Solitude will guard gentle breath
as I slip from darkened day to dream,
even if the daffodil, now bright upon the bank,
comes despite concern.
I smile as the memory of this kindhearted bloom
unfolds within the shadows of this stilled room,
here, where corners ponder the importance of a cell.
In the distance, I hear a duck quack
as I return to the credit of comfort the pillow provides
and close my eyes to the sounds of madness.


Written as part of the Cobh Writers and Readers #PoetryPrompt featured on Twitter. Do drop by and join in the creative distraction. @CobhWR



She was not made
for sunlight
and silly,
she was not designed
for display
and distraction.
She loves moonlight
where her tears
find comfort in the stars
and her shadow
is more shelter
than cell.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Based in a Twitter poetry prompt from #WrittenRiver



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:






Dig deep             fisherman,             brave man,
                                                      for there is worth below the waters,

between the silence
                and the stillness,
                                 between the fish to find
                                                and the tangles to entwine,
                                                                between the breathing in
                                                                                and the letting go, let it go,
                                                                                                 between the desire to dive
                                                                                                                 and the danger of drowning.

Dig deep                 fisherman,                 simple man,
                                                           for there is madness in the making

beyond the bank and bed
                and bark and bait,
                                beyond the trees that tower
                                                and the skies that shelter,
                                                                beyond the seductive stillness
                                                                                and the call of the silence,
                                                                                                beyond the fortune to be found
                                                                                                                 at the end of your line.

Dig deep                 fisherman,                 honest man,
                                                           salvation lies in your simple swing

far from the sinners
                swimming upstream,
                                far the faithful
                                               drowning in the shallows,
                                                               far from lies
                                                                              cast to raging waters, enraging waters,
                                                                                               far from the substance
                                                                                                                since sucked from the sacred.

Dig deep                 fisherman,                 still standing man,
                                                            make not the crowd your coffin

sure is the rod
                that sweeps the silence,
                                brave is the bait
                                                 that slips though the stillness,
                                                                 clever are the cautious
                                                                                 who consider the current,
                                                                                                  fortunate is the fisherman
                                                                                                                  who finds favour far from fools.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:


I thought it lonely
To be together
With so much standing
In between,
But now,
In this solitude,
These moments tick
Like echoes
Of what’s been lost,
Like laughter
Now fading,
Like love
Now separating,
Like the time shared
Now a fragment of another life,
Another hold we let go of,
Another force to fragile to fight.

I though it lonely
To be together
But this solitary life
Is not the picture
I wanted to paint,
There is too much still life,
All but lines and lessons,
No rhythm,
No reason,
Only a melancholy
In its lack of movement.

Black page,
Blank canvas,