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an angel seduced him with crystal tears of a weeping rose in a heaven near the sea • Donovan Baldwin

The rain beats rhythms on your skin A symphony of secret sin. I trace them as they strike and flow Lips and tongue behind the go. Breathless, I chase the silver sting, A thirst for wildness, on the wing. Your skin, a canvas, etched with rain, My lips, medicine for your pain. Breathless, I pursue each drop Hoping storms will never stop. Your body only clothed by rain So tempting to my fevered brain. You my feast neath weeping sky, Dance seductively as I Touch and taste and drink my fill Fingers drifting where they will. So let the rain caress your skin, Awash with past and future sin, A promise in those beating drops, Arousing love that never stops. • Donovan Baldwin

Writers, poets especially, often know more than their readers. That's not a derogatory statement. After all, only the poet knows what was really behind the words that wound up being a poem. To us, a rose is not just "red". It is desire, hope, love, a thing of pleasing aromas and hurtful thorns. To a poet, anything, including events, can be a thousand things that the average passerby might never imagine. Often, the words used, how they're used, when and where they're used, means more than the meaning of the words themselves... and, for us poets, the words have meanings beyond what's set down in the Oxford English Dictionary, assuming we're even using English words... and, in the next poem, may mean EXACTLY what's set down in the OED. Sometimes we lead the reader to a conclusion, sometimes, set out a trail of lexigraphic breadcrumbs. Yes, by the way, that IS a word, about words, and indicative of the playfully poetic mind at work... which is a playful work itself. The mind of a poet goes places and sees things the non-poetic person doesn't even think of. This is why poets are often a bit mad... or considered so. We see what is not really there, or maybe it is, and write of it as if it were, although it might not be, leaving it to YOU, the reader, to try to figure out what the hell we are trying to say. • Donovan Baldwin

I miss twisting words hiding jewels in rainbow clouds so you can find me ~ Priya

Hi There! My name is Kerry, and I am a new volunteer at ArtsKeeper. I'll be sharing my books and writing process as well as sharing more about all the services and creators here. I also write on mental health and wellness on another blog. My passion is writing creepy/horror, and chapter books for kids with a message within the magical adventures. I have dabbled with quite a few things, but the basic professions were a commercial cleaning business, and a karate school. Both of which I have retired from but I still practice karate. (Uechi-Ryu, which is a sister style to the Goju-Ryu in the original Karate Kid movies. The real Mr. Miagi and Mr. Uechi were best friends back in the day. I hail from the White Mountains in the state of New Hampshire, having moved from Seattle some twenty-five years ago. I have three sons, all grown, two with families of their own. My husband, I lost two years ago, but we were happily married for twenty-one years. Together twenty-three. Now I live with my ten year old German Sheppard Ellie, and her best friend, Kiff-Kitty, who is a year old. That little cat's name is constantly changing, per his latest antics. At first, he was Kiff-Hanger, because he loved to hang from the curtains, and anything else he could keep his claws in long enough. Most recently he is Kiff-inator, because he is getting into things and wrecking them all. LOL. His first name was inspired by "The Kiffness" on YouTube because the Kiffness never fails to make me laugh with his amazing talent. I will put a link at the bottom in case you haven't seen one of his videos. Completely worth a check out. Other than writing, I love rocks and gems. Go rock hounding every year, or did, with my hub. Can never get enough of being right in the heart of nature, be it in the mountains or at the ocean. Thank you for the read! Kerry AKA K~ Numnum-Cat The Kiffness!(https://youtu.be/GArzu9ttQ0M?si=qdnQNOc_x5ex0BEa) The Jolly Muse (https://thejollymuse.com/)blog Mindful Manipulation (https://mindfulmanipulation.com/)blog Books(https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B00C3GQADU?ingress=0&visitId=fb53fa54-c59a-4144-9811-fe8e0e54e40b&store_ref=ap_rdr&ref_=ap_rdr)

Copperas Cove, Texas, The Pitt Grill, 1993 Indians used to ride here, Comanches on galloping ponies, The best light cavalry in the world, Across where an army post now stands, That trains The best light cavalry in the world. Now, instead of dusty trails and traces, A highway runs through it. Across that highway, A Whataburger sign rises in the air, Dwarfing the scrub oaks Which grow here, Shelter and shade to Settler, cowboy, Indian, Rancher, and soldier, Then and now. The land was cruel, Beautiful but cruel, The people were hard, But, hard with purpose, And need. We've conquered the land, And the other people, The first people, With air conditioning, Guns, And greed... And, perhaps, In doing so, We've conquered ourselves. NOTE: I am aware that "Indian" is not a generally acceptable term, but, I used it for the the historic weight. • Donovan Baldwin

I took over 600 photos in just one day at Valley of Fire state park, so many Red Rock Mountains.   While it takes few months to process them and pick the best of them, I came across this one which I felt sharing the photo along with these few lines….   Standing still, changing their formations,   Layer by Layer covering their pains,   Minute by Minute hiding their experiences,   Thanking the Almighty for their existence SILENTLY!

He writes just one more poem. Alone with himself and his words He composes a love song, a sonnet, An unstructured piece of Poetic prose, hoping that These words, this poem-like Gust of words will touch her, Sway her, arouse her to Notice him, to understand, The love he can only share Through the message held In the mad words clamoring To leave his mind and touch her. • Donovan Baldwin

We are dreamers, you and I, Word weavers in moonligh. We wander together in Changing of the dusk and dawn, 'Neath the raised blessing or The prairie wind, Sung to us By bird and breeze and Singers which we heard A million years ago when we, Were destined to meet By gracious gods. • Donovan Baldwin

Each poem I pen Is a desperate act, For it is short lived, And I must set it down Before it begins to fade, Becoming smal glimpses, Glimmers of the beautiful or Message so filled with love and Images of the world within my mind. • Donovan Baldwin