Monday, December 23, 2024
NAKED NYMPH AMONG BLOSSOMS, AND MORE POEMS BY DONOVAN BALDWIN, AUGUST 18, 2024
naked nymph among blossoms
beside love's ocean
-----
shy she wears a mask
unaware her beauty shines
overwhelming me
-----
soft and sweet her smile
dark eyes full of messages
she hopes i will see
-----
a fantasy cat
a tale set in another land
a poet loved her
poet sought the words
that would break the evil spell
cast on his woman
curse not meant for her
but to punish the poet
for loving her too much
-----
expects him to come soon
she teases then releases
practicing on herself
-----
that blinding moment
she understand she's his muse
inspiration's source
-----
we two celebrate
rituals in love's temple
wordless offerings
-----
in 67 i hit the clubs
in san Francisco's north beach
checking out naked women
far beyond my reach
women i'd seen in playboy
topless before my eyes
country mouse in the city
not beginning to realize
yeah they were famous and sexy
a delight for this soldier to see
but today if they're still alive
they're a bit older than me
still it's a good memory
the night and the money well spent
though beer was so damn expensive
i'm still really happy i went
-----
first glimpse awakens
then strange bodies are boring
loving retains heat
-----
there's many bodies
but only one will hold you
that person's power
-----
Labels: cat, donovan baldwin, mask, muse, nymph, poems, poetry
Thursday, December 20, 2018
2 POEMS TO, ABOUT ERATO, MUSE OF POETRY
By Donovan Baldwin
Her name, Erato,
Said to mean,
"Desired",
"Lovely",
Muse of poets,
Those followers of desire,
Makers of lovely things
Woven from words,
Fashioned from the longings
Of hearts drunk on the sweet
Deceptive wine,
Of the Muse,
Erato.
-------
Where do lost poems go,
The ones arrived too early,
Or too late, or when the Muse
Has ceased her chant, and
Recanting of her desire to
Share her words with this
Mad poet,
Withdraws, veil upon her face,
Leaving him with but memory,
Of the most beautiful poem...
Never written?
Said to mean,
"Desired",
"Lovely",
Muse of poets,
Those followers of desire,
Makers of lovely things
Woven from words,
Fashioned from the longings
Of hearts drunk on the sweet
Deceptive wine,
Of the Muse,
Erato.
-------
Where do lost poems go,
The ones arrived too early,
Or too late, or when the Muse
Has ceased her chant, and
Recanting of her desire to
Share her words with this
Mad poet,
Withdraws, veil upon her face,
Leaving him with but memory,
Of the most beautiful poem...
Never written?
Labels: donovan baldwin, Erato, muse, poem, poetry, wine
