ME, MYSELF AND I

When I die,
Will the world know
That I have lived?

When I laugh,
Will they know
My eyes once held tears?

When they sing my praise,
Will they know
They once inflicted pain?

If I stand alone,
Will they know
They put me there?

If I speak of hatred,
Will they know
They taught me the words?

If they speak of acceptance
Shall speak of forgiveness?

When I stand
Before the end of days
For all the world to see,
I want them to know,
To understand,
The person that is me.

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FALLING ON FOREIGN SOIL

Amid a city of grey slate roofs
I had painted my slate white,
Washing everything I had been,
Had seen, had loved and lost.
Those old fears fell from me
Like Fall’s gentle snowflakes
As I stood on foreign soil,
In a foreign land, with foreign rain
Covering me and foreign words
Falling all around me and fearing
Nothing more than the possibilities
That lay await on front of me.

In a fantastically foreign taxi,
I sailed across foreign streets,
On the foreign side of the road
With that same foreign rain
Washing down the windows
As we rushed past shop fronts,
Sidewalks and sleepy streets,
So much to take in, so little in focus.

I remember that very first morning,
Opening windows and seeing you
In morning fresh, bathed in shiny dew.
Those famed rooftops, chalky grey,
Your buildings, creamy white
And your sky of brilliant blue.
Nothing was blurred anymore,
Nothing any longer a suggestion,
In that morning, everything was.

I walked you south to north that day
As morning fell to afternoon
Amid rays of October sunshine
And rested by your banks,
Gauloises in hand, Notre Dame in view,
And took you in, forever.

You ingrained yourself into me-
As deep as that rose window
In your Cathedral I gazed upon
On that very first day. And yet,
Today, so removed from you,
I still feel you, fall drawn to you,
Like a familiar call from home.

I got lost amid your left banks
That afternoon but you guided me
Back to the right path though I felt
No turn could ever be wrong
Least I missed a part of you
As yet unnoticed, like a sly smile,
Double take or a furrowed stare
Caught afresh on the face
Of a lover known so well.

Eventually, I passed Notre Dame
Every night, as a thousand taxis
Whisked me home
And I reminded myself, always,
To look at your Lady and rejoice
In the luck I’d found to be mine.

I may travel away to lands and rains
And taxis foreign to you but
There will always remain,
Inside us both, the boy
On the bridge, that day,
With cigarette in hand
And possibilities in mind,
Looking at you and falling.

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AMATEUR STATUS

 

November rains in the park-
Trying to be an artist,
Attempting to capture it all
In a quiet corner
Behind the trees,
Away from the winds,
Beyond eyeshot from anything daring,
Sheltered in a huddle instead of in the midst of adventure.

I thought I had found myself
But it was safe fake lies;
Pacifying the ego,
Trying to paint a Picasso
With colourless pencils.
Frozen by mid-afternoon,
Not suffering for art
But merely suffocating
In all that surrounded me
That I wanted to be part of but knew not where to begin.

I sat in your garden
And sketched you
Devoid of feeling and life,
I failed that day to capture
Or even comprehend you
But hung you on my wall
Nonetheless, as if to remind myself
Of all I still had to do-
I needed to paint you from within
And not just with colours sketched from the tips of my fingers.

Your multi-layered canvas
Was a daunting place to start
For my amateur attempts
At early adventure,
I was only dabbling
In shadow and shade;
Lightless and lifeless,
Playing with untapped possibilities
And dreamed-of doings
Instead of head-on,
Opened-up, fearless, dive-into, unknown experiences.

