Blue rain,
To wash away
The stain of what we are
In the face of all we dreamt of-
In vain.
Do you remember Paris on occasions when Spring winds
Wash in from the east and the sound of drinks on terraces
Sweep over the city, recalling those lazy days- a lifetime ago,
Before we knew London together or what it would be like to part?
Do you, do you remember Paris, my room, our love
And all those carefree dreams we shared and found
As we lay at night in that single bed, in the corner, wrapped-
Not just due to lack of space- so tightly in one another,
Long before I lost myself and you lost me?
Do you dare to look back on those weekend meanders
Through the cobbled streets that I thrilled to show you
And you longed to see through my eyes, as well as yours?
Those early days of bloom that fell so timely to nights
Back at the water castle, a name-deceptive metro stop,
Where kisses would take us through to the dawn.
Remember our first Spring and how it warmed into Summer
As we sailed through the city like no one else existed
And no time could have been more suited to such a pair
Who fell in love with dogs in pet shop windows as we strolled
To Pont Neuf, to sip on wine, wave farewell to the sun and sleep
Under the shade of a tiny park, at the bottom of the bridge
On the first site of the city, by the walls of its Musee du Louvre.
Remember that rainstorm, that marvelous Sunday; we woke up
As the lightening struck and birds flapped wildly to find reason
Amid the mornings madness why their feathery wings failed
To find flight. Funny how I missed any warning in their fluttering.
I remember your first night in my city- deep in The Banana
In Les Halles, with Yasmine’s infectious grin, boys in towels
On table tops, the piano, the dancing and the DJ who sang
And the morning that found us before we had stopped.
Remember La Grande Jatte, in the shadow of Seurat,
On a sleepy Sunday morning when we stopped
To make connections beyond what the eye could see-
To remember what the painter had seen? You sang
Of the colors between the water and the sky, ignorant
To all but us and the music that filled our minds on that ordinary day,
In a simple Summer, during a Sunday stroll, on an isolated island,
Where everything seemed more and more extraordinary.
On Hugo’s trail, we searched out the ghosts of a Paris long fallen to history-
Stench filled sewers, Luxembourg gardens and finally, and above all,
By a tree in the far reaches of LaChaise where Val Jean had laid
His miseries to rest. Was it later that night I confessed to be falling
While in your arms and your eyes replied that you were already there?
Do you remember that time at Disney? You, the one with the Mickey ears and I,
The one with the childlike fears till the valium kicked in- your treasured
And unused stash- an airplane’s roar enough to set your hairs on end.
Do you still remember those endless nights in the Tropic; sipping on Gin Fizzes,
Fresh from the cinema, sandwich grec’s on the way home along rue saint Denis-
It’s ladies only then awaking to their nocturnal life?
Remember that single bed in the corner; I always woke up stuck to the wall
Or wedged somehow between bed and brick. The sofa, the table
And the sunflowers of plastic- so not what you’d imagined at all.
Remember those early wake-up calls as Monday morning broke our spirits
And sounded a parting- a rush to the station and tears as you left me
Wondering, always, when you’d return.
Do you dare to venture to the times we shared
In what seems like a lifetime ago when not a minute suggested
What time would design and we’d one day have to let go?
Remember Paris,
Remember you,
Remember me,
Remember us.
You haunt me, you know, your park benches empty in the shadows of moonlight
And your lamplights; desolately romantic as if longing for a lovers embrace.
I know not why you have called me out of them all. A million people
Thread through your streets everyday, every night, yet I am the one
With pen in hand, scribbling questions that you never answer
As I stare into your magnetic waters that tug at me from lands afar.
Are there others who wander you aimlessly, haunted by a melancholic longing?
I know not. Do they gaze on you with unwavering love, forgetting your scars
And bruises, your brutish bureaucracy and snappish shrugs-
Or do they just despise your perfection, your pride, your success?
I see only ever increasing circles in your waters, dragging me down,
Pulling me in, asking me why I parted and when I shall return
To be sucked in, hauled down, ripped bare and naked in front of you.
Ten years on- our anniversary, I am saddened, sombre, elated and overjoyed
In your presence but still know not why. Is it the simply the je n’es sais quoi?
A man stands before me and looks down at you from a bridge, hand against face,
And watches your motions. Is he as captured by you as I? Can he leave you,
Release you, let go of you- like I cannot. What lies so deep within his stare?
What makes him stop, like I, upon your bridge, before your Lady, our Lady, and look
And wish and wonder? I know not what his reasons are as much as I know not my own.
Am I your folly or is it you that are mine? Tell me, speak to me, inform me,
Embrace me amid your precious Pomp and Circumstance or let me go,
Sail me off and set me free. For I am yours for the asking, yours for the calling,
Yours in waiting, devoid of answers but so full of questions.
I smile when my feet hit your floor, cry when my eyes see your treasures
And fear everything you made me into, everything I ran from
And everything I left of me, with you, in my passing.
I am open book without ending, a poem without a point,
A line without structure. Is this it? Are we finished?
Or is this just a little repose?
You are my armor
To the world. My shield
To forge in front, to fight
The battles of which
I, myself alone, unmasked
And naked, am far too fearful for.
You are my role
Upon the stage of life
When the lights are on and the audience
Shifts slightly in their seats-
Judging my movements,
Motivations and intonations,
You are my script to fall back on,
My spotlight to lead me and that all important
Costume to cover me.
You are my Second Skin, a sheet
Of sheerness, unseen by the hungry mob
Who crowd, and cram and crow around me,
A protective gauze to sooth
Away their punches, to replenish me
When they’ve drained me
And to smile for me
When I’m dying inside.
When they look at me
They have no idea
I am looking at them
Through you.
Hit me as hard as you can, oh fine
Fleeting friend called Time. No more
And no less can I do with You
But run through You-
Tasting as much, laughing as hard
And loving as wildly and willfully as possible
Before your clock tolls
And You sound my final bell.
I am not your prisoner and You-
No more my guard than my companion,
My light and shadow all at once-
Giving me enough time to watch
How You take it from me,
Never do we stray from each other
For a single moment. But moments
Are what I shall build on as we tap out
This dance together-your tick-tock, tick-tocking,
Pulsing through my every heartbeat.
Oh sleepless, invisible One,
Is there no rest for You as night falls
And I slumber softly, at play in dreams
Of hopeful tomorrows and cherished yesterdays,
Your claim on my expiration fails to set any fear
Alight in me, though I know not the date nor time,
Nor the how or why,
For today I’ve existed, loved and laughed
And, if tomorrows be no more,
Then ring out the sound, evermore,
Of my joy for today.
You,
With your red shirt and blonde hair
Desperate to scrape your way out
As I slipped myself in,
You,
With your tired eyes and fading blond hair-
Slouching towards the end of another day
While sensing the closing was near.
You,
With that smile not nearly as bright as the rest
Who basked in their own glittering reflections
As the mirror ball turned like a voyeuristic eye,
You,
With your eyes dimmed and dazed
From too many dreams dreamt and spent
In the arms of lovers that proved losers
And touches that never turned out
As promising as the dream suggested
In those early days when you’re supple skin
And boyish frame
Had been seduced by the warm mouths of men
Before you betrayed yourself
With your own naivety
And unstoppable self-belief.
They say,
After a time,
Money changed hands
Amid various embraces-
Did it change you amid the exchanges?
You,
With your red shirt and blonde hair
Spiraling southwards and sinking into shadows
While sobbing silently into shaking hands,
You,
Sniffing up lines in toilet stalls
To rise above and turn your tricks-
Just barely paying for one with the other.
You,
Who I passed on the stairs of that club
On that rather bland night,
Followed by a rather bland introduction,
You,
Who ran your hand along the velvet of my red jacket
Though I cannot recall the details of your face
Or the shade of your voice and yet, I can recall
All that those colorless eyes had unburdened onto
Me, coming in from the outside, new to it all-
The scene,
The crowd,
The needs,
The sometimes selfish wants of men
And all that lay hidden behind those empty caresses-
All that you once succumbed to
And then grew so quickly to hate.
You,
With your tired eyes and blonde hair
Off to a new world to conquer
Or just another world to sleep with,
You,
Off to repeat another round of the tireless tedium-
Comforting addictions we become used to
And a ruthless routine we become a part of.
You,
With your red shirt and blonde hair,
It had been a long day
But in that moment,
Amid that crowd
And behind those eyes,
The closing for you
Appeared
So terminally near.
You were to me but
A face in the crowd
As the rain poured down
Over a random night,
Nothing unusual,
Nothing specific,
Nothing different,
And yet I’ve noticed
Your absence
Ever since.

Let the wind carry me, let me not worry about the where and why
build in me the desire the want and the love for lands new and fresh
let me smell it on the breeze bring me the dream on your current of air
I await the sign the yearning the draw
the moment when I know what for wherefore whatever…
carry it onto me let it embrace itself around me
let it unfold itself within me
carry me forth to tomorrow a new day a new dawn in a new land
A beginning that brings with it the best of my past my roots my memories and all the faces that made me who I am let them live within me as I walk on fresh soil new and unaware childish innocence awash with white
at play with creation while evolving…
like the water to the wheel turning again and again
round and round always the water
but never the same droplet
Let me wash onto a new shore naked just skin and bones flesh just flesh
no clothes or jewels to adorn me cover me or pretend of me
let me be just me breathing fresh moving and happy
let the wind carry me to whatever whoever wherever
my path in its hands
my eyes closed
my trust in its force
my senses aroused
let the wind carry me
for I am his to command to direct to learn from
to find my way
let me be but a droplet of air
let me feel what it is to be moved
for then I will know what it is
All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Poems, Poetry, Poets
Some lays of the Fianna, translated from the Irish by Annraoi de Paor with illustrations by Tim Halpin
A small press
The Things That Are In My Head.
Stay Bloody Poetic
Author of 'Sent, 'Fall', 'Unmuted' and 'Saudade'
home of the elusive trope
Fantasy Author
Words about pictures by Michael Scandling
Writing, Poetry & Creativity | Angela T Carr, Dublin, Ireland
Kay McKenzie Cooke Website & Blog
My journey through photography
landscape and change
My poetry is my religion.
Colouring Outside The Lines
Expressing moments of Inspiration within a cozy setting
"He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds." Ps 147:3
Art • Nature • Exploration
Peter Hillman's Photographic Exploration of South Staffordshire and Beyond (2026)
Poetry inspired by ethereal feelings, life events and personal philosophy.
A Journal of Brief Literature
Film, Music, and Television Critic
Writer
Art and Lifestyle by Brandon Knoll
New Zealand
French magazine - art & visual culture
A palette of general thoughts & travel stories from all around the world
Jack Bennett
If you want to be a hero well just follow me
a writing space curated by José Angel Araguz
Thoughts and Perspectives From the Mind of a Common Girl
Cooking with imagination