Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

By Donovan Baldwin

Picture of a dancer
Capturing in a momentary flight
The freedom of movement,
The release of the body from
Confinements of convention
And condemnation allowing
Expression of the desire for
The ultimate pleasure,
Fulfillment of the senses,
In the interpretation, integration,
Of life and love and love of life
Into her body's unrestricted
And unconfined movements.

-----

Why did they leave their lands,
My English ancestors,
My Irish, German, Scottish, and,
As my DNA tells me, ancient strangers
From some nebulous Northwestern Europe?
What drove or drew them?
Passion or persecution,
A desire to escape, or to acquire,
Or simply
The inescapable tide of history?

-----

mockingbird herald
ahead on my morning walk...
leading me onward

-----

red tailed hawk watches
waiting for rabbit or mouse...
breakfast on the grass

-----

shadows overhead
life in its final struggles...
vultures are patient

-----

tired cowboy nighthawk
rasping voice sings age old songs...
herd his audience

(Stuck a little pun in there.)
Art: Olaf Wieghorst: "Nighthawk"

-----

no seductive gown
clad simply in glowing love...
bare admiration

-----
Poetry copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: ancestors, dancer, donovan baldwin, haiku, mockingbird, poems, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

A drive along the coast
Majestic trees and crashing waves.
Big blue ocean alive at the shore,
Extends into another eternity.
Sea meets sky and disappear
Together over an unseen horizon,
Become the same for shores with
Other watchers contemplating
Similar sights and considerations.

-----

i am receptor
collector of stray signals...
focused into beams

-----

peaceful warrior
soldier once poet often...
contradictory

-----

if you felt my words
sense them as they flow through me...
you would cry with joy

-----

black night out west
mountain hidden beside me...
distant lonesome howls

-----

it always changes
despite same sun trees wind sky...
each day truly new

-----

Walking amid the slowly waving trees
Listening to the wordless messages
Leaves and branches voice of the wind,
The nearby repetitions of the waves,
The earth saying so much without
Words or voice, branding me with
The sun's heat, burning in the
Memories I'll cherish forever,
Youth in nature never forgotten.

-----

I walk boldly onto
This dangerous field of poetry,
Armored only in a weak chain mail
Made of plaited phrases,
Leaving behind my lexicon shield,
Taking in place of page, my muse,
To serve up my weapon words,
And, bind my wounds after,
Consoling me with kisses.

-----

Something about the written word
The smell of books, touch of the pages
Reality in reverse and forward,
Reader and writer sharing contact
Of mind and heart and almost hand,
As one sets down upon a printed page
Thoughts and ideas to be picked up,
Turned over, and stored away with greed,
To later run our fingers through and
Gloat in private at our treasure.

-----
Poetry copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Photograph, Pacific Ocean, Monterey Peninsula by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: black night, donovan baldwin, haiku, Monterey, Pacific Ocean, poems, poetry, trees, warrior

By Donovan Baldwin

AWAITING BLONDEL

A writer's self banishment,
Poet walled within his mind,
Pacing restlessly back and forth,
Measuring the dimensions of his cell,
Where to fit on stones and into corners
Memories of brightness and laughter,
Tumbled images glimpsed momentarily,
Between his bars of solitude,
Awaiting the song of an itinerant minstrel,
Come to ransom him, and take him home.

NOTE: One legend is, first narrated in the 13th century, that he played a part in the discovery and release of King Richard I of England from his imprisonment (1192–94) by the Holy Roman emperor Henry VI. Supposedly, according to legend, he traveled the countryside singing part of a song he and Richard had written, and found where Richard was held when he heard him sing part of the song back.
-----

slow dance in moonlight
barely move but to caress...
body to body

-----

my mind reaches out
intangible caresses...
somewhere she blushes

-----

her colorful soul
shining bright with light and love...
hidden for so long

-----

sacred demeter
goddess of fertility...
kneel at her altar

-----

When alone in the woods
As the moon plays tricks with
Light and shadow among the trees
And the wind makes darkness
Come alive in sight and sound,
I find it easily understood how
Our ancient ancestors created
Myth and legend peopled with
Strange creatures glimpsed,
Or so they uncertainly believed,
But not understood, and deities,
Created from wisps of imagination,
Gods and goddesses crippled with
The fearsome frailties of man.

