Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

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