HALF LIGHT, HALF NIGHT, day 17 of A Month with Yeats


Today’s quote for Jane Dougherty’s A Month with Yeats comes from ‘Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven’. ‘The blue and the dim and the dark cloths of night and light and the half-light,’ —W.B. Yeats

Jane’s blog is: https://janedougherty.wordpress.com/2017/11/17/a-month-with-yeats-day-seventeen/

My poem is called HALF LIGHT, HALF NIGHT


And time finds them folded

between all that had been lost

and the hope of what yet might come.

And night finds them falling

between the dark clouds covering

and the hands that caress their bodies.

And the kiss finds them feeding

on a hunger they thought exhausted

beneath the truth the darkness can’t hide.


And in the half light,

half starved,

he fell beneath her dark cloths

cast in shadow

as if half forgotten,

half starved

for that blue light

once burning bright

in the dimming night.

And in the half light,

half jarred,

she sank beneath his old hold,

reborn in bold,

no longer

half accepting

that half starved

was the whole picture

as their hunger

pulled them tight.

And in the half light,

half scarred

from being alone but not alive

in this scrapyard,

they each half held

that half light,

half bright

and held each other

in a hope

below the night.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



In absence

lips lean out

in longing,

clouds gathering,

a chill in the air,

the warmth slipping.


Memory is a playful thing,

you tease and turn

over and back to before.


We kissed,

I feel it intensely,

I see it clearly

in the mirror

still marked

from a night now over.


Cold showers

call out

from the falling rain,

seasons come and go.


Moments linger longer.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



Blackened hands hardened
over the heart exposed, expunged,
red roses rubbed into ruins,
‘We are no more
than the dust we leave
after death,’
a curse forgotten,
a force too rooted to be released.
Black heart burnt to broken,
banished to the ashes
of her aftermath and he cannot
cry, but he can crack,
like a mirror, now marked,
shaped into shards now,
splinters to spilt the skin,
grown thin, torn.
Blackened hands hardened
over the heavy heart,
bloodless, no longer
bound to the beat,
no longer whole.

‘Kiss her and curse her,’

and so the curse was cast
but they were young
and too busy kissing to take time
to listen to the whispers
of the witches of the wood.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



I stood on plains,
broad & boisterous,
as our ancestors whispered
the wisdom fickle fellows
have since forgotten
and on my cheek,
as if the final fall
of grace from greed,
the kiss of zephyr
washed it’s hand
of what’s to come.

Allowed and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt from #DimpleVerse



Beauty is breathtaking
where breath is less
and beauty is all.

Beauty is breathtaking
before it’s been taken from you,
then we are no longer bound to blind
and breath is less and less and less.

We breathe in beauty
in excess
as if it were endless,
as if we were never bound to be less and less and less.

We are chalk
marked for a rainstorm.

We breathe beauty with every breath,
with every kiss caught from lip’s press,
we press beauty into flesh,
flesh fresh on beauty that is fleeting.

Kiss him back,
Kiss her again

before it’s gone.

‘Kiss me,’ she whispers with eyes eager
and he kisses her eyes
and her lips grow eager
to feel the beauty that is breathless,

that draws in each breath, less and less and less.

We are not bound to be endless,

we are chalk
marked for the rain storming in the distance.

And so we press more and more and more

falling into the fragile fold
that holds beauty as it is falling,

for we are falling
into life,
into lust,
into love,
into loss,
into all that will fade
when the rainstorm has fallen,

for we all are fragile.

Capture beauty
before the breath grows less and less and…

All words and mini college by Damien B. Donnelly

All poems/visuals in this series are inspired by the artistry of Joni Mitchell.

Audio version available on Soundcloud:




I hung you
from the rafters
in the corner by the door,
the flower
all fine and false
that you thought I would adore,
but your hand
was all I wanted
and your kiss to keep the most,

but I was dead
and you were living
and you said you wouldn’t

kiss a ghost.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter prompt “Ghost” from #Micropoetry



was caught
by colour in the corner
of the castle where curtains
collected carnations,
was captured
courting curious
on the canvas of a castle
in a kingdom condemned,
was caught
by the kiss of a courter
in the courtyard where calla lilies
were cut,
missed the caution
in the cut of the calla
while her courter crept away
with her coin,
forever captive
on that canvas in colour
in that corner too curt
with the kiss of that courter
now a cancer
on her complexion
that no carnation covered
curtain could ever conceal.

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:


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.



Time waits for
shimmering snows
to melt into memory
like kept kisses
from lost lips.

Time waits
for saturated skies
to seek sustenance
in blushing blues
since stolen
by frantic frost
and fragile freeze
like drawers deserted
of his clothes
and her shoes

as the wind whips
the chasm carelessly.

Time waits
on the sidelines
for shades of spring
to slip over shrubs,
like seductions over skin,

now stilted,
now submerged,
now surrendered to silence,

now frozen in frame
as if posed for a painting
or preparing for purification.

Breath paused
in place of still air

still water

still winter

still single

but life is lissome underfoot.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available at Soundcloud: