RUNNING THROUGH THOUGHTS IN A PARK ON AN ISLAND BY A RIVER IN PARIS

04/10/201929/09/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 5 Comments

I slipped off to the edge of the city,
this morning, where the stream found a stillness
and the air a crispness that kept confusion at a distance.

I stood beneath the bridge
that took the traffic and its tension far from me
and found the swimming swan rising higher in the stream,
the follow-on from the floods that now seem so far
with these skies of blue, speaks of colour
in a park, on a Friday, in February,
where an artist once came to paint.

A park, in Paris, on an island,
by the Seine, where the waters wash with colour
when you look beyond the shadows, a new rise
basking in the glory of what was once regarded
as great, by those who regarded the value of greatness.

Straight and tall, shiny structures shoot up,
like soldiers, by a stream ever in movement,
ever following the route,
today’s design will be tomorrow’s sign
of an age the river has outrun.
I see trees towering tall in waters,
once rising, now falling, still strong, still weathering
the storm, still willing to be remembered, like an artist
captures beauty, captured beauty, in a park,
once, on a Sunday in a time since parted.

Nature is not in our control,
nature is willing to withstand all our wilfulness,
will not drown in these days of destruction,
will not worry, as we do, will not bend
but will let life flow around it,
in hope, in harmony.

In a park, on a Friday,
on an island, by the river,
in jogging shoes and sweatpants,
I ran through days already distanced
and tried to make connections between the road
winding onwards and the trees rising upwards, like the water,
rushing onwards like time, ever at play with its participants,
with all that it connects, with benches for the breathless
to recapture breaths and wheels
to help us follow the stream.

And in the windows
I saw reflections of those towering trees,
never to be forgotten, blue of sky in the beauty of light,
light and harmony, colour and shade, captured in what is new,
a hint of what knows the bounty of age.

And on the river, by the park, on a Friday, in Paris,
I stopped and saw my reflection in the gentle waters
and in the waters saw colour, colour and light,
by a boat, in a park, in a city ever changing,
where an artist came to capture it all on a Sunday,
a simple Sunday, not a Friday but a Sunday, searching
for something between the shadow and light,
between all that will fade and all
the rest that cannot stay.

All words and photographs of Ile de la Jatte famed by Georges Seurat by Damien B Donnelly

This is a repost for a week considering creation and how it flows around us

COLOURS IN THOUGHT

18/09/201916/09/2019 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Colours flap in the wind, colours catch
the feeling of freedom at daybreak
like thoughts taking flight in dreams
under blankets, mounding over molecules,
making matter meaningful. Dawn’s dew
delights in seeds now stirring under soil
just as stars shine significance on a mind,
on a pillow, at play. There is movement
beyond the trees and the run of the riverbed
if you can catch it. There is movement
in the dreamer beneath the blankets
and the shuttered eyes if you can wake it
to the colour, to the moment of possibility
in flight…

like colour on concrete,
like a bare bench in the waiting park,
like trees attending to shooting buds,
like a river of thought that cannot be abated.

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a repost for a week of colourful imagination. Photo from Ile Saint Germain, Paris.

RUNNING BY THE RIVER OF THOUGHT

14/07/201913/07/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

I slipped off to the edge of the city,
this morning, where the stream found a stillness
and the air a crispness that kept confusion at a distance.

I stood beneath the bridge
that took the traffic and its tension far from me
and found the swimming swan rising higher in the stream,
the follow on from the floods that now seem so far
with these skies of blue, speaks of colour
in a park, on a Friday, in February,
where an artist once came to paint.

A park, in Paris, on an island,
by the Seine where the waters wash with colour
when you look beyond the shadows, a new rise
basking in the glory of what was once regarded
as great, by those who regarded the value of greatness.

Straight and tall, shiny structures shoot up,
like soldiers, by a stream ever in movement,
ever following the route, today’s design will be tomorrow’s sign
of an age the river has outrun.
I see trees towering tall in waters,
once rising, now falling, still strong, still weathering
the storm, still willing to be remembered, like an artist
captures beauty, captured beauty, in a park,
once, on a Sunday in a time since parted.

And in the windows,
I saw reflections of those towering trees,
never to be forgotten, blue of sky in the beauty of light,
light and harmony, colour and shade, captured in what is new,
a hint of what knows the bounty of age.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY part 2, MAY DAY, A SLOW SLIP ALONG THE SEINE

01/05/201916/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 9 Comments

All photographs by Damien B Donnelly

BLACK IS ONLY SHADOW

22/04/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

Winter has grey wings,
feathers of sodden soot
that come from concrete clouds
too dense to discern any light beyond.
Winter spawns grey wings
but spring is an architect of possibility
by a canal of colour that sweeps in
after the fright of the frost
and baths us in a blithe breath
that blows across a chest once in chains.

Round the red bricked bridge we ride,
each pedal pushing past the storms
that rained rivers through our winters.
Follow the river, she sings,
seasons are short but the earth is a sphere
turning towards the light,
dark doors open often into hopeful,
the river recalls its route
regardless of the water,
blue can be a bright beacon to bathe in,
black is only shadow
before it finds a reason to ignite in light,
bark is dry but the branch bares blossom.

We can be the water or the bridge,
the natural path or the paved plot,
the route is bright beyond the chains,
the greyest night is but a sleep behind
the colours waiting beyond the bend.

All words and water colours by Damien B. Donnelly

22nd poem for National Poetry Writing Month

JOURNEYS, PART 4; LITHE LIGHT

22/08/201822/08/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

The clouds quieted the stars above

as I, on bended knee, bowed to the river

and into its flow, in the growing light,

let my hand slip beneath its movements,

under its motions and waited to watch

as its sway of waters waltzed over,

moved through and flowed onwards,

while never stopping, never straining,

never staying and I saw, in that dawning,

in that simple second, how life flowed

around me, through me, and past me,

all precious moments to be borrowed,

to be begged for and to be bartered

before they will eventually break away,

leaving me more than I was before, less

than I will be tomorrow and certain today

that I will, like this current, one day,

as I weave my way through these wants

and wishes, find the way to my own ocean.

As lithe breath called to morning and

the stars found their cover in the clouds,

I bowed to the river, forever bending,

forever mending, forever finding its form

along the bank and bed, amid the light

that lingers along the route and the darkness

that comes to call for but a while.

—

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

TO SLIP BENEATH REFLECTION

04/03/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

Drawn to the river
where the sunlight bends to bleed
as the hush on the water
finds a hold among the reeds.to

Caught by the current
as if to slip from this climate,
as if we could lose what we’ve learnt,
as if all noise could fall to silent.

To wade into the water,
to slip between the stream,
to break from beg and barter,
to dive, to drift, to dream.

Drawn to the river
where the leaves lean in to whisper
to the salmon swimming silver
of the truth we failed to figure.

Caught by the current
as its trickle threads my toes,
we were good till we weren’t
and this the riverbed; it knows.

To wade into the water,
to slip beneath reflection,
to swim from all man’s slaughter,
to be cleansed of all infection.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/to-slip-beneath-reflection

CAST OFF

01/03/2018 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

–

Along the river bed,

long running with water

already washed through our hands,

–

long is not the hold we have to harbour,

–

long running with this water

no longer light at its level,

no longer smooth along its sands,

–

along this bend of river

I cast into the current, like a kiss

no longer catchable,

this weight no longer workable,

now on route to dissolvable.

–

From breath to bubble,

bobbing

bubbles,

from breath to bubble and then trouble,

then off they blow,

splashing as they sparkle

and splutter on to spent.

I cast you into this current,

where shamrock slips to sapphire,

to let the past depart,

not sad of heart, not hard,

just a shadow of blue

in a bend of the bank

at the edge of expire.

–

To slip from soul like a skin

now shredded from recognition,

a cast off of character no longer cast

in this current condition.

We knit until we are knotted,

we weave patterns;

loops locked under chains,

some stitches saved and others slipped,

connected to a comfort

until they struggle under strains,

–

a fragile filigree

we cannot always wear,

hands can only hold

what wants to be held,

we are not fortunate

for the future to foresee,

we can not always follow,

sometimes even sheep

must make their own route

before they are wound as wool

or substance to swallow,

–

even the river bed must turn, in time,

twist at others, we are no straight line

but a collection of corrections

cast on and cast off,

kick off

pay off

drop off.

–

We are more than characters

or thinly drawn caricatures,

I am more than this flesh you see,

you see; I can fester or I can be free.

–

I shed this skin of a former self,

here by the edge of this river running,

running onwards, searching for its shore,

searching for something more,

for its share of the truth,

I shed this skin to let the other

parts of me find their sea.

–

I cast into the river bed

this weight so the rest

can float and form and be.

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/cast-off

UNDER THE BRIDGES

12/10/201713/03/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

We build bridges to cross trenches;
trouble, treachery, tyranny,
to cut across life’s inconveniences;
cuts and cries and crisis,
we cross bridges to build beliefs;
I will, I wish, I want,
discarding ties and loves deceased;
I lost, I left, I let go,
holding out for a life that’s better;
bolder, bigger, brighter,
hoping now for love that’s righter;
safer, surer, stronger.

I want to wade into the water,
want the waves to push me harder,
I want to catch the crush of the current,
to fight to find the will, the warrant,
to comprehend the deepest parts,
the push, the pull, the hurt, the hearts,
to understand the fuss, the force,
to know how the river finds it course.

Darker, steeper, deeper,
the longing to linger longer.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly