Search Results

Do you know where I am? I am in lands you never dreamed, Among people who know And understand This strange person I Am fated to be. I am at the edge of the sea, Up on a hill with a path To the water's edge Ancient Greek statue, Aphrodite perhaps, In the garden as The earth sings. • Donovan Baldwin

soft touch of satin your skin beneath my fingers so warmly wanting • Donovan Baldwin

somewhere in the night sad violin is weeping... tears of poetry ----- can it be justice if the innocent are shackled... for sins of others ----- still inside my head love poems i never wrote... dead letter office ----- at first she feared it when his words touched her desires... soon learned to love it ----- reading his poems soon became one more desire... the way they touched her ----- she awakens me with coffee flavored kisses... stirring caresses ----- his loving words soon set free the wild within her... desires she kept caged ----- honoring his art she gently touches herself... as she reads his words ----- the myth of my words revealing her mysteries... our legend begins ----- two distant lovers write poetry on the moon... the universe reads ----- her kiss burned his lips. her tight embrace branded him... markd him as her mate ----- always been the beast lifetime search for beauty... not afraid to stay ----- raising my poems words running through her fingers... spilling over her ----- fingers touch you there lips will kiss some other spot.. love you all over ----- my muse's kisses poetry from her sweet lips... my fIngers repeat ----- upon wings of words as love's storm lifts us higher soaring together ----- i'm the words i write but when i recite them back... you're the voice i hear ----- thirsty gardener sipping dew from sweetest rose... as her petals blush ----- • Donovan Baldwin

I was runnin' on a back road Way up near the Tonto Rim When my semi started smokin' And my hopes began to dim. I'd never get to Payson And drop this load on time. After towing, parts, and labor, I wouldn't make a dime. As I stood there on the shoulder And pondered what to do Staring blindly 'cross a canyon Some things came into view. It wasn't just the mountains, Gray and white against blue sky, Or green pines standing straight and tall, That began to catch my eye. I was in it for the money, Just as much as any man, But also cause I got to see The beauty of this land. I was grateful for the people I met while running free, But lately, though still lookin' I'd forgotten how to see. So, hell, the rig was busted And the boss would sure be mad But I thought I heard a river... You know, it didn't seem so bad! Sure, I have my obligations And the things I've said I'll do. There's money to be made But before each day is through... There's those moments in the mountains Or perhaps along the shore When I stop and I remember What the hell I do it for. So, I stood there with my cell phone, My finger set to dial... Then went looking for that river. The rig could wait a while. • Donovan Baldwin

Autumn clouds, clothes all undone, Barely painted by the sun. Trees don't wish to be outdone, Drop leaves, stand naked, Fall's begun. Mother Nature shows her all, Before the chill of winter's call. Shivering nude neath heatless rays, Until once more, spring's warming days. • Donovan Baldwin

We get confused sometimes with what is said. I saw this morning where a "poet" said that writing something in a certain manner did not mean someone was a poet. True, but, some might interpret that to mean that a "poet" cannot write that way, but THAT is not what the statement said. A poet CAN write anyway he or she damn well pleases, if it suits the words, the thought, the image, even the internal flow. A poet CAN write like Captain Kirk (William Shatner) delivering his lines and still be "poetic". Read poetry wide and long and you will find almost every kind of presentation... from poet to poet, from era to era, even within the lifetime, or, a single day, of a poet. It is the story told, the image or emotion shared, the song that is sung, that rises from the heart of the author that matters... NOT the manner of presentation or language used. Fact: I often read poems in English, written by people for whom English is NOT a native language. The ideas flow, the feelings show, through, even the most broken presentation. I run non-English poems through Google translate. Sometimes it comes up gibberish, but, usually, I can understand what the poet was trying to say in their language, with their structures, and their mindset. Often what I see is beautiful and/or stimulating. I don't know how many of MY poems have had their origin in one of these. Poet? Write how you please, but write from your heart. • Donovan Baldwin

poems not yet written satin about your body waiting to touch you • Donovan Baldwin

5-Star Review/Crown Prince! https://tinyurl.com/tv5vrcwk #author #authorscommunity #bookaddict #bookishlife #bookreviews #bookworms #fantasy #fiction #FSFWritersAlliance #kilpack #newbloodsaga #readers #readersareleaders #readersgonnaread #WritingCommunity #iartg #ian1 #writerslift

In 1962-63, while a senior at Pensacola Catholic High, I worked as a theater usher at the Saenger Theatre (that's how they spelled it), on Palafox Street, in downtown Pensacola, Florida. On Saturday nights, we would have a midnight movie. At about 12:30, all the adults went home leaving us teenage ushers in the "custody" of an off-duty Pensacola police officer... in uniform. Ralph, a Pensacola police officer, who shall remain last nameless, was a nice guy and the cop who usually worked the midnight movie with me and my coworker, Jim. It was customary for the ushers, to hold onto an empty popcorn box, to dip extra popcorn out of the leftover popcorn bin (usually a lot). We would set the box up on the half wall between the lobby and the back seats and would dip into the box as we watched the movie. On Saturday nights, Ralph the cop would dip in with us. One particular Saturday night, Jim, the other usher, dipped into the popcorn box and accidentally knocked a shower of popcorn over the back row. People jumped up angrily, including some large, angry specimens of humanity. Jim apologized, and all seemed forgiven. A few minutes later, I went for the box and, being a bit clumsy sent another popcorn shower over the heads of already disgruntled patrons. Like Jim, I apologized profusely, and, with a few growls, and tugs on their sleeves from wives and dates, they sat back down. After a while, Ralph the Cop, reached for the box and sent it AND the fresh load of popcorn it contained into the back rows. I didn't wait to see how Ralph was going to handle his faux pas. I ran for the lobby and hid behind one of the ornate pillars. On the other side of the lobby, Jim had chosen the same tactic. And there, between us, behind another pillar, hiding out in full uniform, badge, gun, cuffs nightstick, and all, was one of Pensacola's finest, Ralph the Cop. • Donovan Baldwin

Grace 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!

An impetuous lover is Lust, Touching, demanding, Pleading, praying, Moving from rough to tender, Yet with an eye on pleasure, And an ear for the next Gasp, moan, sigh, That helps him direct, His hands, lips, tongue, And undivided attention. • Donovan Baldwin

you began as lust now i need you every way you have become love • Donovan Baldwin