One million options beneath my feet
Waiting to be walked
And I picked the solitary seat,
On a Saturday afternoon,
In a secluded setting of your park
That stretched for miles
And bloomed with life all around me-
But not beside me,
But not for me, not with me.
I was as lifeless
As the painting I had sketched-
Fast movement needed
Least winter winds would wipe me forgotten before begun.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

Toot of Transition

 

How still it is,
Silent
‘Neath the somber shade of night,
Beyond the light
Already long departed
And sleeping in the shadows,
Alone in thoughts
That twist and turn
And dig deep
Amid the this and that,
The important and redundant,
And all the while
The stillness builds-
Oblivious to the restlessness
Beneath my skin,
Between my toes,
A sense of something
In the as yet unseen-
Somewhere out there
My future already on the move,
Shaken into substance,
Substantially self-sufficient,
While I sit in silence,
In stillness,
In waiting,
Wrapped up cocoon-like
Beneath the hibernating blanket
Of this interim-
This condition of considered change.

I will soon slip
Into a sleep
Born of the metamorphosis
Of the moment,
Aware of who I was,
In the knowledge of who I am
And accepting of who I will,
In time,
Grow into.
Tomorrow will be the memory
Of who I was
While today exists only the dream
Of what tomorrow will bring.
This stillness
Is as teasing as the unknown
Route ahead-
The trail my feet have yet to thread,
To carve out a crater
That smacks of existence
Long after
I have journeyed on
And found fresher,
Unexplored lands
I shall,
One day,
For a time
Call home.

Somewhere,
Just out of sight,
On the edge of this stillness
A night Owl
Toots a tale of transition
Above the silent slumber
Of a world
With eyes closed-
Unconscious to the weighty wisdom
Of tomorrow’s light.
The erudite Owl,
Perched once
In another land,
In another time,
On virginal shoulders of Athena,
Who witnesses the world
Through eyes that see
Beyond the darkness
Of all that has been
And has yet to unfold
And carries
In his very presence
On this very night,
In this very stillness,
While all else surrenders to the silence,
A confirmation of the transition
Felt within me,
Sensed around me
And promising to take hold of me
As sure as he will spread
His well-worn wings,
Find his flight
And take to the shadows
Before morning finds it’s light

While all through time
A morphosis is made of me…

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

 

The Irish Rose of Paris

You fancied yourself as a writer, I think,

So many tales fell, so breathlessly, from your memory.

I am sure it was upon a sweeping staircase

Where we first met, long before foreign men tempted

And twisted us with foreign tales and foreign lips.

You, with your cascading curl’s,

The color of chestnuts in autumn,

And long belted coats- always off and running,

Oblivious to the inmates that surrounded us.

You perfected aloof while I, too shy to say no,

Was dragged to the dorm’s salle-a-manger

By the tedious herd, to partake and party

Until I could peter out unnoticed on hand and knee

To avoid what seemed like another Irish wake.

Later, after introductions, we chain smoked

Life stories in the TV room; those early days

When your smoking choked even me and I wanted

So much to be everything that you effortlessly were.

You were my wild eyed Catherine,

Moving faster than time allowed the rest of us,

While I, your Edgar, looked on in awe and tried to keep up

As Paris turned into our very own Moors.

We prided and congratulated ourselves on our ability

To acclimatize with our newly loved surroundings

Unlike our neighbors; only content with Irish jokes

And Irish bars while in the heart of a city that offered

\So much more than the dung-filled,

Mud-trodden fields which they so missed.

You were my breath of air; my mystery and adventure.

Once, I even questioned whether we could fall in love

And I believe we did- though in no conventional sense.

I was your confident in the College

And your beloved friend as we carved ourselves,

As much as we were allowed by the citizens

And bureaucracy, into our city of light.

Do you remember that wet, dull and far too normal day

In autumn and our train ride through town?

You sang me the love song from Irish shores

And I reveled in how it never seemed to end.

I watched you as you swam through that life

Barely needing to rise for air.

You are mother now

And still forever the rambling teller of tales

While I, still a traveler on this unending road,

Am ever grateful at how seamlessly our paths still cross.

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Darkness and Light

And so,

Once again

I’ve put away

Those tediously tiring,

Hypocritical pretenses

And prepared myself for a fall

From the smiles and laughter

And wonder of it all?

