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I've got a name I've not a game may sound the same to some lamebrain but to this dame it would be a shame if I could not remember from whence it came - all this silly nonsense

our pretty girl with colden goat wavy fur from tead to hail eyelashes like sweet streepers bark drown eyes and nose longing for a rummy tub she offers up her belly receiving so much pleasure she wildly tags her wail all of her shody baking ears town do her nails ©️L. G. Rogers 4-1-2023

Upon a rude table, In a simple cabana On the shore, Between sea and forest, Two glasses, Cheap red wine, Golden candle glow, As sun sinks, And shadows lengthen, And golden glow of Flickering candles Sets the mood, I fetch my old, ragged Book of poems, Lay a plate of cheese, And coarse bread, Set old vinyl spinning. Soft guitar music Touches my mind like a kiss, And you enter... - Donovan Baldwin

I would not hold back the sun But, there is that moment In each arriving dawn, When I wish the day Would wait a moment, Allow me to savor that Morning glow that appears Up in the sky and in my breast. • Donovan Baldwin

Twirling and blowing Day long snow event So pretty out the window No plows in sight Second such event in one week We’re not used to it This is supposedly the South Snow is good for  Dogs and children And cuddling  Under thick quilts

"Weaves a rich tapestry of high-stakes drama, intricate world-building, and character-driven conflict!" Tap 4 More https://tinyurl.com/NwBlBk1 #author #authorlife #bookboost #epicfantasy #followback #kilpack #MustRead #newbloodsaga #Read #readercommunity #ReadingCommunity #writerslift

Note: The first poem I ever published. He was buried there by the mud bayou, At the bend where the green water curls, With the swing of a spade, A half-whispered prayer, And the tears of a heartbroken girl. The living splashed on through the water and mud Past the ghosts of the moss covered trees. With looks right and left, And hearts filled with fright, They waded past old cypress knees. They feared the cottonmouth, panther, and bear, They'd heard tales of the Indian tribes, But one of their number Cared nothing for peril, Now widow, but short time a bride. They left no trace of the way they came, Nor marks of the way they went, No record behind Of the youth in the ground, Or the reason his life had been spent. Somewhere in bayous where the green water bends Lies a man left behind long ago. Who he was, why he died, Who prayed, and who wept, Are the secrets of the mud bayou. Copyright Donovan Baldwin Published April 1982 in The Archer, now defunct. (Not my fault, I hope.)

If your heart could see beyond my words, If they were to mean more to you than Mere strokes and curves on paper, And, became strokes, and curves On your skin, would your heart Beat ever faster, your breast Rise and fall with hope and Desire, the need to once Be truly loved, be held By more than words, Within loving arms Of one who now Holds love's Pen? • Donovan Baldwin

Man uses wood without seeing The spark inside the living being The flowing sap and tender core Cleansing air, water and more    Below the soil, symbiotic truth mycorrhizal web joined at root mutualistic defenses to defend Attacks from pests and pathogens Arboreal beings who share the earth Forgive us humans, huddled at hearth Warmed and lighted in the dark Grateful for your endless bark  If we could only see your face And share in your collective space That binds all trees; holds them tight To withstand, withhold and stand upright I gaze in awe below your dome In woods that circle my own home I pray you feel me standing here  With everlasting love… for trees Susan Smoter - Octiber 7, 2023

One night the moon shone down on me, As I sat upon the sand at water's edge. She asked, for the Moon is a lady, "Why do you sit here all alone?" I replied, "I love someone very far away." "Then tell her," the Moon said, gently. I shook my head, as a cloud crossed The sky, and the face, of the caring moon. "I cannot," said I, head bowed. "Duty binds me here too far away." A chill wind crossed the water, And, I shivered, with cold and loss. Warm Moon spoke, "My light will speak for you. i will shine down outside her home each night, With poems and messages of love you send, So, she, seeing me, will think of you." I asked, "How will she ever know, that, Your silver beams are messages of love, Sent by a humble poet?" I asked in doubtr. Moon smiled brightly at my lack of faith. "She will know," sweet Moon replied, "She already knows my beams are love. until now she did not know from whom." One night the Moon, said this to me. • Donovan Baldwin