LISTEN

  

We cannot truly change that which
we are, we cannot really laugh louder,
be brighter, stay longer than our journey
has already jotted down in a journal
whose language is not our own.
We cannot truly change the air,
the ocean, the fire that forges its way
through us, leaving us inspired
or expired, hot or just overheated.
We cannot truly change much
but we can cast corrections
into the darkness caught in corners,
we can see sages that hover over heads
if we need to add meat to the monotony,
singing songs of stories never too old
to be retold, never too new to be anything
more than necessary.
We cannot truly change that which
we are, we cannot promise to hold
any longer than time allows us,
we are tied to the tension of the knot
that knows more than we do,
whose heart lays on a hinge
that hangs both the hope
and the hammer. We cannot truly
change much but we can learn to listen
to lips that have lingered, that have
laughed in the face of lies
and been nourished by the face
of the fortunate who found favour
with who they were and then substance
in the soft stream of steady words.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

From the series A Month with Yeats

 

 

 

LIMITLESS

 

I am older now,
wiser now,
time has folded
over fears and foolishness,
I am man now,
boy now; nowhere to be seen,
I can gaze back
at who I’ve been
but can only wonder
at what I’ll become.

Time folds
but life yearns to be limitless.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a three word Twitter prompt ‘Folded. Nowhere. Gaze’ from @_Sense_Wrds

COLOUR IN THOUGHT

 

Day 18 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Colours flap
in the wind,
colours catch
the feeling
of freedom
at daybreak
like thoughts
that take flight
in dreams
under blankets
mounding
over molecules
making matter
meaningful.
Dawn’s dew
delights seeds
now stirring
under soil
just as stars
shine significance
on a mind
on a pillow
at play.
There is
movement
beyond the trees
and the run
of the riverbed
if you can catch it.
There is movement
in the dormant dreamer
beneath the blankets
and the shuttered eyes
if only you can wake it
to the light,
to the colour,
to the moment
that lets
possibilitiy fly
like colour on concrete,
like a bare bench
in the waiting park,
like trees attending
to shooting buds,
like a river
of thought
that cannot
be abated…

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/colour-in-thought

FERTILE FIELDS

 

Around me, like a blanket,
nature wraps its scent
of bush and bark,
of fertile soil,

as if I am the tree
and comfort comes
from fragile foliage

folding into colours
that glisten like gold
over crisp blades
of cut grass

that feel like velvet
beneath my feet
and I thread softly
and I move carefully

like the compassionate clouds overhead.

Before me with roots
deeper than time
a tree stands tall
entangled with memories

with madness,
with a sadness
that cannot be buried,
that cannot be wrapped
in a blanket.

We plant our past in fertile fields
and water them with our tears

in the hope for a brighter future.

 

This field, in Parc de Sceaux, in a southern suburb of Paris, is the site of the Mémorial de la Shoah, a memorial to the deportation of the Jewish during World War II.

All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud: