Immigration

It’s Poetry Day Ireland so I am supporting from abroad. This year’s theme is Truth or Dare so throughout the day I will be posting a few of my older poems on Truth and a few more on being Irish…

Salmon Dancers

And so swim the salmon, against
the rising stream, foam flushing
against fins as falcons fly overhead
in the fight for freedom, destiny
is not a dance that can long
be distracted, shiny specks of silver
dancing, darting, borne to beat back,
to wage against the rushing waters
as they make their way west. And so
swim the salmon, along the corroded
current of Connacht, that Atlantic
sojourn, that shore still swaying
in the shadow of those ancient songs
when souls set off in search of security
overseas, burdened boats battened
down with the beaten and the broken,
culled like cattle in the rain, boats
with bodhrans and fiddlers, singing
and dying through their dreams
of a new world, already mourning
the old lands, the homelands
they’d been swept from, kept from.
And so swim the salmon
as the storms rage, as they battle
onwards, salmon dancers, skating
on the waters, leaving trickles like stones
once tossed by hands now lost, tracks
to follow for others who’ll follow,
as others have followed, as others
who’ve fallen, their faces now faded.
And so swim the shining salmon,
off into the world with the sound
of home in every stroke.

All words and photographs of Dublin by Damien B. Donnelly

And off she ran
a blonde bird in flight,
a bright baby bird
into the night,
focused and flapping
as if chasing the morning,
as if orchestrating the trees,
as if transported by the breeze
flying over fields of youth,
twists and turns and truth,
folds of frivolous folly,
courting clouds in curiosity,
looking for a reason
to rhyme upon,
a reason to ride on

and she will fly
in spiralling circles
that surround you
before circling you
in widening widths,
further stretches,
further afield,
a blonde bird
but blue to you
and the agony of letting her go
and the ecstasy of having her back
but she is bound
with those big eyes,
those beautiful eyes,
to brighter breezes,
to warmer beaches,
bound for bigger things
like the grass growing
over fading footsteps,
like the trees
towering over ticking time,
like the clouds
wild to the will of the wind,

to far flung lands she will fly
as you sigh,
to other fields,
to foreign fields
to set down findings,
feelings, foundations,
familiarities foreign to you,
foolish to you
but faithful and fruitful to her,
a home in other hills,
a happiness to harbour
in other homes

and then one day
when the breeze beckons
you catch her scent on your shoulder
where it wasn’t there before
and you will find her
once again
in a field familiar to you both.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Damien B. Donnelly

SALMON DANCERS for Poetry Day Ireland

A BLONDE BIRD IN FLIGHT