Hunger harbours its hold
like a boat
bent on the scent of the sea
and we are bound
to the pull of its freedom,
its current crushing all caution
as we fall folly to its friction
on bended knee in benediction,
on beds of bodies bare and breathless,
tongues tempted towards taste,
buoyant on the bounce,
fast to the flesh, I want you,
you feel me, I will leave you
famished for nothing but more
and more and more, as I walk away,
still parched, still famished,
but never foolish
enough to linger longer
than the afterglow.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



in the dungeons
of men’s minds, below
the dance halls and the giddy
galleries, deep in a declining darkness
holding no pride over permanence, appetites
edge on apps to ease entrance as dogs eat dogs.
These are no longer the days of Wilde’s wit
and wicked word play, temptations are
no longer teased from tongue
twisters but twisted from
tongues in the darkest
part of the night
where dogs prowl
the popper pool, sniffing
out stimulating stimulants,
playing with prey, praying for applause
to that great god ground down; credit card cuts
of white lines that can’t quite cut through
these savage times. Digging deep
in the dungeon of darker minds,
men make moves too difficult
to swallow. Dogs eat dogs
and I realise I’m more
captive to caviar

than canine.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:





as the city
slips into slumber,
after last night’s thunder,
as skin slides from winter’s
shawls and shackles and pitches
itself proudly in parks where not even
dogs bark, where shadows have sunk
into sweaty
soil as feverish
fingers smooth skin
with soothing oil. Summer
in the city and temperatures
are oozing over bodies, all tease
and no breeze to appease. Summer
in the city and the music mellows as fellows
fold frowns
into bottom drawers
with winter wishes and curate
concerns toward sunset kisses. Summer
in the city and she unfurls her curls like foliage
finding form over greedy grass, and he goes green
with envy and furrows his frenzy as the fountain flows
with full force, unabashedly, and he grows as greedy as the grass
while her
curves caress
his consciousness
and he wilts in watchful
wantonness while I wait for kisses
caught on Spanish lips that creep along
the current of sweeping storms and sensual
shifts, we are ships crossing under starlight, snakes
slivering over sheets, I am not his, he is not mine, he is not
hers and still not mine, we cast concern into the ripples that sink in ocean
too deep
to remember and
too cold for concern,
ripples that are arousing now
beneath these fountains now flowing,
in the park, in the sunlight, in the summer,
in the city. Summer in the city and babies are sleeping
in buggies buried under bushes while nannies dose and daddies
delight in their sweet blooming rose. Summer shines on the city and
streets slip
from worries
and rushes to brushes
with light and lazy, humming
hazy harmonies like he once strummed
upon my strings a serenade sweet enough
to sweep us to older days, other days, days of revolution
and voices that shone as bright as this burning sun, and on
to simpler days of lemonade and laughter. Remember laughter,
back before the pitter patter of drought and disaster? We are just people
through parks,
looking for stars
in between the sunlight,
looking for fleeting kisses,
treats that are never free, saints
and snakes all hissing across lawns
in summer. Summer in the city but somewhere
out there, beyond the sleeping stars and the deep blue sky,
someone is probably crying and another, senselessly, about to die.

All words and paintings by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:




I cast myself mesmerised
by your movements, the curse
of your curves as you covet
my consciousness, as you
unbutton my willingness
to submit, to sink between
these sheets of submission,
to succumb to every single
suggestion that oozes
from the aura you amplify
behind the clothes, beyond
the flesh. We are both body
bound to the other, unable
to ascertain who is handcuffed

and who holds the key.

All words and sketches by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a 3 word Poetry Prompt “Cast. Unbutton. Aura” from #SenseWrds on Twitter



Tongues taste
our thoughts
when our thighs
twist and tumble,
when we slip
from sensible
to supple, shuffling
off our slips,
when lips lick lines
of longing, disrobing
desire from distraction,
curious to current caress,
covetous carried toward carnal,
slipping onto soft sheets
soon to be sweaty,
soon to be soiled
with that sensual scent,
soon to be hard, harder, hotter
(you had me at hello but you know that now).

Tongues taste
our thoughts
before we’ve even come
to embrace them.


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:


Day 5: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Amid the misty moods of jazz,
strings starring
the elegance of Ellington,
shadows caress
the couples kissing,
the barman swaying
and the affected
on the cello
playing softly on seduction
sentimental moods

as the smell of him
sways still
over my skin
like fingers on the piano,
like the tune
he has played
on other bones,
(and softly sounds the sax)
on other bodies
(and the percussion pipes up)
while he moves
through the crowd;
my man of the moment,

oh my man,
I’ll miss him so…

mood moving from indigo
to let it go.

I watch him
slipping through
mouths sipping wine,
lips licking lyrics,
hands finding heat
below the table,
across the strings.

I’ve wandered down Bleaker
and tasted
the brown brick air,
I saw the sun
set down
high on the Hudson
and felt the wind
whisper the distant song
of solitude
that is never far
from my fold.

I’ve flown so far
to get here,
to this home,
his home,
amid the horns
and harmonies
(I’m already setting free)
it’s the strangest feeling
to know I am here
but will soon be gone,
for the A-train will be calling

as the band plays on…

Al Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:




Soft skin, like silk, draws hands caress
in darkness as we warp and weft
our fragile frames in gyrating games,
crisscrossing lust with lies and trusting thighs,


We are bruised blankets baying
on beds of yesterday’s toils;
cotton soils and sweaty spoils.

Silk, like soft skin, slips from touch
too swiftly, too much sewn between seams
emblazoned with who we have become
and who we had before; I held his hand
in a taxi while thinking of another,

long departed.

We kiss alone but there is an orchestrated
orgy of others in every embrace, like a hunger
that cannot be abated, like a stain that cannot
be shifted from sheets we once saturated.

In the darkness, beneath the hands caress,
on silk, soft like skin, so supple, we slip
into gullible folds of flesh, not quite fresh,
trying to spell new names on withered frames
from those left over letters of old flames.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:



Trust me
as I thrust into you,
as we sweetly
split the space
within the identity
that we identify
and the disguise
that we discard in corners
where clothes are cast aside
for more carnal concerns,
born in beds soon to be
bruised and battered
as we bare bodies,
as we bend bodies bare,
tongues tingling to taste
the tender flesh
fresh for plucking.
We tumble and turn
in throbbing thrusts,
in tantalising teases, swaying
to the sweaty surrendering’s
between soon to be scented sheets
and shaking shadows, shy and silent
until I cannot tell
your limbs from my legs,
your hands from my hips,
your taste from my tongue
and in between
we slave and sleep,
and in between
we worry and work,
but before it all
we lay and linger
and before it all
we kiss and cuddle
and I curl beside you
above you, below you, inside you
and even in parting
I still feel your hold around me,
feel your breath upon me,
your scent within me…

Trust me
as I thrust
as I trust in you too.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Screen Shot 2016-01-04 at 18.57.36

Between je t’aime and je t’aime, moi non plus
there is so much more
than love and hate;
I love you
I put my trust in you
I thrust myself into you
I lost my thrust in you
I hate you,
je t’aime, moi non plus,
I love you
I ache for you
my limbs ache from you
it aches to look at you
I hate you,
je t’aime, moi non plus,
I love you
I lay with you
I lie with you
I lied to you
I hate you,
je t’aime, moi non plus,
I love you
moi, non plus.


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

(Rowing Boats in Richmond, England)