Wilful in ways worrisome 
like in the wilderness weaned,
he was born of the breeze
and bound from baby to be breathless 

and when they caught him he said;

‘When I lay me down
let the ground make of me what it wants,
let the soil seek substance beneath my skin.’

Reckless in ruthless rebellion
like the river ravages routes,
too timid to be touched
and too tormented to be tamed 

and when they chained him he said;

‘When I lay me down
let the sun make of me what it wants
let its rays find rest on my remains.’

But as they strung him up
he heard, in the distance, the feathers running restless,
and as they pulled the rope
he knew, in the mountains, the vultures were hovering

eager, at last, to make a meal out of what was a beast of a man.


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken just outside of Galway in Ireland.

Audio version available on Soundcloud:



Is love letting go or leaning on or leading on

Is love like a salmon swimming upstream, struggling against the tide, against the current,
against all nature

Is love like a room you redecorate on rotate, layers of new prints over old paper, frail and fragile and fading in corners too complicated to remove the clutter, long since left, from other lovers now departed

Is love like the copious copies of masterworks, artworks we hang in hallways far from any real light so as not to intimidate real life

Is love as subtle as the smile stroked on canvas across her face, impossible to trace if she is leaning towards love or lingering in loss

Is love like the riverbed, caressed and corrosive concurrently, currently leading towards lust or something that might last longer, that might run deeper than an ocean

Is love virtue or vulture?

All words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Photograph taken in Aldeburgh, England by the Benjamin Britten tribute sculpture

Audio Version available on Soundcloud: