Wednesday, April 26, 2017
In dark forest there I saw,
The huntress washed with moonlight,
Silver goddess, bow upraised.
She saw me not in my secret shadow,
But, I know she knows I saw,
Her naked beauty, streaming hair,
Behind the stag in fevered flight.
"Stay goddess," cried my heart and soul,
As on she ran back into legend,
Myth, song, and dreams,
Which would fill my days, and nights, forever.
Tuesday, April 25, 2017
Poem: My Beloved's Secret Rose
My beloved has a sweet and secret rose.
Sometimes she allows me
To see the beauty of its petals
And gently touch the beauteous bud
Within its sweet center.
When I am allowed by my love I press
My lips to that sweet flower,
Like bee, butterfly, or hummingbird,
Sip the honeyed nectar that drips within.
So sweet, so sweet....
Not just the honey that drips,
The love that asks me to taste
And sample the sweetness of her secret rose.
I close my eyes and I can see, taste,
The petals of the rose against my cheeks,
The taste of the honey of her love
Upon my tongue.
Friday, April 21, 2017
Poem: One Girl's Face
The original backstory is that this is a photograph I took at Disneyland in 1967. It is of a girl standing in a doorway. She just seemed to pretty and so far away in thought at the "Magic Kingdom" that her quiet loveliness made an almost visceral impact on me. I never saw her again and have no idea who she is. I thought about her for days afterwards.
I have looked at the picture from time to time over the years and wondered who she was, what happened to her, and...well, things that young poets wonder.
When I wrote the poem, "Your Face", I got some comments, which I appreciated. One LinkedIn connection in particular, Dashi Haziraj made some observations which I found so poetic and insightful, that they influenced me to write another poem using some of the images and thoughts she presented.
So, while I wrote this poem, I must say that it never would have happened except for the comment and discussion provided by Dashi Haziraj.
One Girl's Face
By Donovan Baldwin
Fifty years ago I passed, and,
Tried to read in one girl's face,
Two stories; hers and mine.
Mine was fantasy with her as heroine.
Was I in hers? I doubt she ever saw me.
I have no knowledge of her story,
But, I could sense shadows of dreams
Behind her eyes, which stared out
Towards a place, where surely,
Something wonderful was happening.
Did she long to go there,
In that fantastic world?
Did someone ride to save her,
From the boredom of daily drudgery?
In her story, was her simple dress
Transformed Into a gown most beautiful?
Was her soft dark hair topped,
With a bejeweled tiara?
There are, as I was told, a million
Faces I might see, and each a story,
I will never be allowed to read.
So, what I read in one girl's face,
Was, and must remain romantic mystery.
Perhaps some day, that girl herself,
Now as old as I, may tell in her own words,
The story that her eyes beheld that day
That only they could see, and she could read,
The story told beyond, or perhaps behind,
That one girl's face, fifty years ago.