-----

neath tree's umbrella
lovers hiding in the rain...
sharing wet kisses

-----

call me elixir
fill yourself with my sweet love...
until it's my turn

-----

arms wrapped around you
kissing the back of your neck...
your sigh asks for more

-----

cursive from nib pen
meaty words weightier than...
ball point capitals

-----

contemplative pause
dawn's cup lifted to my lips...
night flees with my dreams

-----

Labels: Blondel, caresses, dance, Demeter, donovan baldwin, King Richard, kissing, poems, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

I found a simple penny,
To me, a poor man, riches,
Laying upon my path.
Carried it for luck,
For it could buy nothing more,
But, ever in my pocket,
It became the beginnings of,
A fortune I may someday have.

-----

freshly laundered sky
neat in colorful array...
this day's new raiment

-----

The world is a distant place,
Long hallways, echoing of
The voices of people I
Cannot see, words I
Cannot understand,
Trapped in my
Diseased mind
Lost in some place,
Deserted and left alone
Turning about and searching
For something that defines myself.

-----

world's a dark place for
strangers seeking warmth and light...
lonely universe

-----

when the music stopped
i never noticed silence...
words whisper to me

-----

I am not hurt by the disdain of strangers.
My pride depends upon the value,
I've decided and assigned myself,
And, should I please myself with
Good opinion or behavior,
Then I will rest at peace.

-----

When mortal clay loses
The water of its life
Back to dust it goes,
Leaving only echoes,
Among the living,
While useless husk,
Forever lifeless,
Has only words,
And pictures real
Or remembered
As other proof that
Once it was
Alive within the world.

----

Labels: donovan baldwin, haiku, poems, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

Part warrior, all poet,
Wielder of weapon or pen,
With equal alacrity, one
Mightier than the other
Depending on circumstances,
Cause, and foe, but always
For what I see as truth,
Beauty, love with my most
Humanly discriminating eyes.

-----

send me messages
to read in my quietness...
silently reply

-----

i learned her secrets
she revealed her hidden self...
i saw her treasure

-----

I hear and understand
The messages of the wind,
Fragrance of bold red flowers
Small secrets whispered among
Trees and grasses, and sung about
By birds and cold running water,
Burned into the souls of us all
In rays of the afternoon sun,
Molded in silver moonlight,
Stories told us by ancients,
When we all were poets,
In bold conversation

-----

intimate moment
my head on your naked #leg...
planning my journey

-----

our hands intertwined
staring at the universe...
sharing forever

-----

all life's ups and downs
so easy when together...
a carnival ride

-----

warm fragrant flower
i become a swarm of one...
let's make some honey

-----

to silent music
dance a motionless embrace...
endless cotillion

-----

i am what i write
revealing the hidden man...
words reality

-----

Poetry copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Image: Movie Still, Cyrano de Bergerac (1950)

Labels: Cyrano de Bergerac, donovan baldwin, fragrant flower, nature, poems, poetry, warrior poet

By Donovan Baldwin

Those little lines on maps,
The smallest, sometimes mere dots,
Most boring lines meandering, but,
Upon the earth, becoming
The most daring routes
Beckoning the foolhardy,
Irrepressible adventurers, and,
Poets, who specialize in turning
Boring lines into beautiful
Pathways of the imagination.

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Embracing in our cozy love nest,
Intimately entwined in search of
Mutually consensual ecstasy,
Each making love to... for... the other,
We reach that consummate state
Of orgasmic bliss, feeding upon
The pleasure given to our lover.

-----

i'm too old sometimes
the visible part you see...
inside much younger

-----

so bold is her touch
as if sculptor seeking me...
i pose barely breathe

-----

skin touched by night's breeze
in moon glow so sensuous...
goddess in the flesh

-----

i think i taste you
in the flavor of your name...
almost like kisses

-----

i plant my kisses
hope to cultivate your love...
reap the benefits

-----
Poetry copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Image: Road Map of the state of Arizona, USA

Labels: Arizona, haiku, kisses, love nest, poems, poetry, taste, touch

By Donovan Baldwin

coffee and kisses
tangled sheets and tempting smiles...
morning wake up call

-----

passionate embrace
poetry amid kisses...
a tasting of words

-----

Life's about stories,
We are told, but I
Curious poet,
Think more about...
The blank pages
Broken dialogue
Undeveloped plots
Wisps of characters
We create, then...
Leave behind.

-----

i called you pretty
at first you didn't believe...
i taught you the truth

-----

so old school am i
touching the brim of my hat...
we silently pass

-----

such a shining light
your words and thoughts light my world...
illuminating!!!

-----

tell me you love me
burning words upon my soul...
branded for all time

-----

adrift in your tides
afloat on love's endless sea...
unending journey

-----

she is a princess
i knight in shining armor...
loving fantasy

-----

They were the blackberry days,
Barefoot on the hot beach,
Reaching into the wild
Burgeoning bushes for
The fattest blackberries,
Paying with scratches from
The protective thorns,
Fee for the bittersweet feast.

-----

Slamming wooden screen doors,
Buzzing of flies doomed to die inside,
Slowly swirling ceiling fans, BAC,
Before air conditioning,
When we sweated together,
Enduring the heat of summer,
Not missing air conditioned air,
We so seldom knew, but,
In the cool dark of movie theaters.
Where the good guys wore white hats
To be cool, I suppose.

-----

pearls around your neck
warmly attract my vision...
a lovely setting

-----

Poetry by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: coffee, donovan baldwin, kisses, passionate embrace, poems, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

fingers caress skin
most arousing sensation...
i ache with desire

-----

show me no regrets
let pleasure overtake you...
it's what we're here for

-----

kisses like petals
gently touch me up and down...
and we both blossom

-----

naive innocence
queen of seductive powers...
secret sorceress

-----

the fragrance of you
i breathe in waves of passion...
arousal in the air

-----

her lust does not tarnish
arising from love's desire...
angelic human

-----

your softest whisper
reaches me from far away...
moon our messenger

-----

color fills her cheeks
her breast rises fast and full...
irresistible

-----

Labels: donovan baldwin, fragrance, haiku, innocence, kisses, love, lust, pleasure, poems, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

i watch in moonlight
hoping to catch a quick glimpse...
a passing goddess

-----

glittering ocean
changing every time i look...
drowning in your eyes

-----

dive into your depths
drifting within your ocean...
awaken on shore

-----

our private secrets
love stories enacted with...
different endings

-----

you are my model
posing for me constantly...
even when absent

-----

At the urging of the nuns,
I read of Homer's heroes,
Ravishing Helen who toppled
The "topless towers of Ilium",
Words musical to a boy,
A stirring tale replete
With godlike warriors,
And too human goddesses,
So romantically inclined
And also loosely clad, bosomy
Female deities full of passion,
Seething human frailties and desires
How could I, impressionable teen,
Fail to become entranced,
With the romance of poetry?

-----

Beauty not seen,
Not heard, yet sensed,
Understood without
Sound or sight,
Absence adding as much
As presence,
Making that which is here
So much more obvious.

-----
Poetry copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Painting, Selene, by Albert Aublet

Labels: donovan baldwin, haiku, Helen, Homer, moonlight, poems, poetry, topless towers of Ilium

By Donovan Baldwin

There's memories
In old wood floors,
They first catch your eye
With subtle tones,
Speak in creaks and groans
Pictures richer than
Artificial tile or
Glittering stone.

Dark hardware stores,
Smelling of tools and oil,
1950's soda fountains,
With slow fans overhead,
The father-son place
I bought the office supplies
In that little Florida town,
The antique store in France,
The house I grew up in,
Windows open to the light
And the sounds of the bay,
Daddy in his easy chair,
Mama in the kitchen,
The dog barking
At birds and squirrels.

"Be careful
On your way to the kitchen,
Or the needle will skip
And scratch the record..."

Opera on a Sunday
At 33 RPM...

Old wooden floors
Creaking with steps of time.

-----
Poem copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Photograph of old wooden floor, old book store, Fredericksburg, Virginia, by John Ayo

Labels: nostalgia, poem, poetry, wooden floors

By Donovan Baldwin

mere wooden carving
soaring ecstatically...
takes my soul with her

-----

from her box of toys
she points out her preference...
quivers with desire

-----

dancer in my dreams
girl gone woman in the present...
soaring leaps of love

-----

sweet departed sylph
lithe girl of old fantasies...
now a real woman

-----

pounding of the rain
wind sound roaring in my head...
my body trembles

-----

spirit uplifted
by nature's awesome beauty...
orgasmic moment

-----

i'll never grow up
love loves fight fights of my youth...
and live forever

-----

Each separate day is neither
Long nor wide enough
For all out dreams and desires,
Yours and mine overlapping.

As we each make the best
For ourselves and our loves,
We must cut and form our hours,
And dreams to fit one another.

-----

Tide's out, slow ripples,
Water like restoration glass,
Waves of sand visible
In the shallows,
Appearing to move with
Sun through prismatic water,
As small fiddler crabs scuttle
Out and in their holes
Scattered across the mud flats,
On their secret crabby missions.

-----

Copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin
Woodcarving after Winged Victory artist unknown

Labels: box of toys, dancer, donovan baldwin, haiku, poems, poetry, real woman, winged victory, wood carving

By Donovan Baldwin

love's like an ocean
its tides so deeply flowing...
floating wet and warm

-----

ocean's quenching waves
cooling my fires of desire...
for all but my love

-----

sounds of talking waves
stories told in distant tongues...
i sit and listen

-----

warm waves on my toes,
steals the sand beneath my feet...
we hold each other

-----

kiss in the shallows
holding on in surging surf...
dragging us deeper

-----

wearing funny hats
cake and ice cream we're naked...
a private party

-----

rocks in the water
bare feet on sharp barnacles...
tendrils of blood swirl

-----

dark streets of munich
annie's at the rhumba bar...
my old memories

-----

i bought her flowers
sad rosie the prostitute...
working her birthday

-----

so damn many scars
a few happy memories...
how i became me

-----

I knew he was crazy,
But, he had no real friends.
I took him with me,
To Munich,
To The Rhumba Bar.
Didn't like the booze,
The service,
The girls.
Asked me to get the car,
Ran out,
Jumped in,
Drive!!!
I slashed their seats!
My favorite dive.
Couldn't go back.
The owner, Eddie the Jockey
Was good with a knife...
Too.

-----

let's not be fancy
stick to plain words and kisses...
no embellishments

-----

heavy lidded eyes
many soft and sleepy sighs...
carry you to bed

-----

tuck you tightly in
with many goodnight kisses...
stand watch by your side

-----

i taste your story
savoring the spicy parts...
fingers mark the spot

-----

Poems copyright 2020 by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: donovan baldwin, haiku, kiss, Munich, ocean, poems, poetry, prostitute, sea

By Donovan Baldwin

In the graveyard of St. Lawrence
Church on Parrot Lane,
Cholesbury, England,
Lay resting
Ancient relatives of mine, cousins,
Exponentially removed by
Space and time from this
20th century Florida lad,
They, loyal (methinks) subjects of
Good Queen Bess, Elizabeth No. 1,
Unaware of our distant relativity,
And what their seed begot.

-----

paint her in colors
bright and gay and sad and gray...
love her any way

-----

reality spurs
ideas ephemeral...
like smoke hard to hold

-----

nearer than my skin
your arms and heart draw me tight...
as two becomes one

-----

sharing our pleasures
grown out of our strong desires...
blissful enjoyment

-----

we dine with red wine
exhilarated embrace...
drunk on each other

-----

her moonlit body
my fingers liquid silver...
erotic drawings

-----

she steps proudly forth
from her sheltering clothing...
determination

-----

lovers on the screen
offer little distraction
from our performance

-----

two lovely warm moons
glowing silver in the night...
my fantasy world

-----

hothouse rose blushes
observed it rises open...
awaits attention

-----

let's converse naked
make shameful revelations...
then make love again

-----

twenty-five percent
no real chance of rain today...
why is the street wet?

-----

Labels: body, Cholesbury, donovan baldwin, England, erotic, haiku, love, Parrot Lane, poems, poetry, skin, St. Lawrence Church, wine

Isometric Exercises - Easy Senior Strength Exercises?

Unlike many other exercises with which you may be familiar, isometric exercises are done, instead of by moving things around, such as lifting weights or pulling against resistance, or even by body weight exercises, such as push ups, by trying instead to move things...that don't move.

By: Donovan Baldwin

Sweet music softly coaxed
From old guitars,
Strummed and stroked
Gently
To ancient island rhythms
Of sea and sand,
Wind and wave,
Punctuated by
The cries of a single gull lost,
Somewhere over the black water.
The moon paints a silver pathway
Across the water to this mystic shore,
Where dances,
Swaying slowly,
Provocatively,
In ancient and age old pattern,
A magic woman whose body,
Turns music into movement.
The movement becomes message,
The message a love story...
Ours,
As, with smiling eyes, and sensuous step,
Graceful swirl, reminiscent of
The gentle midnight touches of the sea upon the shore...
She dances only for me
Naked in the sacred light of our moon.

- Donovan Baldwin
January 2, 2019

Labels: donovan baldwin, hula dancer, love story, magic woman, music, naked, old guitars, poem, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

picture of lovers
photograph in black and white...
we can see their souls

Inspired by a quote from Ted Grant, Canadian photojournalist.

"When you photograph people in color you photograph their clothes. When you photograph people in black and white, you photograph their soul!"

