KEPT IN RECESSES OR THROWN TO DUST

 

Old wheels still turn through new miles.
We are more than we look- muscle
is not only what it takes to transform.
We skirt old roads now well educated
on my departure, it’s not just the seasons
that circle back on themselves. I’ve left
parts of me in every other recess in order
to recognize the parts I portrayed, later on,
when the route returns me to worn road.
I peddle at times without predetermination,
you cannot lose the track if you haven’t
traced its outline, beforehand. The road too
is more than just a route as we roar along
its rigor despite its restriction. I was never
happier than when taking the dirt track-
scattering over-weighted thoughts
of who I was upon the disrupted dust.

Old wheels still turn through new miles.

  

All words and photos by Damien B Donnelly

POTTERS ON THE ROAD

 

I am free in the morning,
in this morning town,
waking,

slipping from slumber
like skin from sheets,
like wings above clouds

conquering concerns
that come a calling
and I am falling
upwards,

falling in love with light

can feel it sparkling,
even at day break,
even when days break,

falling for all that caresses carefree,

I am not constant,
no longer, not caught,
I am on course like the stars

I course through clouds, up from down,

I am clear of connection, of weight,
of all that heaves over heart,
I am more made of mind,

romance redirected in songs scripted
from memories and moments measured

in the heights that held us
and not the fights that harmed us.

I am cutting from my own carcass my own canyon

in the soil of the soul,
more whole than helpless,

brave the bird that breaks
from the nest to find fortune in freedom.

Freedom is a solo flight;

to touch the stars
you have to know how to hold the night.

I am man now,
brave begotten from boy,
gotten braver, better, broader,

brought back to basic; the characteristic core of all creation.

Shadows are quaint covers now
that come in from the cold
when comfort is called.

Shadow is not all sinister, sun is not always safe.

We are starlight
making our way
through the darkness
before we fall to dust,

trying to decipher the difference
between delight and distraction
along the paths we are potters on.

   

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly. From a series inspired by Joni Mitchell albums.

This is a repost for a week of Stars and Moons

BLACK IS ONLY SHADOW

 

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

 

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.

we never saw forever

 

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.

IMG_2970

All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

IMPRESSIONS

Gentle breath
All as yet an impression
Morning yawns with uncertainty

Thoughts flicker on skin
Hairs rise to signal the day
My body stirs to the stillness

Feathers flap
Cracks are caught in the concrete
Roads are not the only route

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

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