ALWAYS THE LEAF

30/03/2020 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

I remember you, growing older,
how your skin adapted- as if it had grown in the garden
on the branch of the rhododendron.

Shiny it was, with lines that time had tempered into it,
ever so carefully, like you tempered peace into our panic,
stillness into our hast, serenity into our cacophony.

The leaf, always that single leaf of our lives, never wanting
to be the blush of the flower, just the leaf- always under, in support.

New leaves, like weathered skin, sprout slowly from aging bark,
a soft beauty between the bramble and briar,
between being the wife, the mother and the grandmother.

Today, I tended the garden- mum’s garden now,
your garden once when we were but shoots and you- the whole tree,

and I remembered you

and the slow shuffle of slippered feet and those grand cardigans
that wrapped their comfort across the curve of your back,
that bowed like a branch to reach us all the better.

I recalled your skin that had grown a line for each of us,
a connection to catch hold of, to come back to, those kids we once were
with spotless skins life had yet to mark, always eager to explore

while knowing how to find our way back
and the one who would be waiting on her stool, by the widow,
in the kitchen, in the sunlight, pealing and baking, baking and pealing
to the tune of the radio and the whirl of the twin tub

waiting for one of us to find our way home.

I remember you, as you grew older, today and every other day.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

Today is my Grandmother’s 12th anniversary. She now grows in the garden of the hearts of her family.

BOOKENDS; TO BE ABLE TO PERCEIVE THE SUGGESTION OF EVENTUAL ADAPTION

15/11/201915/11/2019 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Even on wrong turns, detours; damp and derailed,
along red lines I knew would rattle,
sojourns into subterranean thoughts
of finding forever in a place that only held a past

there was still a steady stream of perception,
a suggestion of adaption
worn into walls that never would.

The tunnels were only ever to be temporary.

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly.

This month is about looking into the shadow to find the light. I first moved to Paris at 22, left at 24 and returned at 40 thinking it would be last stop, rest, relax. But it turned out to be just another tunnel along this track of life. Next stop… Ireland; Boy Returns as Man.

LIFE IN TECHNICOLOR

19/04/201919/04/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

A caress of candy apple red
on a Hong Kong carriageway
of Persian blue busses
and yellowing white stripes,
a notably normal night
without a star in sight
where nothing really happened
except for a sweetening fold,
caught by a camera
and time passing
and that bus in blue going by,
the lives of two commuters
entwining their way through
their lanes of life in technicolor.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

PLEDGE ON THE PAGE

07/06/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

I lay
loyalty
on the lines
that curl from curious
to consolidate as considered,
follies that find their form
someplace between
the pledge of pen
and integrity
of ink.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

From a poetry prompt “Pledge’ on @Microprompt

THE LIGHT THAT SHIFTS THE SHADOW

06/04/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

Day 6: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Trains used to slip
through these tracks
where runners now train,
old locomotives now relocated
like the light that displaces
the shadow,
but the lines
still linger,
less steam now,
more sweat
and sometimes
that light
that shifts
the shadow,
trains used to slip
through these tracks
that the city now tickles,
threatens with timeshares
to tear up what time still shares
in the corners where that shadow
leans into the light, on the lines where life
once rattled and raced,
before the new towers
knocked the old homes,
before the runners
and the walkways
and the boarders
and the builders
and the cranes
now shifting
into sight,
rising, in the distance,
just a step
beyond
that
light.

All Words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken at la Petite Ceinture, an old paris railway line in the 15eme

AT ODDS, AT THE TABLE

03/04/201724/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Day 3: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Always
that fine line
between
what slots
together and what
slips in between,
those black spots
of doubt that cannot
be fully folded out
like linen that lingered
too long
before being laid,
like chopsticks
that fight for form
between fingers foreign,
like this morning,
in the park,
the birds you breaded
and tonight,
on your plate,
the duck, now shredded.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

STILL MOVING…

06/10/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

Moving, still moving on metros, more metros, more sturdy, more stable, more directive, less suggestive, people, more people, less strangers, more familiar on metros still moving through motions of settling, the notions of belonging to lives above these lines, above these metros still moving like my life that’s still changing, new lands, new lines, same lines, different names, sometimes sturdy and stable, more times suggested than directed, catching connections in the passing, holding hands, holding tight, losing grip, letting go of these lines of our life that we mark into memory like the tracks under ground where we scuttle and scurry on metros, still moving…

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/still-moving

ME ON THE METRO

27/02/201625/01/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

It was this morning and yesterday again,
a smell, a scent, on the metro, in my nostrils,
a decent into the memory, a revery playing, replaying
while the crows counted Round Here, they sang,
this year and that other year, all at once,
we sang our own song, once, once, once
but time, like the metro, took us off and on
into different directions, obligated to other distractions,
men and marriage, movements and meanders,
an Irish song we sang, you sang, I listened
and then I left while you stayed on,
stayed on track in that other year
but I came back and you were still there
still here, Round Here, as the crows sang,
are still singing, those counting crows
their words still ringing
in my ears, today, on the metro,
with that scent, that odorous accent
that opened a gap in time between yesterday,
when we were young, and today,
grown worldly and wider,
this morning as my mind rushed
and passengers crushed onto carriages
commuting, lines crossing, junctions joining
as I went to work remembering who we were,
I wore waistcoats even then and you a brown coat
that caressed your curves and concerns,
I went to work while traveling onwards,
along the same rails,
in the same direction
as before but different too
some things old
and some things new,
still me on the metro,
still me and there’s you.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

NO LINES

12/12/2015 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Screen Shot 2015-12-12 at 21.41.16

There are no direct lines anymore
no direct direction
no friction
no fuss
it’s not straight ahead
to the right
or left
I’ve left the centre
I’m to the left of centre
to the right of what was considered
right and wrong