FALLING THROUGH SPACE

 

Ghost clouds gather over ice cold oceans
of marble we can’t break through. Maybe
there was something deeper below the depths
we dared not dive. Breath is naked. Movement
muffed. Air rigid. There is nothing left to cover up.

I blush under your absence or do I blush
before the cold truth; this is it, we are alone,
one day we will end. All we have failed to learn
will fall through space like stars, burnt out before begun.

We are flames, in oceans, dying to be seen.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a remixed repost for a week of gazing at clouds.

THE LIGHT IS TOO LIGHT

 

Light leaks like water
dripping from the faucet.

You called me baby
before you really knew me
and stopped calling at all,
afterwards
drip…
drip…
nothing.

Light lingers in quite corners
like memories that refuse to flicker,
not acknowledging that the night
has fallen.

We pour over each other
like liquid on a perched desert,
sucking sustenance from substance,
leaching life from any length,
dryer…
dryer…
death.

I dived deep down to the bottom
and found only a drought
drowning on the ocean floor.

Were you the desert or the drought?

Was I the ocean or merely drowning?

Bubble…
bubble…
nothing.

Light lifts the illusions
we sleep upon beneath the darkness,
when everything is possible
and no one ever parts.

I am not one part us,
I am not one part you,
I am not one or the other,
I am the I that was your baby.

Remember?

I was light, you said in the midst
of so much weight but you remained
light on love, regardless.

Light leaks like dripping water
from a faucet
drip…
drip…

onto the broken plates and half eaten hopes
that cannot be either washed or erased.

Light is too light to lift the stains
from the remains of what began
with the words

I want to drown in your eyes.

Light frequently floods
the flaccid lies we feed ourselves
just so we can get from day to night.

    

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a re-post

CAST ALONG

 

Lost in a current
capricious,
a cast of confusion,
but the river
remembers its route.
The water wades
into the ocean
& the drifting ends.

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter prompt from #WrittenRiver

RELEASED

 

As you
walked away
I watched you
curve through the current
of confusion that had
consumed us.

Once torn on the tide,
I waded out to let our worries
wash off on the waves
as a breeze buried its breath
against my body
like the kindness
that once caressed us
and all hurt once spoken
faded like the foam now dissolving

All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a Twitter poetry prompt by #SenseWrds

IF

Screen Shot 2016-08-27 at 13.07.58

If
I had wings
the skies would have no limits
if
I had fins
the seas would have no depth
if
I had trust
the clouds could not delude me
if
I had belief
the currents could not drown me

but
I am man
and bound to faults and fears
but
I have eyes
that cannot see through the tears
but
I have feet that tire of walking
but
I have arms that cannot always reach

the things I want to touch
the places I want to see
the person I want to be

and yet
I have a heart

that’s fuelled on hope.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

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

 

POCKETS OF TIME

 

I have crossed many oceans and have known
few limits, I have travelled many roads
and have folded my favourites into pockets
of time, stored in a hundred boxes, marked
with a thousand names who have touched me,
sealed with a hundred souls who have moved me,
taped with a dozen men who may have loved me.
I have travelled many roads and I have packed
many boxes, I have folded so much of time,
and lost too many friends, but memories
cannot be stored in boxes and time cannot
be held in pockets, roads are only the beginning
and friends are never truly lost. Home is not
housed in bricks and mortar, home is like the ocean; 
                       it knows no limits if the water is willing.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

VIRTUE OR VULTURE?

 

Is love letting go or leaning on or leading on

Is love like a salmon swimming upstream, struggling against the tide, against the current,
against all nature

Is love like a room you redecorate on rotate, layers of new prints over old paper, frail and fragile and fading in corners too complicated to remove the clutter, long since left, from other lovers now departed

Is love like the copious copies of masterworks, artworks we hang in hallways far from any real light so as not to intimidate real life

Is love as subtle as the smile stroked on canvas across her face, impossible to trace if she is leaning towards love or lingering in loss

Is love like the riverbed, caressed and corrosive concurrently, currently leading towards lust or something that might last longer, that might run deeper than an ocean

Is love virtue or vulture?

All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Aldeburgh, England by the Benjamin Britten tribute sculpture

Audio Version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/virtue-or-vulture

 

 

RISEN

risen

I cross bridges blindfolded

not afraid of the heights
I could fall from

but aware of the ocean
of emptiness
I have risen from.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Södermalm, Stockholm, Sweden