JOURNEYS, PART 10; THE REST

Revisiting a past poem as my journey hits its 43rd Birthday

THE REST

I was once silent amid the noise,

shadowing the world in stillness

while all else found its motion,

watching dreams slip swiftly

through fumbling hands.

I’d been held and felt nothing

in that very touch

but the visceral arousal

of man at his most primal.

I’d seen a lifetime of possibilities

with single glances

and built worlds in my mind

before blinking them away.

I held a man’s hand in a taxi

as we raced through a foreign city

I’d once called home, while my mind

ran to thoughts of someone else

before remembering a touch,

of another, from long before. Once,

I circled the globe and returned home

to find that home was but a word,

a word that wakes a memory

to plot a beginning,

as weightless and mobile

as the drifting traveler.

Once, I was silent

but in that silence,

in all that stillness

I found a voice.

I am, like you all,

no more than a burnt-out,

used-to-be, falling star,

sparkling in front of you

although my future’s already faded

somewhere light years away.

As I hurtle through this journey

my eyes fall sleepy;

but my mind rushes towards the rest,

looking, always, for the rest of me.

All words by Damien B. Donnelly

The Poetic Point

Writing, with ink and pen

And open mind, thoughts

From the heartland of the questioning consciousness-

Muddled and moving, mixing

Musical thought with meaningful metaphors,

Subtly seeking the rhythm and rhyme

And fighting with form and formality,

Counting consonants and trying not to simulate,

Sawing sentences in centers

To shock, shake and stimulate.

Keeping, with honest integrity,

To the truth of the matter-

Uncompromised, unsweetened and unsaturated

In saccharine sentimentality,

Seeking instead what gets left behind

In the somber shade of the shadows,

Sorting the substance from the unsuitable,

The serious from the subterfuge,

And learning to lift lies from the legend.

Trying, with shaking hand,

To be true to myself-

To worry not about the funny, the foe or the awkward,

The downright stupidly silly,

Hoping, over time,

To vary not the voice from my voice,

To temper not the thoughts with temptations

From others with pretentious persuasions,

To be unafraid, unassuming

And always attune to the flow of the line.

photo1