Trust

HOOKED

/ deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

 

Time washes onwards

but I recall each wave

I welcomed

over body

like a cover of comfort

like a blanket of trust,

a surrender to the water

warm, deep breath and dive

without drowning,

I recall each wave

but forget

how far it swept

from the shore,

 

how it left

each time

with a wanting

for more

as I drifted further

though I cannot swim

 

I am only fool

not fish

and how you fished…

 

how your hook cut

so deep.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud…

TAKEN

/ deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

 

What to report?

To what port must you swim,

in how little can one drown

(shallow is often

the sister to shady)

air is not anything

until it is nothing

 

and nowhere,

 

(sometimes existence

is only revealed

through disappearance)

–

are you someone

until you are seen

in the eyes of another?

 

What to report?

to which port do we reinvent,

circumvent,

is it possible for one to prevent,

(can prevention deter

a discernable direction)

fear is not anything

until it is everything

 

and everywhere,

 

(this skin does not tingle

until it’s been touched

or torn)

 

is there still a light

in the darkness

of the ransacked room

of this ravaged organ?

 

What to report?

How do you report

the trust that was taken (for granted)?

 

I tied to report it

but trust,

once taken,

cannot be listed

as things stolen

on a police report.

 

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FOLD

/ deuxiemepeau / 2 Comments

 

And further we fold

deeper into flesh,

finding favour with all

that is now familiar,

with all that has chosen to linger.

 

And further we fold

into commitments

now concerned with connections;

I will fight dragons for you, I said

and you laughed once

but now you listen

for the flapping in the wind

so wonders can be witnessed.

 

And further we fold,

we are onions in opposite,

building up the layers of truth,

of trust and those thrusts

still trembling, we do not peal

but prop potential up

against promise.

 

And further we fold,

finally, into the cocoon

we are the creators of,

your head in the crest

of my comfort, my arm

the holder of your hope.

 

All words and pictures by Damien B. Donnelly

SHROUDED IN HOPE 

/ deuxiemepeau / 7 Comments

 

Even
when shadows
settle over me
as shroud,
beside me
rests a light;
a faith
in what might
still be allowed.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly. Photograph taken at the Dior exhibition at the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, Paris. 

THE RISE AND FALL OF FORM

/ deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

Day 23 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Decades by four
and one year more
have tempered time
to twisting root
beneath this ever
changing shore.

Lands by four
and to one returned
as curious caught
upon my boot
my bags now tipped
with lessons learned.

Summer fires
have blazed this land
flames that fired
forbidden fruit
that etched their mark
upon this sand.

Kisses that sank
beneath the grains
while others I thought
to be absolute
now wait for time
to shift their stains.

The sun has often
turned to storm
hearts were hot
then tears dilute
as I break and fall
and rise through form.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

NO KNOT CANNOT BE UNDONE

/ deuxiemepeau / Leave a comment

Day 21 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

Pulled are we
(OFF; no more)
from under and over
and pushed (panting)
by fleeting fate when we fail
to trust (when THRUSTS grow frail)
and the body rolls off, recoils
and the mind rethinks, returns. Let go,
did you, of that hand ONCE held
in that taxi ONCE, while thinking of another,
in that BED while sniffing out that longing
for SOMEONE missing while growing tired
of the taste of someone PAINFULLY PRESENT?
Fine is the line between decision and destination,
(that fine line that COMES quickly before it curdles)
between the CHOICES we make in a moment’s PLEASURE
and the paths that reposition our POWER.
Is it held by the BOTTOM or by the TOP?
We are FREE to release, (across your chest,
across our chains) we are free when released,
(emptied, exhausted) free from confusion;
untangled; no KNOT cannot be undone,
double negatives should never be done,
but we are UNDONE,
undefined or redefined,
reduced again
to that single state
of SELFISH.

                                MY, ME, I.

How quickly
we slip from tongues touching
all that is SACRED to a solitary scrubbing
of all that’s been SOILED.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

FIRST THRUST

/ deuxiemepeau / 3 Comments

 

There
in the crook of hope,
like fluff caught
in the navel,
of youth barely tasted,
(I had barely licked air)
of freedom newly found,
(note: first flights often fail)
of fulfillment
before it failed
(before we faded),
I am in a bed
in Belfast
no longer bloody
(the city not yet I)
no longer blown to bits
(the streets not yet my hope)
and we are better
than I believed,
trusting in our thrusts,
truer than we were
and more lasting,
more intact
than reality
left that first kiss
(already gone once it’s given)
of something bright,
of freedom felt
before it was shattered
on my bed;
bloody
and blown to bits,
I, not the city.

We were never
more than momentary
(a training ground
for grown-up toddlers),
a meeting at Bewelys
(when it was creative
and cozy like cuddles
when it’s cold
and still accommodating
after clubs)
when Dublin
was still my day,
was still within interest
(when its size didn’t matter;
isn’t it all relative?)
a courting over coffee
(footsies in the shadow
of a table that wobbled
on the third floor
near the theatre
and therein the warning;
unstable and all an act)
in the afternoon,
in the aftermath
of my outing;
freshly feathered bird
on the first flight
from the nest
from the tit;
the search
for something new
to suck from,
so full on faith,
so blind to the fall
but eager to climb
over dreams,
over desires,
over you in the end,
(or up from under you)
obstacles to rise to,
to arouse me
(did you arose me
or just your attention
to trembling erection?)
obstacles that came
until they were gone
and other conquests
(obstacles become conquests)
took their place
in my head,
in my bed
after I’d cleaned up
what had been left
broken
by our blast.
A bright wave
in the dark enlightenment
of a Dublin night
by the shore
swept off the ring
that wrapped us
(faith falling from finger)
when your wandering ways
and hands and eyes
(that turned like tides)
washed over
my innocence
(my Disney-like devotion)
and drowned
your deviations
and my dedications
to the blind side.
We’d been better
in Belfast
after the conflicts,
in that bed
that night
before our conflict,
but that was just one act,
one thrust
before dublin
demolished
the trust
that was an illusion
revealed
behind the crook
of the curtain
of our pale play
with too trite twists.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on SoundCloud:

https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/first-thrust

THE DEPTH UNDER THE MOON

/ deuxiemepeau / 1 Comment

 

Moonlight
melts
languidly
on liquid lakes

like suds on dishes
like snow on windows

like thicker skin over age old scars.

Moonlight
floats
momentarily
on rippling reflections

like the tingle after kisses
like the scent after sex

like the pain after parting.

Moonlight
flirts on the water

to divine
whether the depth

is worth the dive.

 

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

KISS HIM

/ deuxiemepeau / 4 Comments

 

‘Kiss me
before the light fades
into the dream of what once was’
she pleads.

Kiss him
and fall,
and then look for him, let her look for him,
falling through the fine hold of false hope
as he moves off
to twist through other sheets.

Kiss him
and he is gone
evaporated in a lips touch
not a minute more than much
and yet she looks for him
she still looks for him
as if his breath were traceable
as if his touch was reachable
as if his promise
was trustable

Kiss him
but once
and watch her fall,
identity,
like the dream of what once was,
lost in a single kiss
drowning in dreams that follow
as he moves on
to other dreams
to shatter
with that same kiss.

‘Kiss me,’ she pleads
as the dream finds light and bleeds
onto the folds
in the empty space
on the bed
beside her.

All Words by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud: