Wednesday, February 18, 2026
ESSAY - WORKERS IN THE NIGHT
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| DONOVAN BALDWIN |
Just Thinking:
When I was about 14, in Pensacola, Florida, I got a paper route. On my bicycle, I delivered the Pensacola Journal in the morning, the Pensacola News in the evening, and the huge, to me, combined Sunday edition.
I used to think that one of the most valuable lessons was the responsibility of getting up at 3 AM, picking up my papers at a tiny local gas station, delivering them dry and on the porch (or in the tube), no matter what the Florida weather. Same for the afternoon after school, AND staying awake in class, doing homework etc.
Recently, I've changed my mind a little.
The other stuff is true, but, as a young boy, I became aware of workers in the night... gas station attendants, ambulance drivers, police officers, the guy who raised the drawbridge, and even the people who wrote the news, printed the papers and those who delivered them to me. I saw the lights come on as people got ready to leave for work, or, I saw them come home as the sun came up.
Most kids didn't get to see that. For them, the world existed pretty much sun up to sun down.
Takes a lot of people behind the scenes to make the day happen.... and the night. I don't forget people I've never seen, the ones doing things I don't know about but are necessary.... or wanted by the rest of us.
When I was about 14, in Pensacola, Florida, I got a paper route. On my bicycle, I delivered the Pensacola Journal in the morning, the Pensacola News in the evening, and the huge, to me, combined Sunday edition.
I used to think that one of the most valuable lessons was the responsibility of getting up at 3 AM, picking up my papers at a tiny local gas station, delivering them dry and on the porch (or in the tube), no matter what the Florida weather. Same for the afternoon after school, AND staying awake in class, doing homework etc.
Recently, I've changed my mind a little.
The other stuff is true, but, as a young boy, I became aware of workers in the night... gas station attendants, ambulance drivers, police officers, the guy who raised the drawbridge, and even the people who wrote the news, printed the papers and those who delivered them to me. I saw the lights come on as people got ready to leave for work, or, I saw them come home as the sun came up.
Most kids didn't get to see that. For them, the world existed pretty much sun up to sun down.
Takes a lot of people behind the scenes to make the day happen.... and the night. I don't forget people I've never seen, the ones doing things I don't know about but are necessary.... or wanted by the rest of us.
-----
If you enjoyed this essay by the Fort Worth poet, Donovan Baldwin, you might also enjoy his essay, Rites Of Passage.
Labels: donovan baldwin, essay, Florida, night workers, paperboy, Pensacola, Pensacola Journal, Pensacola News
Tuesday, February 17, 2026
ESSAY - RITES OF PASSAGE
BY DONOVAN BALDWIN
Just Thinking:
I don't believe all "rites of passage" have to involve pain, but, growing up, a few did. I can only speak about guys at a certain place and time, yet, comparing notes with other "guys" over the years, we had similar experiences.
Our fathers seemed to believe that, despite my opening comment, one way to teach us was to cause pain.
In my dad's case, one example was, "Here. Hold this wire..." as he cranked a lawnmower.
Of course, the wire I was holding, poorly shielded, was the lead to the spark plug.
Ouch! Electricity hurts!
Of course, this can seem cruel, but, I learned a few valuable lessons about dealing with electricity, fish hooks, dull knives, misused tools, mistreated animals, and even people, through the time-tested "pain" method, which probably goes back to some caveman telling his kid, "Hey, Og! Wave your arms at that tiger to distract him, while I bop him on the head with this club."
That's how Og began his lessons on how to hunt and become a tribal leader like his old man.
Of course, Og's dad caught hell from the REAL tribal leader, his cavewoman wife, when she found out.
Still, Og and his dad formed a powerful bond, as the boy realized his dad had started to ready him to take a place in the lodge of men, and that Grandpa had probably done something similar to his dad to initiate HIM into manhood.
 |
| DONOVAN BALDWIN |
I don't believe all "rites of passage" have to involve pain, but, growing up, a few did. I can only speak about guys at a certain place and time, yet, comparing notes with other "guys" over the years, we had similar experiences.
Our fathers seemed to believe that, despite my opening comment, one way to teach us was to cause pain.
In my dad's case, one example was, "Here. Hold this wire..." as he cranked a lawnmower.
Of course, the wire I was holding, poorly shielded, was the lead to the spark plug.
Ouch! Electricity hurts!
Of course, this can seem cruel, but, I learned a few valuable lessons about dealing with electricity, fish hooks, dull knives, misused tools, mistreated animals, and even people, through the time-tested "pain" method, which probably goes back to some caveman telling his kid, "Hey, Og! Wave your arms at that tiger to distract him, while I bop him on the head with this club."
That's how Og began his lessons on how to hunt and become a tribal leader like his old man.
Of course, Og's dad caught hell from the REAL tribal leader, his cavewoman wife, when she found out.
