all beckoning.
Was it I who let go
of love’s hand or had fate decided so?

Was there a choice,
considered, consecrated, a confession
would I, could I be called up for blame?

In letting go,
I fell to freedom,
funny how freedom drops you,
seemingly untangled,
from the knot undone and I come undone,
at a loss, undefinable or redefined?

Partially salvageable, this time.
Selfishness slipping into single state
celibate, (sold a lot)
with no one to consider,
to hold, to cherish, to love.

What is love when you lay alone?
Where does love lay when you are alone?
Alone, love is where there are no more lies.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

ABSENCE

01/03/201627/02/2016 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

I wake up
to the stillness,
to the stillness of the silence,
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows,
to the stillness of the silence beneath the shadows in your absence,
still so present within all this emptiness

and then I realise
how much more room there is to breath.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly.

Photograph taken in the Amsterdamse Bois, Amsterdam, The Netherlands.

HARD TO SWALLOW

07/02/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

I bowed on bended knee
on foreign shores on silk cushions
where no one knew me
to an invisible deity.

Did you see me?
Did I exist for you?
Did you believe in me?
Did you exist within me truthfully, invisibly?

I bowed on bended knee
into the light that flooded the floor.

They told me once you liked floods,
you liked to send floods,
to send down your floods
I never saw it, did anyone really see it?

But they told me,
they told me as if to flood me with fear,
a flood to frighten the faithful.

I bowed in that foreign land
as the dragon’s breath drew a veil upon the sky
as if to cover the heavens from curiosity,
from temptation,
funny what rhymes with salvation,
salvation from what, from whom?

There is faith,
there is belief
and then man names it all religion.

I bowed on bended knee
within that temple that foreign temple,
it was not my temple,
I don’t build temples,
I have palaces in my head,
private palaces private places,
filled with my beliefs private,
flooded with my teared steams private,
flooded with my fate private,
my faith is not called any religion.

I bowed on bended knee
where others knelt before me
while others knelt behind me

StrangersWorshipersBelieversFaithful

foolish?

In the invisible we place our fate
in man we place our control.

Can you see them?
Can you exist for them?
Can you believe in them?
Do you exist within them honestly, truthfully?

Do you exist as I exist?

I bent and bowed I lowered my eyes,
I followed the flock of faithful foreigners
I confess it was just to conform
so as not to confront or be confronted.
I was a sheep following the shepherds
who shuffled around me
who looked at me unsure,
who wondered to themselves
if they were the sheep and I was the shepherd.
Seriously!

Seriously,
how did I end up there,
bowing on bended knee
feeling too fair and too foreign
in that place within that facade
behind that face my own facade

and I asked the light

ContritionConfessionCommunionConfirmation

Is it all a Con?

ConspireContaminateCondemnConfineConform

Connect,
remember,
I remember once…

I wore a white suit
at 8, at communion;
my first communion,
I took the white bread,
they told me it was his body;
white, light and pure.

It stuck to the roof of my mouth.

It was difficult to swallow

even then.

I bowed on bended knee,
I did what I was told,
I did what they expected of me,

I saw what they told me to see,
this religion they called a community,

no more.

I bow on bended knee
in my own palace
far from their atrocities.

I bow on bended knee
and the light is so much brighter

the light inside me
the light within.

We can be the light
we can always be the light alone
with our faith our fate
without the hate without the fear
far from the floods.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken at a temple in China.

FREE AT SEA

06/02/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

He is as much the boat
as the water is the ocean

He is as cognate to the current
as the tides are to their motion

A simple man, a fisherman
with his home upon the sea
his only ties to an oar and cast,
he is freedom floating free

All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

IN FLIGHT

18/11/2015 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Movement
matters mainly
amid the currents of air
I caress
in flight
in dreaming
at night
I fall freely
on the breeze
I am taken,
turned, tuned
I am limitless
know no boundaries
I flit and flutter
at my own folly
forward falling,
I am light blazing
a burning star
burnt out,
barely visible
hardly begun
and yet unstoppable
I am man of the moon
I am the first step
I am freedom in flight
feathers rising in the night
all beneath a blanket of sleep.