Gather giggles
in golden garlands,
guard glee as a gift,
grow grace
in the guts of gaiety,
gather goodness before its gone.
All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly
Inspired from a Twitter prompt from #POETHEME
Hope
IN THE BOX; BOUND
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 THORN OF THE ROSE, a haiku
A rose blooms on bush,
colour catches consciousness;
leave me not the thorn.
All words and phtographs by Damien B. Donnelly
PARIS IN PICTURES
After a month of eating, sleeping and drinking poetry (even toilet breaks were scheduled) I’ve decided to start May instead with some Parisian pictures from yesterday morning’s bike ride through this city that you think is unchangable but then you catch it in the still of light and suddenly you notice how the subtleties are shifting. (Even if the politics are falling back to a past best forgotten.)
#NaPoWriMo was a whirlwind of loves, lines, lives, lies, syncopated sentences and non sensical structures. The amount of talented writers here alone on WordPress is mind blowing and reading their creations every day inspired me to want to write better and better. And the support from everyone was incredible. You Three Graces, especially, you know who you are!!
And so a view from an adopted boy in his adopted city…
When you want to study architecture, you go here, Architecture School
I think Street Art like this brings this once grey and neglected district to vibrant life
A sculpture of boats, of course
A new Skyline taking shape in the 13th arrondissement
Architectural inspiration in the form of the Architecture School, of course!
Books needs paper and paper needs trees so here is the National Library and its garden
Above was a free gift from clothing store ‘Weekday’ when it opened its first Paris store!
Something old amid the new, l’Hôtel Salé now known as Musee Picasso in Le Marais
Self Portrait, Velo days
As for the future, it is, as yet, unclear…
(Elections next week- has anyone alerted Beyonce?)
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
A KISS, INCOMPREHENSIBLE
Day 25; National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo
If I could reset the world
I would start it with a kiss
on a silent night
In the corner of winter,
summer has claimed the light,
dark corners need our attention
more than the sound of the sea
and the smell of the sunscreen.
If I could reset the world
I would start it with a kiss
on lips I’ve never tasted
in a place I’ve never been,
I am done with parted passion,
others have since traced these lines
and found the tremble too intense
and the trench too tough to traverse.
If I could reset the world,
I would start it with a kiss
and seal it with a bond
That time can’t comprehend.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Photograph taken in Ayrshire, Scotland.
UPSIDE DOWN
Day 10: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo
Happiness
endless happiness
harboured in holds of hope hampers of harmony
hampers of… hampered happiness
heaped under hammer hindered
happiness and less happiness and less
under spotlight soundless motionless while all is in movement
happiness cannot be held in streaming eyes
happiness should not fall tear drops are not tender
see them falling falling falling
for you for all for everyone for nothing and no-one
happy to have hope
happy endless happiness
endless happiness and less happiness
and less and…
less visible.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
A SEAT ON THE TRAIN
A factory man
forged in fights
on streets
and bars
on iron clad nights
and a local girl
born and raised
in longing,
loss
and dreams unglazed
who crash sometimes
behind the shades
to drink,
to fuck,
to drop their blades
on this desert town
of dirt and dust,
of cactus,
crows
and mounting rust.
An old train tears
right through the town
to tense,
to tease
all those around,
it rarely stops,
just blows on through
the drab,
the dust,
that vacant view.
A factory man
forged in fights
on streets
and bars
with small town sights
and a local girl
born and raised
who now owns
a ticket
toward freedom days.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio version available on SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/a-seat-on-the-train
EVEN IN DRY DAYS WE FIND WAYS
By roughened rock
and stubborn soil
nature shatters
the seasoned shell;
from on high we fall
to root and rise again.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
GRAND CANYON
Hold hope
hold tight
hold on
to what you can
remember
not to get lost
not to let go
not to sink
into the great divide
between you and I
the canyon
that cradled us
without the grandeur
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
NO ROOM IN THE ARC
Falling…
through time
that never truly changes
while never really stopping,
through thoughts
that cannot be accounted for,
that cannot be considered
accountable
and still we are counting
but not the cost.
Falling…
through floorboards
of homes that are no more
(did we invent the word war?)
no more the heart at home,
no more the heart of the home;
home now an ocean bed
and no boat big enough
to hold us all
even the arc
only took two of everything
while the heavens ran with rain
yet the heart still beats
like time,
still falling…
through cracks that cannot be closed
and every splinter
splits the skin
of illusion
and we are all a delusion;
a fading reflection
of subjection,
rejection,
speculation and conjecture;
the spectre of conjecture.
Falling…
through hands
that no longer hold
hearts now hardened
(and they say icebergs are melting)
hearts have grown cold
and have no place in homes.
Drowning…
in shallow shoals
shoals of souls
too shallow to swim in,
too sullied to see survival
as we rewrite the bible.
Drowning…
in the falling rain
too polluted to have faith in,
faith; and so fell faith
fate; and so befell Our Fate
in slow moving tears
on piers were boats are bound
to no harbour,
to no hope,
to no humanity
(christianity was a cross to heavy to bare)
Falling…
while standing up
and yet no one seems to notice.
“I came in bright as a neon light and I burnt out right there before him.’ This line is taken from Joni Mitchell’s song Lesson in Survival
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio version available at SoundCloud:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/no-room-in-the-arc
Damien B. Donnelly 