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LIQUID RHYTHM

/ deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

 

Need is hard
(to give in to
that craving for connection)
‘Not yet,’ I said (to Time,
teasing along twitching ties),
‘Drink me not, dark angel’
(we are light still and far from brewed).
Joy is a dance
of liquid rhythm
(lithe are we, fluid forms falling into arms
not always favouring hold),
hearts bleed when opened
(steel we are not, though hard are we
to mould into mutual).
‘Make us a secret
though our embrace is concrete
so maybe we (can) linger longer,
(let’s drink ourselves slowly,
regardless of how time ticks roughly).

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a repost. I am reposting old poems at the moment as I am editing my novel and working on new poems for a possible chapbook and sending out others to literary magazines and planning the move to Ireland in 4 months and thinking about packing and doing life laundry and doing the day job for another 3 months and still a little hot under the Parisian sun. Fingers crossed for all, one or none!

BLANK CANVAS

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I thought it lonely
To be together
With so much standing
In between,
But now,
In this solitude,
These moments tick
Like echoes
Of what’s been lost,
Like laughter
Now fading,
Like love
Now separating,
Like the time shared
Now a fragment of another life,
Another hold we let go of,
Another force to fragile to fight.

I though it lonely
To be together
But this solitary life
Is not the picture
I wanted to paint,
There is too much still life,
All but lines and lessons,
No rhythm,
No reason,
Only a melancholy
In its lack of movement.

White,
Black page,
Blank canvas,
Again?

Spring Cleaning

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Spring cleaning

As fresh white snow falls by the window.

Spring cleaning;

Filling countless boxes of memories

To be covered up in cupboards,

Hoovering up all you left behind

In corners too tricky to tackle.

Spring cleaning,

Polishing over reflections in mirrors

Of the many moments we made

And washing the bedclothes over and over

And entrusting the rest for time to fade.

Spring cleaning,

In December, with icicle eyes

As snows of white cover the world and its sighs.

—

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly