Totally correct…

Deuxiemepeau; Picturing Poetry by D. B. Donnelly

Day 12: National Poetry Writing Month #NaPoWriMo

IMG_3053We dangle delicacies
(far from looking delicate)
to tempt the beasts
to play ferocious
for our pleasure,
for our entertainment.
We put money
on the beast
who can be more brutal
than the bunch.
We are intrigued
by the beasts
whose nature
we’ve changed,
caught and caged,
who we’ve tempered
and tamed
in our need
to remind ourselves
who is the man and
who is the beast.

We dangle delicacies
(desperately delicately)
on front of animals
so as not look at ourselves
and see the beasts
we’ve become.

All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio Version available on SoundCloud:

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Help a great project and win a prize.

4am Writer

Want a PRIZE for helping me raise money for El Lobo, the Mexican gray wolf?

“On March 29, 1998, 11 captive-reared Mexican gray wolves were released to the wild for the first time in the Blue Range Recovery Area of Arizona and New Mexico. Missing from the landscape for more than 30 years, the howl of the rarest and most unique subspecies of gray wolf was once again greeted by the mountains of the southwest. This year marks the 19th anniversary of this historic event, a significant milestone for the lobo and wildlife conservation.” Wolf Conservation Center, New York.




If you love wolves or even if you simply respect the right of the wolf to live as it was meant to live, then this contest is for you!!

Who is eligible for the writing contest?

Anyone who loves to write and wants…

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What I see …
bold against silver shadows of the moon’s face
are busy tree branches stroking with their gentle fingers
to soothe the dark, dark nights.

What I see…
when birds fly by a robust sun’s charismatic
sight, brimming and nurturing, they become
freckles on the day’s complexion.

What I see…
are black ink like shadows – nature swaying
in the distance, silhouettes of another time
and templates for another adventure.

What I see…
in white clouds are poodles chasing birds,
bright skies of dreamy recollections and
and hazy memories.

Jitter #37

Just imagine…


(A story inspired by a strange thought I had one day, sitting behind someone on the bus.)


High up on the cliffs, looking out across the broad expanse of blue ocean, for just a moment Steve felt at peace. It was fleeting. It had only been a couple of weeks since everything in the world had gone wrong. So much had changed. So much was uncertain. Now, here, viewing the timeless majesty of something apart from himself and his problems, something greater, his own insignificance somehow was a comfort. No matter what might happen, something would carry on.

Soft footsteps in the gravel, and she was there, looking out beside him. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” She took his hand. It was a bit of a cliché, but it was also more than that.

He smiled. “Yes.” Then his smile faded as the wind blew his hair. He felt its…

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Ceaseless Night



Night ceaseless followed ceaseless night
Dark notes oppressive chimed
Hung like weighted bodies
Impatient yearning for the drop.
Sounds from the blind unto the blind
Muted tones in black seas lost
Sank beneath the learning
Which drowned the better part of me.
And words nailed to a killing-tree
Ear-splitting spilled their truths
To blacken out the light
And crucify the force within.
As lightless sightless through the pain
Drawn on by magnet’s charm
And hanged upon a gale
The lesson left for none to learn.
Impatient yearning for the drop
Dark notes oppressive chimed
Hung like weighted bodies
Night ceaseless followed ceaseless night.

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Back in 2015, wow, my broken links rendered me alone….

As it Comes

cropped waterIt’s been such a long time, it could be ten thousand years. Time passes faster when you cry all your tears. Last time I looked back I could only see my feet. I never saw the sky, I missed a treat, and I miss my old life. I can only look back and cry. I miss my future, but it is too late I say, and I cry for the passing time all of the day.

‘There are blue skies and a cold yearning face. Catching the breeze with eyes closed in embrace. Swirling on tip toes, hearts lifted in the air, wind cool on the fingertips but chilled in the stare. Longing and heartache kept warm all the while. Never a dry eye let down by goodbye. She holds it all in still after many have cared. But don’t tell her you’re leaving, don’t stroke her there.’

I take…

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