At last, I’ve been permitted

To speak and acknowledge it,

Allowed to stop this world

And finally accept it,

See it, reject it

Or perhaps, no more,

Than assimilate to accept it?

Finally, I’ve conceded

To feeling the Darkness

As much as the Light-

If not more, at times,

In times that come to stay,

Unannounced, unexpected

And with much more frequency

Than previously suggested?

 

Can you see me

From the outside

On through to the inside-

Drowning?

Slipping slowly

Beneath the tide,

Washing away

On the waves,

Dissolving

Below the water

In such slow and subtle ways?

 

I had it, for a stay,

Within my grasp

And fooled myself into thinking

That firm footing could anchor me forever

To a space

So bright and clear

That nothing dull

Or darkly austere

Could ever find me,

Tease me

Or wrongly treat me.

Had I grown

So confidently assured

That nothing could rise so high

To drag me down so low?

Down to that dismal place

Without breath to breathe,

Substance to see or

Harmonious heartbeat to hear.

 

And yet,

All along,

Behind the smiles,

I knew you’d return-

For why anchor myself

So tightly to the shoreline

If not in the notion,

However subconscious,

That somehow, someday,

You’d crawl to the surface

And, in a sweeping swoop,

Erase sanity from solace.

In small and subtle shifts-

You’ve secretly

Sucked at my substance,

Though I distinguish you now

More clearly-

I see the darker shadows

You leave in your wake

And the slower motivations

Of my movement

Which you make.

 

So succulently susceptible

To your slyly serpentine ways

Was I, the last time- that first time,

But now, older and worn in,

You no longer slip in

Between the seams unnoticed.

I see you for what you are-

Standing blindly

In all your Darkness,

In the colossal cacophony

You create within my head,

And even in the numbing nothingness

You kneed into me-

I can confidently distinguish you

And your Dark handed distractions

From desires derived

From my own daylight delusions.

You are no longer

Just another side of me-

But another self, entirely-

Despicably dug in,

Deep in the depths-

A deviant dwelling

To distract my days

With Darkness

And Darken my dusk

With Depression.

 

You have settled in

And set up shop,

Trading in nothing more

Than torrents of torment,

Melancholic miseries

And a deluge

Of dejection and desolation-

Filling a basement

With boxed-up beliefs

And packets of possibilities

Placed far out of reach,

My spirit

Left idle and useless

As you file away everything

Valid and vital,

Human and hopeful-

All connection

To confidence and character,

And dress me in foreign forms

Fit for nothing more than

Subservience and surrender.

 

You wish me

A whisper of what I was,

A memory of something

Once lived in

And a ship wreck

That once sailed above the seas

Into which I now slowly sink

As the Light surrenders to the shadow

And all life unwillingly bows to the undertow.

 

And yet,

Before the dawning

Of the Darkest day,

There is still something

Lingering,

Longing and familiar,

Beyond the shadows,

My eyes, as yet,

Unable to certify shapes

But from deep inside

My spirit shakes

And from the corner of my mouth

A smile slowly breaks…

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Let the Wind Carry Me

 

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Let the wind carry me, let me not worry about the where and why
build in me the desire the want and the love for lands new and fresh
let me smell it on the breeze bring me the dream on your current of air
I await the sign the yearning the draw
the moment when I know what for wherefore whatever…
 carry it onto me let it embrace itself around me
let it unfold itself within me
carry me forth to tomorrow a new day a new dawn in a new land

A beginning that brings with it the best of my past my roots my memories and all the faces that made me who I am let them live within me as I walk on fresh soil new and unaware childish innocence awash with white
at play with creation while evolving…
like the water to the wheel turning again and again
round and round always the water
but never the same droplet

Let me wash onto a new shore naked just skin and bones flesh just flesh
no clothes or jewels to adorn me cover me or pretend of me
let me be just me breathing fresh moving and happy

let the wind carry me to whatever whoever wherever

my path in its hands

my eyes closed 

my trust in its force

my senses aroused

let the wind carry me
for I am his to command to direct to learn from
to find my way

let me be but a droplet of air
let me feel what it is to be moved
for then I will know what it is

All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Haunted

The ghost

I’m haunted by

Is the one I’ve created

Myself, alone,

Singlehandedly,

Without intension

Or foresight,

Without the slightest foundation

To fright.

