BOOKENDS; TIMING IS EVERYTHING

  Coming in is easy. Learning when to leave is an art not easily understood.     All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly This month is about getting ready to leave Paris, for good. Today will also be my last day as pattern maker at the Paris fashion design atelier of & Other […]

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BOOKENDS; STUMBLING THROUGH THE DREAM, WIDE AWAKE

  I was silent once amid the noise, stumbling through smothering, a bare canvas cradling nothing in arms that had promised everything. I circled the globe once to find that home was just a word, a word that makes a memory to plot a beginning, not weighted but weightless. I am, like you all, no […]

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BOOKENDS; MINUTES MOVING

  There are but minutes now, minutes in motion on metros, minutes moving in on me, on my identity, on my mark, on my leaning, on my meaning, meaning I am moveable, like a feast, as he said; A Moveable Feast, meaning I am manageable malleable, maybe unremarkable, mistakable. There are but minutes now, there […]

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SHORT STORIES OF FEAR; WATCHING YOU WATCHING ME

   The Dead one I woke to a mouth already swallowing the claustrophobic earth that mounded itself over my naked torso like crumble over stewed apples waiting to be crisped but I couldn’t feel the warmth of an oven, even buried, as I was, so close to the sparks of hell but, instead of digging […]

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BOOKENDS, coming soon

    Coming in November… Bookends A month of goodbyes Spending my final full month in Paris looking back in order to move on. Each day will be a new or revised poem and, of course, some photographs of this city that I’ve been connected to since I was 22 and will soon leave at […]

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THE IDENTITY OF AN ISLANDER

  Entity. Identity. I identify. Running gives no reason until you run out of places to hide. Identity. I identify. I recognise now what it means to be connected. A continent can be chaos. An island doesn’t have to isolate. I. Island. I can identify as an entity of this island. I didn’t hear them […]

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THE CARETAKER

  High on a hilltop, you climb above your age and whisper the wisdom of your ancestors like its wealth (hush, I say, to hear the humble) worn words as woven into the earth as the roots of the trembling trees standing to support those above it. High on a hilltop, a former teacher caresses […]

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