nature

THE LIGHT

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

Day 2: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Dance
in the light now.
Lighter,
feel the light.

In parting
you touch my cheek,
fragility caressing flesh
as magnolia’s
unfold overhead.
Goodbye
I hear you say
from the distance,
from where the light
is so much brighter,
and off you go,
lighter now,
in form,
in vision
in voice.

And ashes find favour
with tears
and what once was
dissolves on my cheek,
that cheek you touched,
that skin you kissed.
Life now mixing
with all we lost,
water washing away
what has been burnt,
what had been broken.
Disease diminished.
Cancer no longer
with cadaver to cower in.
Latch on to the light,
my light, our light,
so much lighter
than before.

And the sea
sweeps along the shore,
and the water
waves along the beach,
and every grain of sand
is shaped,
and every grain of sand
is touched,
marked forever,
as we bare your mark,
as we carry your light.

Fly now,
fly to where the light lingers
longer, lighter, brighter.
The wait is now over.
Dance,
dance in the light,
Lighter, brighter,
Forever.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

 

 

ENTITLEMENTS

/ deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

 

And so it begins, National (Global) Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

30 new poems over 30 days

Gird your loins! (Or Lines!)

Who’s joining in? Feel free to post your blog address in the comments section here to make sure everyone knows what you’re up to…

All pillars fall
over time,
all gods
grow down
out of grandeur,
grow pale
out of waste
(we cannot
always worship
that which is distant)
and gravitate
into grasp as age
and taste and circumstance
wrinkle the concrete columns
we set them once upon,
so high, too high
to truly touch at times
like trees too tall
in forests to far to reach,
too distant to be seen.

All pillars fall
over time,
all trees topple,
and their tales
revealed as circles
turned and twisted
in trunks we could not
wrap ourselves around
until we cut them down,
like bodies
bound by loves
and lusts
we could not reach
until we found a way in.

But you

You
will not
come down,
will not be grounded
(precious distance
demands still
songs of glory)
will not
wrap around
this flesh that feels
your fingers too far,
though still I breathe,
though not do I rot.
You;
not made
for me
but a moment
considered
too late,
too complicated,
but mystery,
but man
becoming myth,
no kisses but misses,

still missed.

I tended
too much
to the roots,
thoughts twisting
through a time
now past
(like your eyes to my sight)
now lost
(like your voice to my ears)
a time
never touched
(we never touched
but watched it
slip though fingers).
I let it tower
untended,
not over me
(how I wished),
but away from me
and found myself
firm footed
on strange soil
and you;
in the sky
of dreams
on a pillar
I built for you
never thinking
you’d one day
grow out,
out of reach,
our of hand,
out of hope,
out of hold
(all that I never held),
hand that I can’t
let go of
even if it’s now
too far from reach.

If you never had it
to begin with,
are you still
entitled
to miss it?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/entitlements

THE GREEN BELT

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

 

Like bodies for burial, on belts
conveying commodities
to congested communities,
shrubs are shrouded
in sheets of plastic
that will not perish,
in weather
that can now only wither,
along concrete
too painful to penetrate,

as brick and beast
tower over twig and tree.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

STARTING OVER

/ deuxiemepeau / 8 Comments

First day,
first frost,
fragile steps,
crisp blanket under foot
on grass like glass.

Crisp air,
slow movements
susceptible to change,
to ticking time,
travelling through
like the snow flakes
on sturdy shoots
above warmer roots

Fine day
for starting out,
finding freshness
in the unforeseen,
favouring the future
on lists
that never linger long,
resounding resolutions
penned in dissolvable solutions
on crisp sheets
all shattered
before the sun
can melt the snow.

A blank page,
a clear canvas,
crisp to caress,

careful how you press.

We are each of us
snowflakes
falling
through twisting time
undefinable,
indescribable,
irreplaceable,
often unreachable,
looking for a leaf
to light upon,
a place to rest
on this new day
in this new year.

Crisp white hope
glistens on fragile branches
that are already bending…

 

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

PAUSE AND POISE

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

 

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Running
through time,
through time
that can never be tempered,
through twisting trees and projected paths,
projecting thoughts yet to be pondered,
through mornings unfolding
while seasons fall to winter
and wither for a while all around me,
crisp carpets crinkle
with what was once light and leafy
but are now scattered sprinkles
of seasons shadows,
like thoughts once tasted
now toppled from the tongue
slipping underfoot;
from roots they rise only to return
as I break the silence
of early morning,
air crisp and clear,
cutting through motions of stillness
colours caught on careful carpets,
rust reigns regal
as orange opens into opulence,
opens into fragrance,
revels in its own resilience,
between the trunks,
below the benches
that have seen more time than I can wait for, than I can capture;
captured kisses,
paused breaths,
hands held,
all now scenes and scents seeping into the seated silence.
Running through forests,
all falling into that perfect promise
of pause and poise
all still while the earth turns, beauty below our feet

while we rage above it.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available at Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/pause-and-poise

PICTURING PARIS; RUNNING BY THE RIVER

/ deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

Sunday morning run on ile Saint Germain, Paris south west…


Where the city meets the Seine 


A splash of colour on an, as yet, dull day 


Better days- what we need right now


The Bridges of Paris County!


Nature is endless


A bench beneath the bark 


Fragility in the field 


Framed gardens


The human touch 

A seat at the summit of the morning…

All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly 

GRACE IN THE GARDEN

/ deuxiemepeau / 15 Comments

My mother hangs memories
on the wall of her garden
in the land where her grandparents toiled,
on a wall in the garden
are my mother’s memories
that not autumn, winter or summer can spoil.

There are tea pots and trinkets
and there are trophies and tack
and mirrors watching time brushing past,
and a blue bird, once my bird,
upon the side of my crib
proving somethings from childhood can last.

My mother has memories
now rooted in her garden
next to bushes and berries in bloom,
there are things that can tickle
and there are things that can touch
and things that were broken or just had no room.

My mother’s hanging hope
on the walls in her garden
to cradle the heart in when it’s cold,
in the heart there’s a garden
where we cradle the grace
that my mother plants just like it were gold.

 

Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly, the Grace and Garden by Mona Donnelly

Audio version available at Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/grace-in-the-garden