Hope – Deuxiemepeau Poetry 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 […]

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THE THAW

Blue is the breath, blue is the earth, morning, early, the sky a clean canvas of white and the earth; blue, a bed of frozen blues born from dawn’s breath, a blanket of freshly fallen slow snow, trembling along the hairs of the land, caught in the calm before the crunch, before the footprints […]

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THE PRICE OF A STAR

And she sang of hope and harmony in a borrowed frock on Tuesday nights in a smoky bar below the Bowery where the Irish downed their whiskey while the Italians were always frisky and they touched her, always, after; her faithful followers fingering flesh as if to caress the affection she injected into lyrics […]

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A SEAT BEFORE CREATION

Silent in her own darkness she takes a place by the canvas of creation and before its stillness she lets the light pour over all that has slipped between the shadows. All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly This is a repost for a week of colourful imagination. Photo of La […]

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COLOURS IN THOUGHT

Colours flap in the wind, colours catch the feeling of freedom at daybreak like thoughts taking flight in dreams under blankets, mounding over molecules, making matter meaningful. Dawn’s dew delights in seeds now stirring under soil just as stars shine significance on a mind, on a pillow, at play. There is movement beyond the […]

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WILLING TO BE WONKA

Up and through, through colour to brighter, better, perhaps. I’m next, she says, up and over, following underfoot the man with the hat who’s had enough. Off with hats, top hats and hard hats, happy heads float through colour, dissolve, he says, into columns of colour, preconceptions passing now, no longer cornered by constricting […]

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PURPLE CLOUDS

In that garden of the many meadows of my mind plants grow down from purple clouds carved of cotton catchable candy and seek substance from the surface and not the ceiling. In that garden of the many meadows of my mind fences are painted with faces familiar and mouths to catch kisses if you’re […]