Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

By: Donovan Baldwin

If I could use my words
I would use them to:


Tease you, tantalize you, tempt you,
Cajole, caress, and comfort you.
Take you, wrapped in love's embrace
To the heights of ecstasy,
And further still...

Until...

Gasping with the pleasure of the ride,
You collapsed with me once more,
Upon the breast of Earth.

I would use my words to:
Bring you to your knees,
Pledging undying love,
And a willingness to
Do my bidding in all ways
So that I could have the joy
Of freeing you from that pledge.

If I could use my words so well,
I would use them
To make you speak the truth
About the deepest secrets and desires
Within your heart.

And, with my words, I would assure
That you never doubted
Your secrets would be kept.
But, never could I use my words
To hurt, harm, or disrespect
The pure, sweet soul
Within your breast.

Labels: donovan baldwin, love poem, original poem, original poetry, poem, poem about words, poetry, romantic poem, romantic poetry, words

By: Donovan Baldwin

Outside the window,
From the room where I sit,
A bit unwell, I watch
White herds of clouds,
Move casually across
The bright blue sky
As nearly gale-force winds,
Whip the limbs of mature trees,
As if they were saplings.

Tho' stuck inside today,
I am reminded that the Earth,
Is alive, always alive,
As I remember from my childhood,
When I roamed beach and woods,
Climbing trees to ride the winds,
Diving into the bay to explore,
Following the tracks of animals,
Listening to the calls or birds.

Yes, the Earth was alive,
And, still so much alive today,
But, it's reminding me that
My life is winding down.
I didn't used to be so still,
So sedentary, settled in my ways,
Existence controlled by pain,
As outside the window, the Earth
Reminds me that it is still alive.

Still, I remember the Earth as it was,
On other days when clouds galloped
Across leaden skies, ahead of storms,
As winds tore pieces of things apart,
And scattered them about,
Much more violently than today's winds.
The Earth doesn't remember me,
But, someday I will be part of the Earth,
And, perhaps if no one remembers me,
They will remember the Earth
I am a part of.

Who knows who I am watching
Play around outside the window?
I don't know who from the past
I am watching today, but,
I tip my hat as they blow past,
Remembering that the Earth is us,
And we are the Earth.
It is good to remember one another,
As I sit and watch out the window.

Labels: donovan baldwin, looking out the window, original poem, original poetry, poem, poem about the earth, poem about wind, poem about window, poet, poetry

Recently I wrote a poem, "Her Face" and published it on LinkedIn,using the same picture you see to the right here.

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.

Labels: Disneyland, donovan baldwin, girl, original poem, original poetry, poem, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin



A beautiful vision sings to me
With the voice of a fallen angel,

Her voice piercing my soul,
Daring me, tempting me,
With dreams and images of
Pleasures and delights,
Seldom sung about
In Heaven.

If I should fall
Within the power of her voice,
I cannot be redeemed,
For her song is far too strong,
And stirs my soul,
To dream of evil,
And of good,
As if were one.

Call her "Temptress", or "She Devil",
If you will,
But, it is the truth,
The angel that she is,
Is witnessed by the sound,
Of her sweet voice,
And sight of her angelic face,
Full of mystery and beauty,
Whose sight creates desire,
In a mortal man.

Sailors of another time,
Spoke of the Sirens
In their legends,
And, as those fabled singers,
She can lure me into any danger
With her siren-song,
And her beautiful face,
As a beacon before me.

Oh! Fallen angel never cease to sing.
Punish me, reward me, and redeem me
With your song,
For I would hear thy sweet voice,
Throughout eternity,
And never be banished,
From thy presence.

Copyright March 14, 2017 by Donovan Baldwin

Labels: fallen angel, original poem, original poetry, poem, poetry, siren, siren song, sirens

By Donovan Baldwin

"We cannot find the singer.
We've searched and all agree.
He's gone, his cloak on river bank
His lyre beside a tree."

One by one they nodded, said,
"His recent songs were sad,
But once they kept us dancing,
Full of life, so warm and glad."

They never knew the sorrow,
That the singer bore within,
The sad dreams that beset him,
Not betrayed by happy grin.

Year by year the darkness grew
His Muse dimmed and went away,
Light and color faded slowly
Til he only saw in gray.

Still he sang for other's gladness,
As his happiness grew dim,
Hastened by the knowledge,
That no one sang for him.

Then came the day the singer
No longer could be found,
Just his lyre beside a tree,
His coat upon the ground.

If you enjoy a singer's song,
Accept it and be glad.
Just remember that the singer's heart,
Might within be foul and bad.

One thing that may give happiness,
To a soul that's growing dim,
Is knowing that somewhere someone,
May sing a song for him.

Copyright Donovan A. Baldwin, Jr 10/7/2016

Find more poems and articles by this author at Ravensong.mysite.com

Labels: donovan baldwin, original poem, poem, poet, poetry, sad, singer