Lilium lancifolium lies back
in a bed we repositioned
last spring under the scorch
of today’s mid-afternoon melt.

In a slow movement that set her
into structure, before the dawn woke
the rest of us, she assumes a position
to demonstrate the perfect pliancy
of her freckled petals and pushes
everything out to be eaten.

Next to her majesty, in the sluggish
shade of a white pot on the worm-
twisting soil, succulents seal in
all they will ever need to survive.

Somewhere in between I, myself,
am planted with all that I hold vital
willingly caged within these ribs
not even I can open while my fears

sway like stamen from this skin
as I pray for the wind to soon
introduce them all to flight.



All words and photos by Damien B Donnelly



Beau, tu sais?
Tu es beau,
c’est vrai.
Non, I say,
ca, c’est pas vrai.
Moi, je sais
d’autre chose,
mais beau?
Non, I say,
je ne suis pas beau.

Fragility I know,
mon ami s’appelle
pour lui
je porte a smile,
comme de vêtements,
like a shield,
mon sourire
est beau,
ca, tu peut dire,
ca, tu peut écrire,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
tu sais? Ca fait mal.

Mais merci, comme même,
c’est beau ce que tu m’a dit,
ce que quelqu’un m’a dit,
c’est beau, mais non,
c’est pas moi; I am…
je suis autre chose.



Beautiful, you know?
You are beautiful,
it’s true.
No, I say,
that, it’s not true.
Me, I know
something else,
but beautiful?
No, I say,
I am not beautiful.

Fragility I know,
my friend’s name is
for him
I wear a smile,
like clothes,
like a shield,
my smile
is beautiful,
that, I can say,
that, I can write,
but I am not my smile,
I am the boy behind
and sometimes it hurts,
you know? It hurts.

Thank you, anyway,
It’s beautiful what you tell me,
that someone tells me,
it’s beautiful, but no,
it’s not me; I am…
I am something else.


All words and self portrait by Damien B. Donnelly

This is a repost of an older poem.

PROTECTION for Poetry Day Ireland

It’s Poetry Day Ireland so I am supporting from abroad. This year’s theme is Truth or Dare so throughout the day I will be posting a few of my older poems on Truth and a few more on being Irish…


In many rooms,
in multiple houses,
in a dozen cities
I pulled shadows
over the light
mistaking the darkness
to be a better blanket
to twist around the truth.


All words and photographs of Dublin by Damien B. Donnelly



Hunger harbours its hold
like a boat
bent on the scent of the sea
and we are bound
to the pull of its freedom,
its current crushing all caution
as we fall folly to its friction
on bended knee in benediction,
on beds of bodies bare and breathless,
tongues tempted towards taste,
buoyant on the bounce,
fast to the flesh, I want you,
you feel me, I will leave you
famished for nothing but more
and more and more, as I walk away,
still parched, still famished,
but never foolish
enough to linger longer
than the afterglow.

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly



Gather giggles
in golden garlands,

guard glee as a gift,

grow grace
in the guts of gaiety,

gather goodness before its gone.


All words and photograph by Damien B. Donnelly

Inspired from a Twitter prompt from #POETHEME


Day 20 National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

What is it
when he looks at me
that makes me want to
love him

and when he cries
that makes he want to
hold him

and when he hurts
than makes me want to
heal him

and when he lets me in
makes me want to

run and hide?

All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


Screen Shot 2016-07-31 at 20.21.00

And so
he built
a tower,
a tall
on the
tip of a
far from
touch and
a non tactile
tower that
as he’d
been tripped up
time and time before.
And one day he climbed
to the top of his tower on the tip
of that tumulus far from touch and tenderness
and, true as time can tell, he toppled on the tip of it,

tail over tit, and tripped right over it
   with not a single soul to intervene and so thwart his tumble.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly




And there stands
right on front of me
at the exits of metros
still moving behind me,
where men,
always black men,
always banlieue,
who I recognise
from the streets
yesterday begging for bread,
now search
for bombs in bags
so Parisians feel more protected.
Really Paris,
is this your position
or are you just trying
to reduce the homeless
by placing then closer
to possible blasts
and kill two birds
with the one bomb?
Unarmed, untrained
and unexplained
boys looking for
booby traps
that would only
make them collapse
if they found one.
These gullible gangstas
are no MacGyvers.
Appearances, it seems,
in Paris are still everything
while the streets
stink with rubbish
hiding the homeless
from the tourists,
the jobless, non-nationals,
uninsurable non-entities,
at least the ones
you haven’t yet picked
to reassure commuters
that dangers are being derailed
before style trends board trains.


All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly


In the darkest of night, in the deepest of storms,
When all sound is eroded and all sight has elapsed.
When the entity arises with staff in his hand,
The Avenger of life; The Reaper, he stands.

When the world is divided and the soldier’s gun aimed,
As they gaze upon a land full of hatred and rage.
As war creates anger, base food for the weak
And the timid huddle together joined by a fearful streak.

No fear shall I have, no tear shall I cry,
No doubt for the future, no woe shall I sigh.

When ignorance breads hatred through the veins of brothers,
As the cord that binds us is untied and unattached.
When it’s brother against brother, battle of morals,
There can be no winner but forever foolish quarrels.

While the walls hold the cries of frightened little children,
In the heart of each stone lie the blood and the bruises.
The Adult, the Guardian, the Figure in the night
Makes innocent little children feel dirty neath the light.

No fear shall I have, no tear shall I cry,
No doubt for the future, no woe shall I sigh.

When disease engulfs and courage is tested,
The body feels betrayed by the mother, the protector.
As the ravages of decay mean now you walk, not run,
And the foreboding termination means tomorrow may never come.

When no more is there evidence of the strength of nature,
As the walls of destruction fall forth and crush the seed.
As the green of the earth becomes engulfed by doom,
And no more shall we witness the flowers beautiful bloom.

No fear shall I have, no tear shall I cry,
No doubt for the future, no woe shall I sigh.

For you will stand tall with strength in your hand,
Love in your heart and me at your command.
How could I fall into a crevice of decay,
When you stand beside me to bring life to my day.


Deuxième Peau/ Second Skin

You are my armor

To the world. My shield

To forge in front, to fight

The battles of which

I, myself alone, unmasked

And naked, am far too fearful for.


You are my role

Upon the stage of life

When the lights are on and the audience

Shifts slightly in their seats-

Judging my movements,

Motivations and intonations,

You are my script to fall back on,

My spotlight to lead me and that all important

Costume to cover me.


You are my Second Skin, a sheet

Of sheerness, unseen by the hungry mob

Who crowd, and cram and crow around me,

A protective gauze to sooth

Away their punches, to replenish me

When they’ve drained me

And to smile for me

When I’m dying inside.


When they look at me

They have no idea

I am looking at them

Through you.