Robin rummages in the rushes,
upon rock she roots out traces
of all that once was, tuts at all
that has changed and all that hasn’t.

Robin rummages in the rushes,
bright spark- but fast to flight.
She comes to call and comprehend
but never comes when she is called.

A fluttering of fine feathers
on front of old familiar fields
where the tracks have been pulled,
where all prints have been ploughed

but there are marks, still- fine folds
where the grass leans in, just so,
in suggestion of what once stood
in its way, of what once stood

in the field, beyond the rushes,
just a recall beyond the rock
where robin comes to rummage.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



And she sang of hope and harmony
in a borrowed frock on Tuesday nights
in a smoky bar below the Bowery
where the Irish downed their whiskey
while the Italians were always frisky
and they touched her, always, after;
her faithful followers fingering flesh
as if to caress the affection she injected
into lyrics light and loving, in that bar
beyond the Bowery where she came to entertain
the Irish and Italians who always joined in the refrain.
Though they left her, always, after,
on Tuesday nights neath the smoky light
with hope and harmony already fading
in that bar below the Bowery where the laughter
never managed to linger for that long after
and in the silence below the Bowery
as the stars went out one by one
she felt betrayed by what they’d taken; by the hope
they had mistaken to be theirs for the taking,
and felt betrayed by herself; by her need to amuse,
to be the muse in the limelight but then alone
in the shadows, always and ever after,
by that bar below the Bowery where the light
was far too low to notice that her soul
had left her long ago.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost of a week of moon and stars 



I lay me down neath the constellation
as soul seeks shade from observation,
this sky full of stars my sweet salvation
though tumbling towards obliteration;
how beauty blazes before cremation.


All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost. Photograph is Chagall ceiling at Opera Garnier, Paris 



A starlit day,
on a distant shore,
as if summer had sent it
swarming like a snowflake;
silken wings to summon the sunset,
a white moth to raise a sweet soul
And there,
as a star was added,
the bright moon was kissed
in berry blush as the sun settled
beneath the lake where the lost trout
turned through tresses of silver dancing
and he smiled at his love, since lost,
now glimmering
in eternity.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is from the series A Month with Yeats




There is a beauty within this space,
a creation considered
to compliment the concrete,
you can leave if you like
by the stairs or you can rest
for a while on the seat.

There is a soul within these veins,
a creation connected
to more than just the carcass,
you can leave if you like
by letting go or you can stay
for a time in the hold.

There are footprints upon this floor,
tracks that tingle
where others have thread,
weather will wither them
and winds will wear them
but they remain submerged, ingrained.

There are memories within this soul,
impressions that have permeated
and beats that have broken,
they are indivisible from flesh,
they are inseparable from spirit,

they are beauty within the space
of each and every person.


All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

This is a re post of one of my older poems


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



There is a light,
Amid the shadows,
Within our slumber,

There is a light,
That never flickers,
That cannot stumble.

There is a light,
In the very breath
That feeds us,

There is a light,
In every loving eye
That sees us.

There is a light,
In every dream
We dare to hope for,

There is a light,
In every joy
We try to reach for.

In the grace
Of every waking day,

In the rise
Of every starry sky,

In the person
That we can still become.

There is a light,
And it shines
Beyond reproach,

There is a light
And it burns
Beyond decay.

There is a light,
I can see it
Right before me,

There is a light
And within it
Lies my story

Still waiting to be told…



The darkness passes
To nights recesses
As the Angel rises
Embraces, caresses.

Through angelic actions
Her wings will open,
With one calming touch
Our souls shall waken.

With visions deep
From inner eyes
We’ll embrace the earth
And the heavenly skies.

‘Awaken dear world
To the visions I bring,
As I charm you from sleep
Through the songs that I sing.

I’ll grant you a gift
So gracious and fine,
All darkness shall drain
And the light reign divine.

In this morning of innocence,
Embrace all simplicity,
Let your souls rise elated
As you embrace all its purity.’



In this empty room

Sits your lonely soul,

In this silent night,

In this lonely night.

Whilst lovers are loving

And people are laughing,

But not around you,

But not beside you,

But not for you.


Through the shadows dancing

And the breezes blowing

Creep lonely chills

And darkness flowing.

In this empty space,

In this endless night,

While people are laughing

And lovers are loving-

You sit alone,


Like your room-



Like the night-



Like the shadows-

Always fading.