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- WATER LIKE RESTORATION GLASSIn Poetry·September 2, 2023Tide's out, slow ripples, Water like restoration glass, Waves of sand visible In the shallows, Appearing to move with Sun through prismatic water, As small fiddler crabs scuttle Out and in their holes Scattered across the mud flats, On their secret crabby missions. • Donovan Baldwin000
- AT THE URGING OF NUNSIn Poetry·September 2, 2023At the urging of the nuns, I read of Homer's heroes, Of the ravishing beauty of Helen who toppled The "topless towers of Ilium", Words musical to a boy, A stirring tale replete With godlike warriors, And too human goddesses, So romantically inclined And also loosely clad, bosomy Female deities full of passion, Seething human frailties and desires How could I, imprssionable teen, Fail to become entranced, With the romance of poetry? • Donovan Baldwin Art: Paris_Abducting_Helen_C1782-C1784_by_Gavin_Hamilton003
- THE PLEASURE GIVENIn Poetry·September 3, 2023Embracing in our cozy love nest, Intimately entwined in search of Mutually consensual ecstasy, Each making love to... for... the other, We reach that consummate state Of orgasmic bliss, feeding upon The pleasure given to our lover. • Donovan Baldwin000
- IF I DESIRE YOU, SHOULD I NOT...In Poetry·September 3, 2023If I desire you, should I not, As a true lover, desire all aspects, Loving you in all possible, Though perhaps not permitted ways, Giving and receiving all that love, Which may pass between us, And surround us in whatever Form and function our loving May inspire or require? • Donovan Baldwin001
- NEEDS LIKE OCEAN WAVES, AND OTHER POEMSIn Poetry·September 3, 2023needs like ocean waves lap with lust within her heart... she fears their power tides of sinful thoughts have so often come and gone... she fears her soul drowns rescuer is he who understands this current... teaches her to swim with him ----- i learned your secrets now know where to touch your mind... make you moan inside ----- sticky lips smiling as if she's eating a peach... sweet juices flowing ----- nude at the window body brushed with dawn's rose gold... nature's masterpiece ----- happily explore this garden of her delights... she's made me welcome ----- she unlocks her cage setting her butterflies free... fluttering inside ----- frightened by her dreams then he came and guided her... among love's pleasures ----- his thirst drives him on seeking the cup she offers... filled with love's liqueur ------ kiss me so damn deep i can taste all your desires... drink them from your lips ----- his gaze burned her skin his words took her innocence... his love set her free ----- little does she know her kiss that left him silent... made him howl inside ----- sadly dawn means death for my lover fades away... at the end of dreams ----- what if once i stayed failed to vanish with the dawn... would you touch me then ----- robe of tattered words poetry that sits askew... on poet's gray head ----- when love had filled her physical sex had become... a want not a need ------ if those soft brown eyes would once turn their gaze on me... see beyond my words ----- glimpsed in a photo soft eyes warm lips i wonder... if you'll ever know ----- first take it all off present yourself in nakedness... bare heart soul and mind ----- • Donovan Baldwin001
- SHE IS BUT A DREAMIn Poetry·September 3, 2023She is but a dream A mystic figure Glimpsed in the wings of The backlit stage of my mind, Stepping into the spotlight, Innumerable times a day Performs for me her most Sensual temptations Fading back into Swirling mists Of desire and Fantasy. • Donovan Baldwin000
- GODDESS PELEIn Poetry·September 3, 2023Goddess Pele Her erupting pent up passions, Spewing hottest of love's lava, Glowing with her exertions, Primeval dance of erotic Desires and satisfactions, Never achieved only cooled, To arise and burst forth In timeless display of The fiery soul imprisoned, In her earthly body. • Donovan Baldwin001
- An excerpt from Black Marigolds... I frequently read parts of Black Marigolds for inspiration and pleasure.In Poetry·August 31, 2023002
- MY LOVES ARE ALL GHOSTSIn Poetry·October 26, 2023My loves are all ghosts, My kisses only memories. Phantom touches, Hugs imprinted on my body, So many years ago, Linger as echoes Etched upon my soul. Pledges and promises Fell to dust, leaving me, Standing on a faceless plain, As the winds and rain of time, Washed all away. • Donovan Baldwin003
- HOW TO SUCCEED AS AN INDIE ARTIST | MAZIE INTERVIEWIn Music·January 17, 2023Grace Christian - better known by her stage name, mazie - is redefining pop music and pop culture from the comfort of her own home. Like twisting the rotating ends of a kaleidoscope, looking at mazie's music from an even slightly different perspective unveils a host of varying takeaways. There's "no friends," her debut single, written and released at the beginning of quarantine, perfectly unaware of the universal nature her track would soon envelop. Twist a little further and you arrive at "dumb dumb," an unconventional and surreal pop song written in response to the Capitol Insurrection and the ensuing deluge of memes. Yet, no single twist, turn, or bend of the neck begins to fully encompass mazie, the artist. Listen to Mazie talk about how she became a successful Indie artist in this podcast. Props out to my hometown girl!005
- My MuseIn Poetry·May 3, 2023eight o'clock a.m. - I'm on my second cup Baileys in my coffee... I need some Irish luck calling for my muse because my mind is stuck because we're not together, I feel I'm in a rut strange thing happened in my dream last night seems a little fuzzy - but 'twas quite a delight you were here again, a shadow next to me... can our minds connect through telepathy? the wren is calling out - now he's very near the message from my muse is perfectly clear when flowers are abloom and a rose turns red what once was a dream will be real instead Lorene Rogers©️ 5-2-240012
- CALL ME ISHMAEL (APOLOGIES TO HERMAN MELVILLE)In Advice and Articles·September 6, 2023Melville began Moby Dick with, "Call me Ishmael" Not to be outdone, I often begin some of my comments with, "I call myself a poet." I have the "creds" as they say. Never said "good" poet, but I do write stuff that others have recognized and acknowledged to be poetry. Even had a few works published back when paper was king. You might say, BC = Before Computers. The dark ages of our modern era. Anyway, in addition to writing what others may or may not see, or have seen, thoughts and images, snippets of originality, inspired by damn near anything (once wrote a poem about a tuna sandwich), flow through my mind, often aching to come out as something on paper or, these days, computer screen. Still, with all that to work with, ninety percent of what is running through my scattered mind doesn't find any outlet, and runs off into the woods of my thoughts, and, although I may hear some laughter or squeals or giggles, or sobbing, from the departed ideas somewhere off in the woods, I am left to wonder who or what those strange creatures were ... beautiful and exciting, gloomy and brooding, bland and too insufficient to maintain existence. I was reading Hazlitt (William) last night and, in one of his beautifully crafted essays which rolls off the tongue of my mind, he makes the point that once one becomes an artist, it's all about art. It's in everything they see and think about. Poets are like that too, I believe. And, like the artist, you never see some of their/our best work... sometimes only practice pieces... set down to keep our hand in. Beware of brooding poets but remain calm. The gloom you often see upon them has nothing to do with you (probably), but, more with the odd creatures romping through their minds, often disappearing into darkness, forgotten before they can leave a trace of their ephemeral existence. • Donovan Baldwin #poetry #poets001
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