Come the cycle

wild through this dawn

of the daffodil,

I will be a vine in blossom,

a blanketed spring upon the prairie,

a seed of song to follow the frost

and you; the sun

in a season

too sweet for shade.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly with the aid of the magnetic poetry oracle





And the black crow comes calling…

and summer is falling,
has burnt in blushing breaths before us,
before worshiped walls and rushing rivers,
as if it’s taken to tombs or swept below waters
raging in the ruins, sunken into shade,
shadows slip winter’s wings over sunshine,
colour hiding, as if hibernating,
climbing tall towers till showers pass.

Light is waning as if washed away
from where we bathed yesterday,
like dreams that dissolve at daybreak,
as if the world isn’t capable,
as if hope isn’t sustainable;

sweep in, stir up, swoop out, leaving us wishing, waiting, wanting.

And the black crow spreads its wings
as autumn stirs and winter sings
in shallow pools on sidewalks,
in river beds where torrents stalk.

And the black crow crashes down on the storm,
all light now shadow, all colour now fading,
all freckles now a flicker of what once was,
all changed in the flutter of a wing.

Come has the crow and we cower from its cawing.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

Winter’s Child

You gently

Wrapped your first chill

Around me

The other night,

As if to remind me

It was time

For the first blanket

Of a season in changing,

And I felt


Like the return

Of the faithful familiar-

Prompting me

To double sheets under duvets,

Close windows on sneezes,

Return socks to naked feet,

Turn from salads to soups

And wear scarves instead of shorts.

You’ve barely begun

To layer me up-

Snuggled and bundled on the sofa-

And yet,

Even so,

In that silly short space of reunion,

I’ve replayed, in my mind,

How it rolls,

Every year,

From the final

Fading flicker of

Summer’s lasting light

To those

Autumnal sundowns

Before the Winter’s

Fairy lights.

I am born of fire

And storm,

I fear,

Finding so much more

Warmth and solace

Watching rain

Beyond windows,

Traipsing footprints

Through snowfalls

And cuddling indoors

As the wild winds roar.

I hear,

In the mere hint of your arrival,

The jingle of silver bells

And see the glistening

Of bright colored baubles-

Smelling yule logs a-baking

And mulled wine a-making.

I am Winter’s child-

Coasting home

On the last glorious rays

Of summer-

So grateful for those

Bright nights

And near bronzed skin

But overjoyed at the thought

Of wooly jumpers

And fur lined slippers,

Marks and Sparks pajamas

And hot milk with biscuit dippers.

I wrapped myself

In the first blanket covering

Of autumn

The other day,

As September slipped

Behind the last shadow

Of Summer…


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly