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"Where have you buried the poet?" Asked the lady solemn and grave. "Madam, we're sad to tell you, There wasn't that much to save." "Where have you buried the poet, Where does his headstone stand?" "Madam, we're sorry to tell you, He's not buried in holy land" "Where have you buried the poet, Serene valley or pleasant hill?" "Madam, we don't remember him, Since his pen's been so cold and still." "Where have you buried the poet, His bones, where are they interred?" "Madam, all that remained was a box Of his papers with every word." "Where have you buried the poet? I've come far to honor his name." "Madam, we've all forgotten, And there's only ourselves to blame." • Donovan Baldwin • Painting: All Souls’ Day: Ferdinand Georg Waldmüller and Franz Skarbina

This is a great imaginative story of a journey and contest between two totally different and opposing worlds. Particularly, the love and the quest to serve justice to victims of violence or abuse, which is no wonder; reflects the author’s experience with survivors of domestic and sexual violence. There may be some other reasons to capture this story in rather a strange and mystical place such as Herrick’s End, but I strongly feel that; the author is trying to bring us to imagine and see that; there is a secretive, hidden, and unknown world that exists for the victims and survivors of such violence. Ollie Delgato’s journey from the Northern End of Brickside, all the way to the Herrick’s End of the Neath, shows us that; this secretive underworld or mystical place is created based on the constant struggle faced by victims of family-related violence and abuse. This constant struggle is the outcome of our society’s inactions, oppressions, insecurity, threat, or any other similar conditions that prevent justice to be served to those victims. He started off as an innocent, unsuspecting, and loving friend, but eventually grows to become a hero of justice at the end. This may, in other words, shows us that; many victims of family-related violence and abuses get themselves into these troubles innocently and unsuspectingly, because of love. They don’t know what will happen because they are blinded by love and then when their loving world becomes the opposite, they become its victims. A situation that they have created by themselves. But, under such circumstances, under that blind love and our society’s inactions, oppressions, insecurity, or threats; they can fight for justice, for themselves, and their loved ones, if they do something and take action. The settings of the contents of the book through the Prologue keep me wondering with interest how the initial ancient scenes will connect with the modern settings of the story when I started reading the first chapters. But as the story reaches the part on the Freedom Trail, I started getting the idea that; it will be the change of scenes into something mystical or ancient. If similar connections have been developed and established on the book chapters’ titles with specific story topics, rather than just the use of numbers, then I think it will be more engaging and well-connected. Yet, I give it a rating of 5 stars, because it is a great imaginative story that reflects the 2 types of worlds that exist for the victims of one of our society’s major social problems. One is the world that many may seem to portray to the public and the community in which they live under the auspice of normal and loving family life. And another is the world that exists under the banner of blind and unsuspecting love, where there is abuse and violence and where victims are constantly struggling for justice in solitude. A justice to problems, they have somehow created by themselves.

fragments of her shattered soul - potter molds anew diamond in the rough no more - tempered by the flames a strengthening of her spirit- the vessel made whole the angel walks on embers - angels feel no pain copyright L. G. Rogers 12-29-22

Please vote for Tammy's poem title "Poetry" by the little infinite poetry for life poetry contest sponsored by Ingram Spark. "Poetry" "Poetry" comes from deep within That is where the story begins "Poetry" is a form of art That touches your heart and soul right from the start Whether Spoken, Written or in a Song "Poetry" brings you in and takes you along written by Tammy Spears (copyright) Thank you for your support of ArtsKeeper artists!

Does a thought have a life after its birth? Can it travel in time from one mind to another across mountains and oceans and even farther? Some call it mental telepathy... I think it lives on indefinitely. What say you? ©️ Lorene Rogers 4-26-23

              JUST THINKIN’   My new shirt arrived today I hate it! It’s flat-out horrible with those ridiculous white pistachio nuts on a wine background! It doesn’t go with anything except my corduroy vest - the loden green one that’s too frickin’ hot to wear, for Pete’s sake - it’s like 90 degrees outside!   but – I got it on sale for six dollars…   Lorene Rogers ©      6-8-2023                   

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

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.)

I never knew is a short spoken word video set to moving images

seeing you watching i extend invitations disguised as poems • Donovan Baldwin