THE RETURN

Breezes are back in bloom

and I am caught

by the curl of the curtain

as it catches

in the courant d’air

now coming in

with questions

for all that has slipped

into a sleepy silence.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FRIENDS FOR A SEASON

 

They were just girls in a stifling city,
each but a slip of the seasons,
baring a hope for what they might see
and running for different reasons.

Jenny was winter and already withered
and looking for comfort from the cold,
she was journey and distance all rolled into one
and the secrets she stored had never been told.

Mary was springtime and fragile under foot
yet thoughts took root in her head,
she was innocence dressed in a short mini skirt,
a fledgling of faith, a seedling to be fed.

Sarah was stuck in a summer since parted
always looking for what she had lost,
as illusive as tides that trickle through time,
she sunk beneath skin now frozen from the cost.

Together they lived and together they fought
for a season on the old river lane,
but when fall came calling all connection unraveled
and the three girls parted with their bags still full of pain.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

SEASONAL CYCLES

Winter’s withering winds

rustle through berry’s blossom

in the gentle dawn, falling

on these days of the daffodil.

I walk by wild water

in a world wild of will.

Bloom beneath spring

summer; a blanket beautiful,

seasons are cycles,

sweet that song from seed to stone.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly influenced by the lunchtime magnetic poetry oracle

WE ARE SEASONS

Spring sun sweet on skin

that still recalls the rain,

(it is not just raindrops that fall)

drunk is the forest beneath

those blood red moons

(blind are we to the fires we started).

Will you swim through the shadow

to beat away these bitter blues?

Beauty is a ship of summer symphony,

we are whispers to be worshiped

before our season stops to sing.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly with the help of the magnetic poetry oracle.

ILLUSIONS 

 

Gardens grow,

trees get taller,

clouds gather.
I see you

in the movement,

in the air that rushes past time turning,

in the scent of sweetened summer

now swept into corners now shaded.
Clouds gather,

trees get taller,

gardens grow smaller.
Eden is an illusion lost.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

MOMENT AFTERWARDS 

 

In absence

lips lean out

in longing,

clouds gathering,

a chill in the air,

the warmth slipping.

 

Memory is a playful thing,

you tease and turn

over and back to before.

 

We kissed,

I feel it intensely,

I see it clearly

in the mirror

still marked

from a night now over.

 

Cold showers

call out

from the falling rain,

seasons come and go.

 

Moments linger longer.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

SEASONS TURNING 

 

Trees tremble

in winter’s clutch,

hardening soil

hardens hearts,

frost will follow

till spring’s breath

beckons icicles

to gently weep.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired by a twitter poetry prompt from #WrittenRiver

UNDER THE FALL

Day 7: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

I want to live as a tree
born from branches
turning, twisting
rummaging, rooting,
roots in the earth
in the flesh,
sucking substance
from the soul
of the soil,
head in the sky
reaching, rising,
hoping, shedding
my skin like leaves
in autumn
and starting again
each spring
after rising up
from under the fall.
I want to live as a tree.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Parc de Sceaux, Paris, France

LISSOME LIES LIFE

 

Time waits for
shimmering snows
to melt into memory
like kept kisses
from lost lips.

Time waits
for saturated skies
to seek sustenance
in blushing blues
since stolen
by frantic frost
and fragile freeze
like drawers deserted
of his clothes
and her shoes

as the wind whips
the chasm carelessly.

Time waits
on the sidelines
for shades of spring
to slip over shrubs,
like seductions over skin,

now stilted,
now submerged,
now surrendered to silence,

now frozen in frame
as if posed for a painting
or preparing for purification.

Breath paused
in place of still air

still water

still winter

still single

but life is lissome underfoot.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available at Soundcloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/lissome-lies-life