THE THAW

 

Blue is the breath,
blue is the earth,
morning, early,
the sky a clean canvas
of white and the earth; blue,
a bed of frozen blues
born from dawn’s breath,
a blanket of freshly fallen
slow snow, trembling
along the hairs of the land, caught
in the calm before the crunch,
before the footprints
mould into mud
all that is now a myriad of mystery.

There is beauty in blue,
there can be beauty in being broken,
in time being frozen,
in the breath baying.

I twist and tremble
between these sheets
still fresh upon these old shadows,
still crisp over this drying skin.
I twist and tremble
through this season to be unsure,
falling into blue,
into time, time is frozen
along with all that is born in this bed,
a blanket of fallen findings;
some things I thought to be more,
some things I hoped to mean less,
like loss, less loss,
less time, less breath, more blue,
the mystery is already moulding into mud.

Blue is the breath and slow,
soft as the early morning snow
so slow, awaiting nothing more
than the affirmation
of an approaching melt.

All words and drawings by Damien B. Donnelly

Audio version available on Soundcloud:

 

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12 thoughts on “THE THAW

  1. merrildsmith

    Beautiful, Damien. I especially like the last stanza. I thought of Joni Mitchell’s “Blue,” (of course). 🙂
    Is that a drawing or a photo? The snow looks like fabric. . .

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Thank you Merril and of course any comment with the mention of Joni makes me smile even more. I have actually been listening to Kate Bush’s 50 Words for Snow album from last year- her voice is so much deeper and more grounded and accessible for me and I think the ideas have rubbed off.
      It is a drawing on dark blue paper with black and white pastels. Warm hugs 🤗

    1. deuxiemepeau

      Thanks Jane. I love getting to take the time and do a little more art along with the poetry. Of course it means less time for meals and no time for cake making so it can be a touch decision at times!! Thankfully yesterday I went to rue des rosiers and bought out Chez Marianne of all their delicious traditional Jewish strudels!!!! Geshmak!!!
      Of course today I can move!!! 🤭

      1. Jane Dougherty

        One of the things I miss about Paris. It used to be a Sunday ritual going down rue des Rosiers to buy bread and pastries.
        What do you mean, you can move? Have you had an accident?

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