The ghost

I’m haunted by-

Lurking but a fraction away

From a fingers touch,

Like the mind numbing

Manipulation

Of a menacing muscle

Convulsively contracting,

That lingers

Amid a thousand other

Consciously thought out,

Relatively reasonably

Fears-

Is that one

That chills the most

Being from my own hand

Uniquely and ubiquitously

Carved in slivers

Of tempered steel.

The ghost

That haunts me

From Winter’s Fall

To Summers end

Is not

The nocturnal nuisance

Of nightmares,

Nor the shape shifter

Behind the sheet-

Shivering in shadows,

Nor the mythical entity

Or pulsating phantom

Of plasmic slime.

The ghost

That haunts me

In waking breath

And sleeping dream,

That resides on the edge

Of my happiness

And motivates the core

Of my sadness,

Is none other than I,

Myself

Or rather the self

I must become,

But the fear,

In truth,

Is what happens

If

I fall forgotten

Before begun.

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All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

The Value of a Single Word

I am in the air,

Above mountainous clouds

Of candy floss and cotton balls,

Flying between beds

That are not mine,

Sheets bound to frames

And pillows too puffed

To be personal.

I am the single sleeper-

Positioned

On the right edge of center,

Using just one set

Of towels

Of the two provided,

Opening single slippers

And leaving that other robe

Hanging unused

And yet,

For all it’s

Impersonal touches,

I sleep in these foreign buildings,

In foreign cites,

In foreign lands

I can barely plot on the map,

Akin to sleeping at home

And tonight

I question

The geographical pull

And sentimental value

In the word

We call home

When you live

In this world

All alone.

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The Wonder that was You

Are we alike-

I ask myself?

Could we ever be linked

Together,

Today, any day,

As Mother and Son?

Can we even claim

Those titles

Within each others eyes

Having spent

All our lives

Apart,

Or rather-

All of mine

Since that cord was cut?

And yet, I wonder

Do ties still bind?

Did it hurt

When we

That were both united

Were parted?

How was it to give life

And then watch it

Being taken away?

Do you still consider me child-

Your child,

Your first child?

Or were there others that followed

Who remained by your side?

Are you mother now

To others-

Do you wrap yourself around them

As you once,

So briefly,

Wrapped yourself

Around me?

Do they know

Of my existence

Or not at all,

As I know not of bother or sister-

Another title I dare not claim.

You should know

That I am happy-

That I’ve known joy,

Can you feel it?

After all, it was you

Who gave me the life

To live it-

The one who grew within you,

Who has developed without you,

Who has walked onwards-

SInce birth,

Though ever increasingly

Away from you,

Who has spoken

Often of you

But never directly to you,

Who grew to know love,

In part,

Because of a single decision

You made.

When I see you now-

Deep in my mind-

It is far from the fantasies I once

Envisioned you in.

You are more balanced

In realism, today

Than the childhood dreams

Of Queen in a tower

Or Star on the stage.

That I live-

It is due to your sacrifice,

Those 9 months-

A lifetime to the child that you were-

A child carrying

A child within,

But still,

You gave me time-

Body and soul,

You gave me the chance

With spirit and pride

As you waded through whispers

And rose above rumors.

I’ve had a mother-

Since we parted,

Since leaving the comforts

Of your swollen belly-

A mother who moulded me,

Minded me,

And moved me

With a thousand remembrances

Of your gift to her.

A woman who knew the sacrifice you had made,

Who’d cried the same tears you shed,

A woman who made me grateful

For the Wonder that was You.

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