Deuxiemepeau, Poetry by Damien B. Donnelly
Between the lines and through the lens…
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 […]
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 […]
There are sink holes in the back garden where I stash the stems of subconscious longing along with feathers plucked from the stale fights over ownerships of books and bonds. When early morning climbs drowned dream with blinding light there’s an impulse to uncover boulder used to bury hole and reach in to touch all […]
Input- daily. Early morning. Wake up to bird call and input ideas for the new day. Run. Write. Weights. Wash. Garden. Grass. Weeds. No Smoking. More Chopping. Manic. Now move indoors. Pottering. Pacing. Painting and onto poetry. Moving out again from bedroom. Old room. Once far room. Cold room, where someone died once, before […]
Last month, in the first breath of this coming season of the sun’s light, you crept in through the stillness of the solitude that the birds had begun to sing of and spread out across the swaying branches as we foraged for distractions beneath. I climbed you, on occasion, to release my feet from […]
Slow hum. Morning beckons- delicate dance of daisies, baby bunny in back garden thinking it’s his whole world, even the breeze is bouncy. Breath better than before. Slow hum of day unfolding, footsteps on sidewalks, sights on slow lanes, softly humming. Even runners head towards hedges now- hedge funds thrown to the ditch- see […]
Sometimes morning breaks before the hold has found the frost. We wake dizzy- flung into field where dawn’s breath corners all that has been fearless but will soon fall to fragile- breath becomes touch becomes dew becomes done running down the blade of grass regardless of how much it will cut. Sometimes morning breaks […]
Here now, flown back to nest since moved in absence, these streets hold no shadows of my former shyness, they do not call me by nickname, or your name. I was never open enough then to be called by your name, their name, his name, back then when there was no him and barely […]
I steal deep into space, in the far field- inches are miles these days and miles can hold worlds. I kick imaginary balls into empty posts and run tracks that dig circles around the turns I cannot take. The eye spots white specs, like snowflakes, dancing on the far side of deep ditches- daisies […]
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly