I stroll in soft sundown across the cushioned grass,
the earth a pillow I never stopped to consider,
I consider going in, inside to where the light looks neat
and named but a bird calls from a branch I cannot see,
sight comes in second after his song- soft, slow
and cycling back on itself like time, tide and your touch,
at times. Time was never our lover until it left us,
until we saw how quickly we aged in its agonising absence.

The night holds less time, with less light to cast shadow over,
with less sight to see the hands surge around the circle.
I move in circles around this garden of cushioned grass
while the moon comes out to feed, we eat what we can,
sleep when we must, the birds sing songs and only when lost
do we permit ourselves to stop and ask of the meaning.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly



What is life but a book to read from both sides,
from either end, from all there is to see here
below the constant clouds of consideration,
from far on high where the clouds are carpet
and the stars as close to perfection as we can get,
for midway through this meander of noise
and nonsense, of love and what is left in its place
when it has parted, I am no closer to the correct
question as I am to the unachievable answer.

What is love but a sunlight seen out of season,
a breath to better us when there is no air,
a rainstorm when all we can see is desert dust
sweeping over the highway where our hope
is headed while are we are bound, barely,
to faithful, to fearless, to ferocious, as we falter,
fail and fall and rise again, better for the bruises,
ready for the next round, prepared to bleed out
our lives along this road we are rocking. And still…

I can drink another case of you,
and you, and you, and you, and you…

What is life? What is love?
What is the point in asking?

We are here… happy, hurt, healing.

We have cut through the clouds
and reached the other side…

What more is there to fear?



All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

From my Joni Mitchell inspired series of poems from a few years back.



Behind the fanfare we fan the light
to make our way through another day
to night. Behind the fuss we muddle
through movement on route to contentment
caught in quiet corners of unconsciousness,
like that word on the tip of the tongue
we can’t quite pronounce.

On terra-cotta tiles I turn through cards
of comfort from days now distant,
wishes signed with love from names
I can no longer call in this light,
in this life. Far from the fanfare,
far from the fuss, you are all still
somehow a part of each movement
I make, distant stars now that once
held dreams, that once signed cards
of greetings, never thinking how much
one day, beyond the fuss, they would mean.

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:



What are words
when they don’t just
wander in weary

What are words
when not wild waffle
but wonders
weaved with wisdom
and written with worth

are like water
washing over the reader
in warm waves

are like wings
raising the receiver
from worrying days

are the world

can be whispers
that wake you

can be ripples
that shake you

are like the welcome wind
on a warm weekend

can be the witness
to all that must walk to its end

can be weapons
in a world waged on war,
weak and enslaved

can be wonderful,
like a walrus
rising over the waves

Words are the world.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken on the Champ de Mars by the Wall of Peace, Paris


Screen Shot 2016-02-13 at 20.37.17

From the nightmare
we wake to the dream
before we open our eyes to reality

I fear I fret I freeze I forge I face I forget

I love you, he said
from the pages of the book
in her hand as she sat alone reading by the window

I am alone I am alive I am only I am everything I am enough

We yearn so much
be to adults as children
then perish ever after in the absence of youth

I want I wish I will I wasted I was I withered

We mourn so much
for what we’ve lost in death
because we ignored the chance to celebrate life

Too soon Too early Too busy Too far Too late

He kissed her lips
beneath the darkness
and remembered the light of another, long forgotten

I like I lust I love I lost I like I lust I love I linger in the longing

I walk out into the water             and the reflection
            that rises from the surface
is the face of a shadow                             now drowned
      a reflection               of what once was
a skin             long since shed
            a kiss                             long since settled
       a curiosity                 quieted
                        a loss                     let go of
    a fear                 long since faced
and folded                         and floated away
                   to wherever the water              runs to
           after it washes              towards me
                   through me                    and past me

the past of me


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photographs taken in Stockholm on a foggy morning walk around the islands.