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I love to walk old streets, Through towns both big and small, One with all the history Which has covered coated The surrounding stone, The houses and walls, Lanes, avenues, and, Boulevards my Footsteps echoing as They used to do when The downtown street, Was the place to be, Where chance meetings With friends made memories Which cannot arise within Today's sterile malls, And hard, cold buildings Of polished glass and steel. • Donovan Baldwin

Small in size, soft with delicate skin Dependent on me for basic needs Pressing you to my breast Filled with love that grows each day Oh precious and vulnerable human In whose eyes I see us both Sweet, delicate, comforting Fragrant with innocent purity Deep intense emotional bond Instinctive and all-encompassing I’d lay down my life for you Yesterday, today and tomorrow

Current "knowledge" should never be thought of as beyond challenge. This acceptance of questioning orthodoxy as a valid intellectual or scientific pursuit, however, should not be presumed to imply that current knowledge is wrong, incorrect, or outdated. Challenges to knowledge sometimes may improve, strengthen, or prove the authenticity and validity of that knowledge. Learning in what ways knowledge, or even belief, may be challenged, or accepted, can lead to a better understanding of why and how we believe or understand, and how to defend and fit them more perfectly into our lives. • Donovan Baldwin

though i seem distant you are in my mind and heart at busy moments ----- could she be the one lady seems to like his words so becomes his muse could he be the one poet suddenly writing lost within his words might these two be one lady whom the poet loves and makes immortal ----- warm feelings rising she's afraid to let them show what he's known a while ----- embracing lovers one molten silver figure made out of moonlight ----- no shame in my words or the way i write of you respect and desire ----- unconventional the way poets express love unconditional ----- black night sky explodes fireworks which cannot be seen but felt by poets ----- she loves poetry how the words caress inside as much as i do • Donovan Baldwin

Author of Inspirational Poetry Book "Flutter of an Eye" is "Fluttering On" Inspirational Poetry Book "Fluttering On" (Sequel to "Flutter of an Eye") is coming in May 2024! "Our Mother" is "Fluttering On" within us as we are "Fluttering On" without her. "Flutter of an Eye" is available on Amazon.com, Barnes and Noble.com, Walmart.com, Etsy.com

They tore down the bricks, you know. I was there and watched it go. It became part of the past, How I hoped that it would last. And yet, history moves on, What's once here will soon be gone, All that we think is here to stay, Will too be torn down someday. • Donovan Baldwin

In 1967, while in the U.S. Army, I was stationed at an American air force base, outside a small town, in the middle of Texas. Being a normal American lad, I indulged in the common actitivities of the day, including regular consumption of large amounts of beer at a local bar. My friends and I also played pool (pocket billiards) with another, older denizen of the J&J Tavern, in San Angelo, Texas. His name was Lacey. He was OLD, to our young eyes, although younger then, than I am now. Worn out cowboy hat and boots; dirty, dingy shirt. Big beer belly hanging over a huge western belt buckle, and pants that looked worse than the shirt. Lacey loved to drink beer and shoot pool. He was not a very good pool player, although he loved to bet a dollar a game. He was so bad, so beat-up looking, and so carefree, that we often let him win his dollar back after beating him badly in a game. We didn't know whether to feel sorry for Lacey or not. Despite the pleasure he found in drinking beer with his buddies, and shooting pool, all day, he appeared poor. We assumed he was on Social Security or some form of welfare..."the dole" as they say in the U.K., I believe. One bright Summer day a huge new Cadillac pulled up in front of the J&J Tavern. A big woman, wearing a fur coat in spite of the heat, and wearing many expensive looking pieces of jewelry, got out, stomped into the comfortable darkness of the tavern and yelled, "Lacey, get your butt out in that car. You know we're having dinner with the governor and you've got to change out of those rags!" Lacey slunk out to the car. If he had been a dog, not only would his head have been down, but his tail would have been between his legs. As they drove off, my drinking buddy, Bill, who, unfortunately, passed away a couple of years ago still swearing he had introduced me to Clint Eastwood one night at the Mission Ranch in Carmel in 1967.... well,anyway, Bill and I looked at each other in bewilderment. The bartender, straightened us out. She explained that, after scratching out a living for decades on a tiny patch of land with a few head of scrawny cattle, oil had been found directly under Lacey's wee little patch of Earth. Lacey was NOT on the dole. He was one of the richest men in the county! First lesson I took away was to never judge anybody by their appearance. That one's obvious. Over the years, another lesson has become more obvious to me: You can have everything that most people dream of, and still not find happiness. For Lacey, happiness was beer, buddies, and billiards at a dollar a game. The rest just ruined his day. His wife didn't seem that happy either. I told this story for years, and, as I grew older I began to wonder if maybe I had made Lacey up. With the aid of the internet, I actually was able to find out more about him. He died years ago, still a rich man. Don't know if he died a happy man, but, he was rich...for what it's worth. • Donovan Baldwin

As gray mist rolls down From high hills, To the rippling waters Of a silvery sea, A figure slips seductively Through the haze, Threads of earthbound cloud Caressing, Swirling about her body, The passage of apparition Through the dew of dawn, Brings pleasure, To eyes that follow. • Donovan Baldwin

How can this staid old poet, Scottish Pict and not Romany, Manifest so much gypsy blood, Wine red blood which boils in moonlight, Roiled by the sound of mad guitars, Or sad sad violins, Stirred by old stories, Tantalized by tales, Of times which might have been, Maybe never were, But, damn well should have? • Donovan Baldwin

I, self-proclaimed writer of poetry, Read a bit of doggerel, Listen to a country song, Watch a stream skipping over rocks, A bird flying by on a way to somewhere, Assist the sun in rising, later, Putting him to bed, and, Welcoming my lady moon, Lay down my pen in darkness, Close my eyes, and, Let my poem write itself. • Donovan Baldwin

Warmth runs over me, pure joy As sunshine quickens Memories alive, vivid Sunbathing in serenity Eyes tight, unabashedly smiling Face glowing and flushed Skin tingling at sun’s touch Soul erupting in song  My chair and deck Morph into sandy shores Rejuvenating needed In the shortening days A sigh escapes me In blissful peace Wrapped in glowing rays Kissed by the sun Darkness and gloom May be threatening Coming to invade my peace Certainly soon Sunbathing serenity Lock it away Retrieve as needed On a cold winter day