FRESH PERSPECTIVES AT THE MIDWAY MARK

 

I pulled a seat
up along the far side
of the first hill
of this midway through life’s climb
and sat myself towards country,
having been stripped
for so long
like bare bark by too many cities.

Green blood poured
upwards from your soil
onto my skin
until there was nothing left
to separate either of us
again

but for those ditches
that we would climb over
and perhaps leave the parts of ourselves
too ridged
for these winding lanes,
and those gentler hills
that we’d allow time to consider
while we considered nothing more
than what we had-

air, earth and this seat
on the far side of life’s hill
growing over time
with honesty.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

BREAK OF LIGHT

 

I choose the path;

this winding way

though the midway,

battling though the brambles and briars,

I have stains on my soul,

I have splinters in the tissue of my beating breast,

beating, breaking, panting,

I have moments

when my feet no longer feel their footing,

when falling is all I can handle,

I choose this path;

this way of winding words,

stringing sentences into steps

that carry me to places

I never knew existed,

I have ink stains on my insides,

I have empty areas that have been erased,

their only trace now a vacuum

where vanity once ventured,

I choose this path;

this winding way

of silent shadow

and am grateful

for the break of light.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

TIME IS FLEETING

 

Time is fleeting.
See it slipping through hands
eager to clasp all that cannot be caught.
Time is fleeting
but this is not always tragic
for we are traffic motoring along
the carriage way in search
of contentment in accompanying cars,
meandering towards the midway
and making out with the magic
that caresses the quiet corners
of our day while all the time
time flitters forward.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt from #WrittenRiver

NO LINES

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

this is the midway
the in between 
the middle ground 
of what used to be
and is still unseen 
there are no right roads 
raging and roaring

there are no direct lines anymore
on this journey through the midway

mid sentence
mid life
mid love

only meaningful meanderings. 

All Words and Photography by Damien B. Donnelly