WORDLESS WEDNESDAY TRUNKS TELL TALES

I wonder, as with love and hate,which came first- bark almost buried blindor the sweet lie of this lichen grown over as if you where the breath to its lung,the furrow to its field, the ground to its grass, the remnants of its final stand. All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

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WHEN I CONSIDER THE ECHO OF A PULSE – NEW POEM

And another door finds its hinges turning (you lean, you linger, you lose, you leave)tides twist and then return, summer finds winterwhistling on the arms of an enigmatic autumn (leaves fall, flowers grow, dust settles before the sun)and I wonder what remains within the roomswe leave behind, in the corners now cast offwhere comfort was […]

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IN OR OUT

  Lilium lancifolium lies back in a bed we repositioned last spring under the scorch of today’s mid-afternoon melt. In a slow movement that set her into structure, before the dawn woke the rest of us, she assumes a position to demonstrate the perfect pliancy of her freckled petals and pushes everything out to be […]

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THE SWEETER SONG

  Dominant bird rings on repeat his call in the late afternoon- arriba, arriba, arriba he appears to echo whilst other feathered fellows join in his mash-up as if they all know the price is now time sensitive- this has become their season to shine- they sing and we sit in their shadow, the quiet […]

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THE STING

  9 is not yet known to this Sunday morning but already I’m playing catch up with the dawn in a once foreign field now renamed home, running after breaths and age that is unobtainable like caressing clouds or surviving on the sap of stems where needles immerse nettles in a loneliness we have come […]

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GIVEN TIME

  Rushes rustle a calling to the rain mimicking the sound of those molecules of moisture they long to feel against their sharp- edged skins. We all learn to mimic what we must, let go of all we can not hold, lean in to what we love, fake all we can not feel. Gulls squawk […]

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THIS HISTORY OF A HOME

  I live now in various shadows and only a few whose forms I’d distinguish. By a round tower on a little hill at the far end of a short road I can read the names of the first ones who named this place as a home, I’ve no faces for these folk who were […]

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BOUND

  You draw my attention from pondering path like thoughts collected in a well-worn carpet and make me wonder, as with love and hate, which came first- bark almost buried to blind or the sweet lie of this lichen grown around your years as if you where the whole to its being, the breath to […]

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A SONG ABOUT THE SPIRALS

  The circles spiral. Goodbye is not a definitive swan song. Time cannot be buried in a single spot. Early evening and the sun no longer sets in this kitchen that watches the seasons turn without comment. The sills have new shadows we have not yet named. This morning broke over fallen feathers and for […]

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