MEDITATION UNDER THE YELLOW SUN

03/04/201931/03/2019 / deuxiemepeau / 11 Comments

I wanted to draw
the sound of the moon
on a sun-drenched beach
stripped down to white sand,
white wave, white skin
starved for affection.
I wanted to draw
the silent sound of that moon
as the chaos of the current
crashed down on the crowds
clawing at each other
for a moment
below the spot of sunlight
that burnt them quicker
than they could contemplate
a commitment to content
while I sketched
the white light circling the night,
even in daylight,
even in the terror and the fright
that twist through the lyrics
these lives lived on the edge
of the sinking shore
will forever be linked to.
I wanted to put onto paper
that palpable possibility
of holding stillness while all else moved,
of leaning into the moonlight melody
while the daylight drowned out thought,
of holding silence in a song
while the sand surrendered
to the will of the shore.

I wanted to draw
the sound of the moon…

that sensation of being surrounded
in a single sway of stillness,
a solo seduction of strings
pulling me towards the white light
at the centre of the night’s clarity
as the yellow sun strips the sea
from the sand.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

3rd poem for National Poetry Writing Month 2019

SOLO SAIL, on a ship full of hearts

21/02/201916/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 10 Comments

When we to time wish,
wings do not carry all words
so I to promise must desist,
faith is fickle feathers on fragile birds.

If love to hearts hold
then hearts be more than one must
for not is love a concrete mould;
stilled the river bed whose reeds rot to rust.

When we to time turn,
touch being a tethered thread,
I have to trust that ties will burn
but mind make memory of beating bed.

If love in heart’s held
just as blood in veins are bound,
then truth to self must be compelled,
feral is the field of the barren ground.

When I to nights slip
as moon to stars serenade,
my course cast upon ocean’s ship
bid adieu to lips kissed and loves mislaid.

When current’s call comes
and cares cast into the crest
I dare the waves to beat like drums
and allegiance pledge to my beating breast.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

THE WEIGHT UPON THE WAVES

14/02/201916/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 13 Comments

And in the tide
tight with time and its turning
they left their posts,
impaled upon the sand,
impressed upon the land.

And there they stood
ten in heart and ten in tide
for time to tend,
impaled upon mind,
impressed upon mankind.

And on they marched
up the land and on from shore
for evermore
impaled upon their wain,
impressed upon the flame.

And out with wave
woe on water and touch from time,
tormented years
impaled upon the crest,
impressed upon the chest.

And on they went
refugees in search of root
swept along the shore
impaled upon with tears,
impressed upon with fears.

And on it goes
those who run and those who can stay
and those who are lost,
impaled upon the wars,
impressed upon the waves.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

This 2nd photograph is also of St Clair beach, Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand, taken by Nigel and used by Liz for her blog Exploring Colour.

The original link to Liz’s blog post is;

https://exploringcolour.wordpress.com/2019/02/06/drawn-to-the-light/

Liz has also penned a glorious poetic tribute to these long standing piles entitled Survivors and the link is

https://exploringcolour.wordpress.com/2019/02/12/survivors-poem/

Nigel’s Landscape Architecture blog is;

https://growplan.wordpress.com/

THE BREAKING OF THE BLUE

14/02/201916/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

Tall is the man
willing to rise before the break of day
beneath the blanket blackness
and tip toe into the still untempered tide
blindly, current cast as yet unclear,
and trust in time
to lean in with light.

We can be cold creatures
staking our claim
with breath of blue
into our ever-shortening shores
but quickly warmed and welcomed
when we see beyond the shallow
and dig beneath the depths.

We are not owls
who serve the night
but oceans
brought to life
with the breaking of the blue.

This photograph is of St Clair beach, Dunedin, Otago, New Zealand and was taken by Nigel and used by his wife Liz for her blog exposing all that is colourful and beautiful Exploring Colour. Recently Liz asked me to give the photograph some thought with regards to a poem and this poem above is what I penned while on route to San Francisco last week. The original link to Liz’s blog post is;

https://exploringcolour.wordpress.com/2019/02/05/still-standing/

Nigel’s Landscape Architecture blog is;

https://growplan.wordpress.com/

JOURNEYS, PART 14, AT THE RISING SUN

02/09/201816/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Sandy shades of dust speckle the ground and gallant tones of green dot the landscape from which the scent of olives ooze, before mixing with the aromas of musk, distant Morocco and the comical smell of burning tires. At dusk, I was driven by a blind taxi driver, judging by his driving, along a road which seemingly stretched through the sea whilst seagulls dove for food before the final setting of the sun. That morning, I had strolled along golden sands and watched tides sweep over my feet, I saw white robbed men close their eyes and wrap themselves in prayer and peace. I saw the sun rise and pour its rays over the tombs of those who had long since gained eternal rest. A simple life witnessed, with riches extending far beyond the grasp of materialism.

The sun rises over setting souls,
white waves sweep over strange scents,
gulls are savages on all shores.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

JOURNEYS, PART 12; THE ALMOSTS

31/08/201816/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

—

Trust time to remember the dream

where the river was a rhapsody

we attempted to outrun,

never knowing

how much the melody

would meander.

We were minor steps

trying to make our motions major,

swept up in golden grains of thoughts

that slipped through our minds

like the waves along the shore.

—

Trust time to remember

the journeys we never fully dreamt.

—

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

JOURNEYS, PART 1: ON THE ROUTE OF THE ROAD

17/08/201816/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

—

The sun burns the shadows
as fields fall into forgetful,
speed is not my subject
nor a confusion I can peacefully pedal.

