And they say that man
is master and should marvel
at all he can make
but there’s no mistaking
the meaning of majesty
when the seas and heavens
shake.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
nature
THE BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
We were meant to be nothing more
than the compliment to you,
calm and considerate
not the conqueror;
covetous and carnal.
We were meant to be nothing more
than the guardian of you;
grateful and gracious
not just gluttony
grounded in greed.
We were meant to be nothing more
than the homemaker in you;
humble and harmonious,
not all harmful,
hungry and hoggish.
We were meant to see the beauty
and not become the beast.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost
GOLDEN HARMONIES
Sight sees,
on Sundays,
beds of bowing
sunflowers, bowing
in beauty, not weeping
from weary, caught under
careful clouds; to comfort, not
to crush, sweet simplicity in growing
gardens, growing gold, going on, going green.
Sight sees, on Sundays, harmony reigning majestically.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
SONG OF THE SEASON
Come behold nature;
this beautiful blossom,
breathe the berry,
warm wind on the daffodil,
Eden’s sweet sanctuary,
bloom beneath a blanket of peace,
a murmur through the mountain vine,
prairie bright with ancient rain,
thrive seed through sacred stone,
He sees a song in every season,
gentle garden, wild wind,
listen, live, love.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost
DIFFERENCES
Nature is not alike;
red reigns over green,
browns bend to blend
and lilac leans,
perfect petals poised
over tiny tufts, trembling,
buds unfold from
stretching stars.
Nature is not alike.
Humanity could be harmonious
if we delighted in our differences
with dignity.
Nature is not alike. Why should we be?
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
This is a repost
WORDLESS WEDNESDAY, JARDIN DES SERRES, PARIS
All photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
A lot of photographs, I know, I did edit, I promise, I took over 250 photos in about an hour while skipping like a 4 year-old around the place that was practically empty. I think this might be the city’s best kept secret and ‘how dare you’ Roland Garros, the neighbours, try and dig this place up to extend your tennis courts! This is priceless! Now who’s Out!
THE BEAT OF THE BAT
The brighter man, the lighter man,
the darker truth, the deeper vein,
bind me to the rough, the real man,
I beat as a bat.
The clearer glass, elusive glass,
the broken bed, the better lay,
tie me to the rider, all night,
I beat like a bat.
The gentle rose, considered rose,
the troubled torn, the rotting root,
plant me in the wild field, riled field,
I beat as a bat.
The sweetest light, the sun light
the witching hour, the darkest night,
pitch me in the rainstorm, windstorm,
I beat like a bat.
The house plant, the tendered plant,
the raging bark, the twisted branch,
nature’s not calm, not quiet, nor I;
I beat as a bat.
An angel rises to heaven’s skies,
bats hang downside, looking inside,
teach me what’s inside, light the dark side,
I’ll see like a beating bat.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
This is one of the poems from the A Month with Yeats series
CURLS OF UNCONSCIOUSNESS
The breath is stilled, life is sea and sky bound in a blanket
of both current and cloud, moments are just
impressions, reflections of all that has fallen
and all that floats on the future’s feather;
a fragile fluttering to
the left of frame.
Still is
the breath,
thoughts unfurl;
curls of creamy consciousness,
there is darkness, floating, certainly,
but peal it back and there is light lingering
in an unconsciousness we have yet to caress
with consideration.
All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly
WHITE STARLIGHT
White starlight,
light and lucent,
springs from
the ailing earth,
in quite corners
of tended borders
so fine and fair,
fragility unfolding
precious petals,
perhaps to soften
the edges
of darker days
that have set
shadows upon
so many sunsets.
White starlight
cradles beauty,
a bold beacon
blooming amid
these burdens
that bind us
to broken branches,
she’s taking chances
ripe and rare
like subtle silk,
like flowing milk,
so bright and brave
to dare to bloom
amidst these months
of doom and gloom.
White starlight
in broad daylight,
a wonder witnessed
among this world
of weeds
and tangled vines
that strangle
the timid
and the truth.
White starlight.
Fear not fragility
for she was
born to fight.
This poem is a re post.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
ALL THE REST IS BUT ASH, AFTER
A crimson blaze,
a tiny tree,
truth can be fragile,
beauty can be breathless
(does not always need
to be burdened by our breath).
Branches can be barren,
nature can be hurtful
but colour conquers concrete.
Fragility can take flight,
fields can be an ocean
of fallen leaves
that time will catch
and crispen
and consider for compost.
We are all bound to the heap;
spinning circles of almost ash
burning best in comforted corners.
A crimson blaze
burning bright
in the valley of autumn.
Colour will conquer
and only truth
will hold to its root
in this fertile field,
in this land
of seasonal sparks,
in this place
Man called Earth
as if it were his to play with.
Truth will colour over
all we have covered
in concrete.
All words by Damien B. Donnelly
Photography by Liz Cowburn from Exploring Colour and you can find her original post with many other beautiful New Zealand Autumnal shades here…
https://exploringcolour.wordpress.com/2019/05/03/colours-and-cobwebs/comment-page-1/#comment-9181
Damien B. Donnelly 