memory

Haunted Heart

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

What particular particle

Of the self

Left itself behind

In your absence?

What form of matter

Is this

That moves

When all else in the night

Sleeps soundly?

Because here I am,

Stirred so,

My body jerked alert,

My eyes wide open

And my senses

Shouting to me

That you’ve just left the room.

And yet,

I know deep within

The deception

That resides in this thinking,

I know this feeling

Lacking in fact,

I know this belief

To be hallow of truth.

It is not

And cannot be,

In any reasonable way,

Your scent I can smell

Still sitting in this now chilly air.

It is not,

And likewise should not be,

The soft shuffle of your shoes

I can hear crossing the hall.

Tell me now,

In all seriousness-

With my conscious mind in control,

How I could believe it to be

The touch of your hand

That brushed me from slumber

Or the gentle kiss of your lips

On my neck, so soft,

That teased me out of a dream?

Why is it that now,

So much more than before,

You are the resonance of every

Waking thought,

As if all else

Were but secondary servings

Of something less substantial.

I am failing

In these nocturnal

Awakenings

To understand

How your absence

Speaks more about you

Than your presence,

All memories

Now more concrete fact

Than what was formerly a reality.

How does this present

Present you

More to me now

Than in the past?

I held your hands,

In those final moments,

Before you found your freedom

As the darkness

Released you finally

While everything else lost itself-

For what seemed like forever-

To silence

And a darkness of another sort

Fell upon my life

In your passing

And floundered to find its exit

Within me,

For so long after.

You see,

My dilemma,

My dearly departed-

I thought you gone,

I thought us done,

I thought our forever, over.

And yet,

Here I am-

Sitting up alone

Where once we lay together-

Blind to the sight of you

But convinced

Deep down,

In the depths of my soul,

That you feel me,

Hear me

And see me.

I know, with every ache of this solitary existence,

That you have left this earth for good,

But I cannot explain,

In any humanly perceivable way,

How much I feel you haunting my heart.

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In the Architecturally Fashioned Memory of Modern Made Man

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I am of an age that is ageless,

The very essence that lingers somewhere

Between shadow and light;

That indescribable grey matter separating

All that aligns itself with black

From all that derives its purity from white.

 

I am the illusive thread

Which ties the journey together,

Twisting and twirllings of threads

Weaving together past, present and, as yet,

Briefly imagined future.

 

I am the force between that barely dreamt dream

Of what will be and that longing, lodged firm in the memory,

That leaves logic out to recall that single

Moment of magic from that day, long ago lived.

 

That room in the mind that holds so tightly

To that taste once passed over lips, ripe for the tasting,

I am the emphasis of purity in the remembrance of that very taste.

All else, long since, fallen by the wayside

Or lost out amid the uncertainty of what is remembered

And what was real.

 

I am the playfulness of the light

You see cast bright on your sky high towers

With their windows onto the world.

I am the linear contrast of urban lines,

Rising sharp and structured amid the chaos.

I am the smooth sleekness

Untwining myself from a frivolous mess.

I am the seduction salvaged from the superfluous.

I am the impression left on the skin long after I’ve parted,

The mark of what once was, what is and what will be.

 

I am what makes the melancholy magical,

Every mood a melody;

The manufacturer of the moments

The mind will muster.

 

I am the lines that will lead you on,

Latitudes to rise upon and longitudes to fill your form.

I am a city seen from above

With straights of sky-scraping streets;

Lean lines, lengthy and lasting,

Marching triumphantly forwards as if to herald mans rise

Out of confusing chaos and stake his claim to stand above,

Alone, assured and reassured,

Calm and confident,

Always exceptional, occasionally eccentric,

Uniquely independent and always individual.

Modern man made in a blend

Of what is both memory and what has yet to be.

 

I am everything you put on to be who you are.

Yesterday you dreamt of me,

Tomorrow you’ll remember me,

Today, you are me.

 

In search of a Still Shining, Fading Star

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

I was once silent

Amid the noise,

Shadowing the world in stillness

While all else-

But I-

Found its motion.

I watched as dreams

Slipped swiftly

Through my fumbling hands-

Hands powerless to awaken my slumber to the realm of reality.

I’d been held

And felt nothing in that very touch-

Nothing but the visceral arousal of man

At his most primal.

I’d seen a lifetime of possibilities

With single glances

And built worlds in my mind

Before blinking them away.

I held a man’s hand

In a taxi

As we raced through a foreign city-

Once my home-

While my mind ran to thoughts

Of someone else

Before remembering a touch, from long before.

Once, I circled the globe and returned home

To find that home

Was but a word-

A word that wakes a memory

To plot a beginning,

As weightless

And mobile

As the drifting traveler.

I am-

Like you all-

No more than a burnt-out,

Used-to-be,

Fading star,

Sparkling in front of you

Although my future’s already faded

Somewhere

Light years away.

As I hurtle through this voyage

My eyes fall sleepy;

Looking for rest,

Looking- always-

For the rest of me.

I saw you in the midst of these feelings

Early one morning

While December raced towards fairy lights

And tinsel toe-

Snowflakes speckling you in white-

An untouched canvas of pure potential,

No longer revolting in your bureaucratic bundle

Of mass and confusion-

While scarf-clad, gloved-up,

Red-nosed,

Shoulder-shrugging Frenchmen

Tutted as they wedged their way

Through the Metro turnstiles

That my blonde haired friend had just disappeared through-

Journeying back to her beginning

To start anew

And leaving me with no more than the distant memory

Of her laughter

That swept off on a breeze

And swirled around trees

Whose branches bared down to their earthbound roots.

No more the sharing of days and nights,

Mixing cocktails to our own design,

Toasting birthdays in Chinatown

For April’s fairest fool

Or surprise visits from friends

To break the daily routine.

No more lunches at Lina’s

With sandwiches too big to finish,

Dinners in white wolfed restaurants-

Leaving notes on toilet mirrors

For cute boys

On far flung tables.

No more spinning of bottles

And tempting of firemen

And late night parties

With boy bands

And dart players.

No more the sound

Of her click-clacking heels

Heard in the distance

Long before her arrival

Into that bar where we worked

And thought of as that very word-

Home.

She’d been the small town girl

More grown up than her years

And yet still a child as white

As the snow now falling.

As I saw you like this-

My dear city-

I wondered

How much more

Would fall away from me

And what else would take its place

As swishing snows let teared icicles stream down my face

While icy crystals fell from your skies-

Washing to white those famed grey rooftops

And smokeless chimneys

That had ingrained themselves

So indelibly

On my mind,

All the while hiding from me your cobbled streets

Through which my feet had sailed,

Feet that now disappeared

Slowly in the snow-white earth,

Leaving me to question where I’d be

When spring uncovered me

And pushed me back-

Once more-

Into the noise

And motion

And storm

Which I’d stopped that day to watch

In stillness

While another fine friend

Fell away.

I had once been silent

Amid the noise

But on that morning-

Speckled in white,

All was silent but for my heart

That raced with the beat of life.

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Courant d’Air

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Lost somewhere in love’s language

Between bonjour and au revoir.

How is it I have strayed so far

From what was once so important?

I have travelled land and sea

But with each step

A part of you approaches from the past,

Present and possible future

To remind me of your existence,

To recall how much of you

Is rooted deep within me

And to confirm how much of me

I left behind in you in that time we had

And shared and made;

On your banks, along your cobbled streets,

Within your bars, on the lips of your men

Whom I kissed and your ladies who I danced with

And behind that grey door

And up along that wide wooden staircase

Which spiralled its way to my first home

Nestled in the oldest part of you.

It was here where Joni Mitchell

Rang out in my ears for the first time

Through the angelic tones of the blonde creature

Who lulled me from laughter to chaos

On that old templed street-

A stones throw from my first hotel,

The scene of my first French kiss,

Tucked away behind my favoured park,

Resting under the watchful ghost of Picasso

Where I would soon burn to a crisp

As summer’s sun found Irish skin to roast on.

How we laughed in that living room

With its viewless windows

Letting in only the bare minimum of light

As my musical Nymph rehearsed

Endless Irish dirges that would pay the rent

While the spritely hippy

That hid beneath her voluptuous body,

In green velveteen bell-bottoms

And tasseled honeyed hair,

Begged her to let loose, break free and fly like a bird.

I remember that morning as spring arrived

And I opened the windows to find warm air

Perched on our sills before I read her

My first French penned poem;

The Traveler Lost;

A young man drowns amid foreigners

Without words to express himself.

She laughed till her eyes brimmed with tears

And I, almost unable to finish,

Sobbed in a likewise comic and uncontrollable state,

Indulging in the unconsciously humorous overkill

Of the self-indulgent prose of a 22 year old child

Dancing about in grown up shoes.

And yet, in that very fact;

In the acceptance of our naivety and innocence,

We laughed our way, amid childish ignorance,

Through the best of times and dared each other not to care.

And yet now, so far from that very home,

How close its infamous memory

Ventures to mock me

For the distance I have let slip in between.

In all my dreams of traveling and exploring,

How was I to know that my feet would fall

So fast in love with that first touch

Upon your cobbled streets?

I am the sparrow, lost to its nest,

Forever flying in ascending circles

And catching your scent on every other breeze,

Unsure of why it calls me still,

But hopeful to one day be flown home on your courant d’air.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Break-Up Afters

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It meant nothing and everything-

All at once.

It was filled with what you did not say

And every tale you eyes still told.

Was it too warm

Or too cold?

I remember shivering.

Were you the first

To light my cigarette-

Like you did so long before-

When everything was natural

And comforting?

Was it you

Who suggested

We should go

Or I who said

We should leave?

And then, there we were-

Naked,

So suddently-

I barely remembered the journey,

How we ended up there;

Not mine,

No longer ours-

But yours.

Creating the first soils

On your shiny sheets,

Pressing into them

That already soured scent

Of a past- recently thought expired.

All this within an apartment

So new

That the dust had barely settled

And so far removed

From everything renowned

As us,

That it was unrecognizable

As you.

You blindly found your way

Around my body-

Beneath a darkness

We both felt safe in-

Better than you found your way

To your own light switch;

So new was the home to you

Inhabitating it

And yet so familiar my every curve-

Even the ones gained in your absence;

Those sweet chocolatey replacements.

We’d messaged,

Met, made out, made love,

Measured up a home,

Merged, mortgaged, meandered,

Drifted, dived downwards,

Derailed, deceived, divided,

Divorced,

Forsaken, forgiven, forgotten,

Replaced the physical-

Temporarily and necessarily,

To scratch the itch

Until we resigned,

Released, refreshed, rebooted,

Before ridiculously tempting faith

And each other

And our restraint

With a little calling,

Uncalled for smiling,

A period of careful planning,

A suggestion of a drink-

Casual,

Quick,

Uncomplicated-

In rememberance.

And then,

In the blink of an eye,

We removed the past from our minds

And the clothes from our bodies-

Like all those years before-

But with so much more

Lying between us

Than just our salty skins-

Bollocking our way through break-up sex.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Time, Long rested

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I would have laid in your arms,

Tonight,

Right there and then-

Did you know that,

Could you feel that?

Not for the kick of it,

The thrill of it,

Nor for just the fuck of it.

But for that tiny time

We shared in the past

Now set firm in photos,

Misty in the memory

But tingly on the tongue.

I would have kissed you,

Tonight,

There and then,

On the sofa,

In the light-

With the curtains open

And the houselights on.

I would have run my tongue,

So gently,

Along your lower lip

Before sliding it inside you,

To tempt you,

To taste you.

Not because it would be easy,

Not because I have missed it

But because, once, it was mine,

Once,

When you were the smell on my body,

Once,

When you were the warmth beside me.

I would have undressed you,

Tonight,

In the hallway,

Between the rooms-

Along that casual route

From sofa to bed

Where I would have laid you,

Watched you,

Rose for you,

Before I climbed in beside you

And slid myself on top of you

And felt myself beneath you.

Not just to be horny,

Not just to be cheap,

Not to belittle you just to sex,

But to remember

Back to a time

Which was ours,

And to remember-

In this time-

That touch we shared.

I would have wrapped my body

Around you,

Then and there,

Behind the shadows of a time,

Long rested

And nakedly

I would have spooned you

In the sweet, salty, sweaty afterglow

That tickled along our bodies,

Entwined,

As the night found us

And slowly slept us

And then daybreak-

When morning would find us

And I would open my eyes and smile

At you,

And gently,

I would kiss you-

Goodbye

And let you go,

Shut the door,

Drink my tea

And smell you,

Sweetly,

All over me.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

NOTRE LIT

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Missing your smoky strains

And longing for everything to be like those

Sometimes hazy,

Sometimes crystal clear

Memories I made in you

While you floated along,

Untouched and unfazed,

By that crazy mixture

Of bureaucracy and chaos

That was as deep rooted in you

As the pride was in your citizens-

Or what the rest of the world would call

Your Arrogance.

Your streets of cobbled charm,

Filled with cafés of impatient waiters-

All of which I forgave

And became to me

A part of your ingrained features;

Those habits your lover performs

Which pinch the skin

But you would be lost as to what to do

Should they suddenly disappear.

Your gargantuan gargoyles and their ghostly glare-

What sights their stone eyes have seen.

Your men for whom I swooned

And lost words

And blushed.

The passion-

Alive in the heart of you.

The affection-

I never lost for you.

And the romance-

Strolling along your banks

As the sun set

On each new day

Of my new life

Within you.

The person that became me

As I found my form

Behind your walls-

I surrendered to you

All that was before

And would ever be again.

For all that I am-

It is because of what you showed me.

For all that I lack-

It is everything that I left in our bed-

Sleep softly on it.

—

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

 

Italian Thoughts

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You washed over me today-

Darkest hair, hazel of eyes

And that lower luscious lip-

As I retraced those steps

From a lifetime ago

And found myself

Lost again-

Like all those years ago-

When I’d first fallen

Upon this Sea of a City,

Back when your heart

Had begun to feel

More like mine

Than mine itself.

I’d walked that narrow walled city

That day

As gallant green waters

Glistened along side me

And I listened out for the ghosts

Of past parties

In Taffeta skirts-

Giggling

And with masked faces-

Smiling

Before I stopped,

And by this very bridge,

I called you

And told you

I’d fallen

And thought nothing of those rushing waters

Beneath me-

Their movement,

Their depth,

Their current-

How far they can take you

From the shore.

I thought us to be as inseparable

As Gondola from Gondolier

And yet we sank

As surely as the City will itself

One day,

Some day

When time itself has forgotten all about

The lovers who laughed

And loved

And kissed

And promised-

Just like us

Before the waves washed us over

And around

And in between,

Before our hands let go

And you slipped away to dance through other lands,

In other hands,

That Time and Space that time has almost forgotten

And yet,

Do you know-

There are times

When my lower lip trembles

With the memory

Of your kiss

And the weight

Of your heart

When I wore it?

—

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

 

Thierry’s Line

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One ordinary,

Rather hot summer night-

Nothing special, nothing different-

In my mind’s eye I ran my finger down the line of hair

That ran from your chest

Before it disappeared beneath your shorts

As the breeze blew open your shirt and I caught the smile in your eye

As you read my thoughts.

You,

With your short dark hair-

Amid a season of blondes that I was tiring of-

You,

Who I never kissed or lay with,

Who I never undressed outside of that one dizzy dream.

Later that night-

Fuelled on cocktails while our friends fell distracted by a jovial waiter-

You took my finger and brushed it along that same hair line.

Nothing said,

Nothing promised;

Just that fine line between you and I.

You,

With your eyes which shone that night towards a blue shade of green,

You,

With your black jeans, red shirt

And tan which stopped just short of where that line disappeared.

We told tales,

Shared drinks,

Swapped numbers

But time, in its humour,

Fell shorter than either of us had imagined.

You seemed like the first man I’d seen in such a long time

Having been lost for a while in a sea of bleached blonds-

All as harmless as they were hairless

While I cavorted about their baby soft skins

With careless concerns for complacency.

But you looked like something else

On that fortuitous night

As the setting sun sizzled

And breezes briefly blew bodies bare.

That tremendous night when nothing really happened

Except for the soft touch of that line I never managed to cross

But-

More importantly-

The line I never managed to forget.

—

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

 

Thank you, Nana

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We carried you,

Like a child, that day

As Spring shone around us

And the flowers took bloom

And I wondered if April

Had ever seen so soft a day?

We carried you,

Like a child, that day

And traced each and every journey

We’d made with you along the way,

On busses and trains and airplanes

To foreign towns and holy lands-

Your presence more beloved than the coins you always gave.

We carried you,

Like a child, that day

And remembered

Every knee you had bandaged,

Every tear you had dried

And every belly you had filled

With your apple pies and custard bakes

Fresh brown breads and coffee cakes.

We carried you,

Like a child, that day

As red roses fell

As fluidly as the waters over Niagara

While a breeze brushed our cheeks with a kiss.

We carried you,

Like a child, that day

Your body as weightless

As it was lifeless

While we covered you over with the red petaled ground-

But now we carry you in our hearts forever more.

Mistake me not;

This is no goodbye,

This is just a simple way of saying thank you.

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