We are tethered to tracks;
all these pick ups and their set downs
that perish after purpose while we rattle
toward the repercussions and rebounds.

The sun burns the shadows,
I am senseless to why I strayed,
distance no more distinct like those faces
that had the fortune to fade,

baggage is back breaking,
space not as infinite as vowed,
I cluttered conscience in cupboards
but now cast countless confusions onto a cloud.

The sun burns the shadows
in fields of former exertion
now sullen at the sight of its descendants
and their detached desertion,

Tattered ties sag on trees,
forefathers flounder in a darkness
no longer indulgent to either
a hopeful herd or healthy harvest

(I have clippings of ribbons in boxes
but no recollection of what I tied them to).

The sun burns the shadows,
I watch from crowded compartments
all crammed with connections that deceives
with its distractions and derailments,

I am no more surprised
to set down on the wrong platform
than to drive in the right lane, so long
have I turned from the left of this sojourn,

remembering is rough,
memory meanders like tracks
that turn twists into truths, that take
their tales far from the foundation of facts,

(creativity is carte blanche to recreate,
the truth was too dull to disclose
and so it burns in the shadows
of these fields I am flying past)

The sun burns the shadows,
sets by a sea I’ve never seen,
where breakers are beached as if tired trunks
might tempt time to sweep more serene.

The morning sun is slow
as my feet sweep across salt sands,
I reach towards the crisp air that has crept
to a calmness to caress my hands

but in all this stillness,
before the day yet yawns awake,
its still as elusive as time itself
that never stops for you to catch a break;

We are not the fishermen,
but the fish viewing the hook
as something to hang onto.
We are not the sea
but the sand being swept into shapes
we cannot always smooth out.
We are not the tracks
but the train being taken
to places we never thought to touch.

The sun burns the shadows
and I watch from behind the glass,
my reflection cast upon
things I will never touch
while, in my eyes, I still see
the things that time has still to take.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

ESCAPING THE CITY; SEA, SAND AND SUNSETS IN SAINT MALO AND LE MONT SAINT MICHEL, BRETAGNE, FRANCE

13/08/201816/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 18 Comments

Weekend break from the Parisian heat in Bretagne, France…

By the Breakers at Saint Malo

Patterns on la plage (the beach)

Sunset over the former pirate seas of Saint Malo

Big Bear at Le Grand Hotel des Thermes, Saint Malo

The Seagull sweep

Striking a pose

Le Mont Saint Michel

Tide’s out

Sunset beneath Le Mont Saint Michel

Within the Abbey at Le Mont Saint Michel

All photography by Damien B. Donnelly

TO COME CURIOUS

03/07/201816/08/2021 / deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

We take slow steps into the sweet water, watch the current
caress the dark rock, the volcanic roar no longer rupturing,
its rage now rocked to slumber by this single shore. I lose
my shirt to time’s tide and this shimmering sand, I lift it up
and feel the weight that washed over it as you turn to face
the vast ocean and wonder what the next wave will bring
upon us. We have crossed currents, trained through towns
and cut across mountains, we have laughed at sadness
and cried over cocktails, we have come so far to wade out
into these waters as locals watch us with questions of how
and why. We have come curious to this country, we creep
along its coast like this tide, rummaging over these rocks,
wondering what happened to the heat it once ran with
when man was more forgiving and the mountain more daunting.
We climb the dormant mount, once maker of molten menace,
to watch the sun swim up from the sea and we count minutes
till the darkness will be disregarded as if time is all that’s needed
to destroy depression, decay, dysphoria. This mountain, once
a monster the sea could not settle and land could not control,
this country, once more than a division of north and south,
of emperors and conquers, Confucians and Catholics, devout
and deserted. We were once more than single souls searching
for the way back. We are tides, coming and going along
these beds we find shelter in, arms wrapped around us
like seaweed we equally fight off and hold down, we are lava,
trailing tunnels through our own thoughts, destroying
what we think to be too much but never quite knowing
how to fill the hollowness that’s left behind. We take steps
down into the open earth, adding sweaters to our short sleeves
and I wonder why it grows colder the closer we get to the core.
Isn’t the inferno on fire any more? Dante will be disappointed.
We look like ants crawling over cobbled rock as we curve
through these corridors created in centuries now cemented
into time and caress these walls and catch our breath
under cathedral ceilings created by no creature but by nature’s
creation. Deeper and deeper still and the silliness is replaced
by a silence, a stillness in this place where the waters drip
from porous rock and we look smaller, less special, not so strong
in this cave carved by once molten rock, lines of luscious lava
that laughed as its lungs opened and its power poured. Later,
back at the beach, the tide again tickles our feet as we stand
upon the rock that once before roared. We are equal parts
creator and equal parts responsible for all that we corrupt.
We have come curious to this country but find ourselves
asking more questions about ourselves than of this coast
that will still be counted long after we have been smashed
upon our own current. We take slower steps through
the sweetness and my heart beats louder, longer, lighter.

At the end of our holiday in South Korea we crossed over onto the Island of Jeju, UNESCO world heritage site and walked down into the Manjanggul lava tubes, underground caves dug out by lava while Trump and Kim had their summit. We waded out into blue waters lined with the remains of volcanic rock as the locals wondered how we’d gotten there and then climbed Seongsan (now dormant) volcano to watch the sun rise at 4.30am. The sun rose at 5.22am although the clouds arrived at 5.10am. This is why I offer a picture I took of the sunset the night before. You can’t have a sunset like this and still expect more, even if you hiked in the darkness.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/to-come-curious