WORDLESS WEDNESDAY TRUNKS TELL TALES

I wonder, as with love and hate,which came first- bark almost buried blindor the sweet lie of this lichen grown over as if you where the breath to its lung,the furrow to its field, the ground to its grass, the remnants of its final stand. All words and photographs by Damien B Donnelly

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THE BIRDSONG RECALLS WHAT ONCE HUNG UPON THE HAWTHORN

  Last month, in the first breath of this coming season of the sun’s light, you crept in through the stillness of the solitude that the birds had begun to sing of and spread out across the swaying branches as we foraged for distractions beneath. I climbed you, on occasion, to release my feet from […]

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SLOW HUM

  Slow hum. Morning beckons- delicate dance of daisies, baby bunny in back garden thinking it’s his whole world, even the breeze is bouncy. Breath better than before. Slow hum of day unfolding, footsteps on sidewalks, sights on slow lanes, softly humming. Even runners head towards hedges now- hedge funds thrown to the ditch- see […]

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WHEN NATURE HEARD ME AND I FOUND HIM

  Husky voice cribs my troubling thought. I turn with fear hard on heel at the far end of an ancient lane. I borrowed these footsteps, I reply to the open side of a ploughed field where wires allow random thoughts to teleport across the sky. This is not your path. This was the thought […]

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FINDING THE RIGHT COLOUR TO PAINT HOPE

  Silly things sabotaged for the case of creativity- barren bark becomes blank canvas becomes blue becomes oceanic becomes bewitching monster of humour and not hurt. This is the crisis of clearing out, not shelving all that will come to know stale, but for shedding. Sheds are no longer for the simplicity of storage but […]

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IN BETWEEN THE LIVING AND THE SLEEPING

  Packed like yams into dusty carriages we watch from the safety of our sitting room where Nana used to sit and iron by the table and Pop, in the corner, with his pipe, now just names in prayer and that picture of their wedding on a wall that still stands and they, long taken […]

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GOOD DAY

  They call it Good Friday, Mum initiates the conversation early for fish and chips and somewhere, not far from subconscious, I near a church and its pressure leaning in on her sudden sway for the taste of something fishy, less meaty, today, on this Good Friday where tales tell of salt and vinegar and […]

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A BLACK CANVAS

  Mum tells of no moon tonight, as if it’s been lost, as if the darkness will never rise and the sun will weep at the thought of never catching another break. We cut an apple tree in the back shadow of the front garden yesterday but left the root, to remind it, perhaps, of […]

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