Still, Og and his dad formed a powerful bond, as the boy realized his dad had started to ready him to take a place in the lodge of men, and that Grandpa had probably done something similar to his dad to initiate HIM into manhood.
------
If you liked this essay by the Fort Worth poet, Donovan Baldwin, you might enjoy his poems Neath Her Heated Skin.
Labels: donovan baldwin, essay, rites of passage
Thursday, February 12, 2026
POETRY - NEATH HER HEATED SKIN
BY DONOVAN BALDWIN
neath her heated skin
 |
| DONOVAN BALDWIN |
glowing needs burst into flames
at his hands' passing
-----
that first sudden gasp
involuntary response
before ecstasy
-----
not the man i was
yet i'm still the boy inside
who was taught to love
-----
she's in the shadows
figure barely viewable
reason that i write
-----
life's been a battle
victories followed by loss
yet again i rise
-----
What vintage this vision,
Apparition from another time,
In nicely naughty lingerie?
-----
Upon time's staircase,
A vision descending,
Past made present
Real or fantasy?
Une courtisane
En déshabillé
Seductive,
Sensuous
Forever.
-----
princess kiss this frog
close your eyes and just pretend
he's young and handsome
-----
dreamt you held my hand
our palms touched fingers entwined
love within my grasp
-----
her sweet voice a whisper
as in solitude we meet
my muse comes to me
-----
my words are sweetmeats
nuances that she can taste
mouth watering sins
-----
never enough words
my touches would tell you more
how i look at you
-----
inner flames flicker
anticipation's embers
desires set afire
-----
appears a moment
not certain if i'm watching
but i am and smile
-----
hair brushes my skin
a most delightful caress
intimate places
-----
if i could hold you
bring the rest you desire
the peace you deserve
-----
sadness upon me
for a place i cannot go
love i cannot hold
-----
why bother with dreams
they'll only make you long for
things that are not real
-----
was that you my love
whose sighs gasps and moans echoed
states of arousal
-----
i waited for you
scattering poems about
to lead you to me
-----
so long awaited
the infinite ecstasy
only passion rules
in her love's embrace
goaded by his caresses
and her own desires
now beyond the edge
she completely surrenders
to mindless pleasure
-----
she stands transparent
clad in vintage vestiges
accenting her art
-----
clear over the hills
ancient song which summons me
trade my sword for pen
-----
she is of shadows
blushing blossom hides between
shafts of sunlight
-----
bare shoulders are hot
you in my unbuttoned shirt
your waking up face
-----
the things you have done
things you still desire to do
have made me love you
-----
i'm old like ironsides
but better give me some space
i love to pinch butt
-----
she's so tightly wound
a light breeze across her skin
brings desired release
-----
she needs no restraints
he promises to use her
ways she can't resist
-----
spread yourself for me
expose intimate secrets
beg me to use you
-----
touched for a moment
with our words and images
igniting desires
-----
glistening with dew
this her succulent flower
her pastel orchid
-----
down upon her knees
prepared to give him pleasure
she pleases herself
-----
told me of her sins
many pleasant memories
sound so much like mine
-----
stretched taut gasping breaths
awaiting passionate words
scrawled upon her skin
-----
if only she knew
how long my soul searched for her
to know where she was
-----
heart wildly beating
blushing she reveals herself
no secret hidden
-----
she said they were sins
i told her they were virtues
she saw things my way
-----
living life alone
often felt invisible
but knew he saw her
-----
explored together
the freedom of their bodies
depths of their desires
-----
words held to her breast
she recalls how they had felt
as they entered her
-----
a moving shadow
old memories remembered
beauty recalls ruins
-----
posy of poems
gifting valentine's bouquet
where she is the rose
-----
some might call them sins
loving acts her heart demands
he adores her for
-----
loving acts she does
her innocent seductions
a holy woman
-----
in her rituals
reenacts their lovemaking
to the same climax
-----
clutching in her hands
secrets she has promised him
soon to be revealed
-----
more than mere shadow
this portrait of a woman
revealing secrets
-----
i see you've been here
evidence of interest
i wait patiently
-----
she can't stay away
comes to read each word he writes
he can't stay away
-----
yes she has explored
hidden hallways of desire
in her search for self
-----
secret stash of books
and forbidden implements
we love to play with
-----
hand in hand she led
to where desires were hidden
revealed one by one
-----
to show him what he seeks
lifts her shirt
in a titty flirt
just some tempting peeks
-----
a darker rose blooms
cinnamon petals with dew
to lure her lover
-----
memories of youth
aging poet trapped within
with his dying words
-----
oft of you and me
sometimes strangers sometimes friends
i will write of love
-----
bares body and mind
most intimate permission
loving thoughts and touch
-----
so proudly exposed
no longer invisible
bared within his words
-----
If you enjoyed these poems by the Fort Worth poet, Donovan Baldwin, you might also enjoy Fall In Love Again, and Other Poems.
Labels: donovan baldwin, erotica, love, poems, poetry