-----

i once knew these words
ancient friends who through the night
told me tales of you

-----

birds goodbye to night
serves too as sunrise greeting...
poets understand

-----

cups fall as they may
warm loving drink fills my mouth...
imbibed from the source

-----

resting my tired head
upon welcoming bosom...
she croons me love songs

-----

she's my food and drink
savory feast of loving...
with lots of dessert

-----

night's arms enfold with
bold kisses and caresses...
a secret i'll keep

-----

Poetry copyright 2020 By Donovan Baldwin

Labels: donovan baldwin, food and drink, haiku, kiss goodbye, photograph, picture of lovers, poems, poetry, resting my head, Ted Grant

By Donovan Baldwin

The blind man on the corner
Used to pick out a ragged tune
On his old guitar, its notes
Nearly as blurred and blue as
His voice muttered a recitation,
And yet the tatters of it all
Hung together as a memory,
Which lasted from boy to man.

-----

Gown woven of
Subtle notes and chords,
From the strings of
An old guitar,
Words of an old love song,
Gossamer fabric, barely there,
Nearly invisible in the night,
Yet the stars of your eyes
As you look into mine,
Light the vision of
The woman I've made love to,
So often in my dreams,
In moonlight,
To the soft
Strumming of guitars.

-----

Soulful guitarist,
Head bowed over the neck,
Calloused fingers picking out
The spots between the frets,
Which make the notes
He plucks.
Sad notes, somehow,
Though the same notes used
In joyful songs,
And warlike anthems,
For, it's not the note itself,
But where and how it's placed,
Among the other notes,
And how it's played.

-----

Over half a century
Since last I saw the old blind man,
Heard him play his battered old guitar,
Sing old songs at the corner of
Palafox and Romana streets,
In my hometown of
Pensacola, Florida.
Old and gray he was,
The songs from some forever past
Now I miss him with only
My own old memories
A fading face and forgotten song.

-----

I practiced my guitar,
The mangled notes,
Seeming sweet to me,
As dance steps
Practiced in a kitchen,
Feel so professional,
Or a love story
We tell ourselves in
Blushing confidence,
Needed,
But not believed.
We practice life,
Call it good.
Sometimes,
We see the truth,
And cry.

-----

Upon a rude table,
In a simple cabana
On the shore,
Between sea and forest,
Two glasses,
Cheap red wine,
Golden candle glow,
As sun sinks,
I fetch my old
Ragged book of poems,
Lay a plate of cheese,
And coarse bread,
Set old vinyl spinning...
Soft guitar music,
And you enter...

-----

Sounds from my guitar,
Not the sweetest, but,
They are my contribution
To the music of the universe.
Words of my poems,
Not recorded with classics,
But, again, my small offering,
Of the dreams I've dreamed.
The love of my heart,
Not spoken of
In hushed tones,
Yet, real and true.

-----

In the darkness of the night,
With love I strum you, play you,
Fingering out the notes of you,
Like an old and loved guitar.
Kisses and caresses,
Coaxing dulcet cries from your heart,
Singing out songs made of words,
Sounds from deep within your being,
Words and sounds,
Of gladness, sadness,
Glorious madness,
Moans and gasps filling our night,
As we both soar to heavenly places,
Singing in wrenching chorus as if,
To make angels weep with happiness
For the most pleasurable sins of man...
And woman.

-----

silent music plays
dancer taps her dainty foot...
i hear the guitars

-----

How can this staid old poet,
Have 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?

-----

Where's the old blind guitarist
Local Leadbelly on the corner,
Crooning in an aged velvety voice,
Words I didn't always understand,
To chords that didn't always match,
Yet together with the old man's voice,
The old guitar's mellow tone,
Made me musical memories.

-----

Softly, softly,
Somewhere in the night,
The sound of music,
Guitars and violins,
Repeating old refrains,
The soft susurration of
Your bare feet upon the sand,
Drawing my eyes to your
Dancing figure, smiling face,
Desiring you as we step
To the night's music
Which binds us as one.

-----

tonight will be more cheap red wine
erotic poetry and thoughts of love
spanish guitars and gypsy violins
play songs to set the soul on fire
fanning the flames of desire, as
before me dances the woman
and i watch the dear woman
dancer of my dreams real
within my heated mind.

-----

It echoes in my mind,
Reverberating in my heart,
From out of old memories,
A haunting refrain,
Violins and guitars,
Quiet voices singing
In night's dark arena,
Lit by a fire redolent
Of pine and amour,
Eyes searching for the one
Whose love has woven
This net of floating embers.

-----

Tonight red wine will flow,
There will be guitars and violins,
Voices raised above the storm,
In defiance of the winds of time,
Tying together yesterdays and tomorrows,
As we again live out our odysseys,
Sharing secret kisses and caresses,
Until our sweet madness dies at dawn.

-----
Poetry copyright Donovan Baldwin

Labels: donovan baldwin, guitar music, guitar player, guitars, poems, poetry