VREEMD OF MISSCHIEN NIET (STRANGE OR MAYBE NOT)

 

She was called Éireann, even in Holland,
(misschien vreemd, ik weet het)
though she was greener than I ever was,
back then, with the mud of the land
still caked into her guards while I was off
and running, ever forward, adding guards
to my guards till I saw the earth was round
when home appeared again, on the horizon.
(Vreemd, of misschien niet).

Later, decked in a fur coat of fine snowflakes
that clung to your form while they melted
off mine, you appeared as blank canvas
before a river to skate away on, like she sang,
once, in a city that was not this one. Funny,
what sinks in and what drowns, even light
can fade into the wrong water, even water
can remain on solid structures as icicles.
Some things cling on while others slip away.
(Vreemd, of misschien niet).

Round that red bricked bridge we rode,
a decade of being Dutch, (how long?
Ik weet het- vreemd, toch?), thinking
I was only stranger and the road my home,
but those were the days when the wheels
spun in circles around canals that turned
back on themselves. Maybe that’s how
we learn to come home- spinning in circles,
on roundabouts or her carousel of seasons
that went round and round.

She was called Éireann, even in Holland.
Maybe the answers to all I was looking for
were already there in her name.
Misschien wel!

Maybe some things take a cycle to sink in.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY; HELLO HOLLAND

 

10151736748017864

10151736748297864

10151736747767864

10151736747127864

10151736747522864

10151736746892864

10151736746817864

10151736748547864

10151736746692864

10151492767957864

10151251198472864

10151251200307864

10151405055907864

10151405056127864

10151405056352864

10151505920522864

10151736746427864

10151736746502864

10151251196947864

10151580863807864

10151580864342864

10151738726817864

10152975317527864

All photographs by Damien B Donnelly

Today we are recalling the colours of my previous home town as yesterday a Dutch shipping company came along to move my belongings from my 5th floor/no-lift Paris apartment and start directing them towards Dublin. One Dutch man, one flams man, and me, the irishman, in Paris, speaking Dutch, sweating and running up and down 5 flights of wide, winding and weather worn Parisian wood steps, and doing it all in less than 20 mins!!!

DAYS IN THE DAM

 

It’s funny
how you slip in
along the side lines
on days that don’t deliver
that don’t distract.

It’s strange
how you pull me
from the pit falls
on days when I feel undone
when I feel attacked.

It’s alarming
how you linger
in the background.

It’s odd
how you hold me
despite the distance
even though
I thought us done.

It’s funny
how you trickle by
when bikes blow past
and windmills bellow.
Its funny how a land
can be as addictive
as a hand to hold
a tie to bind
and a heart to heal.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

All Photography taken in Amsterdam, The Netherlands