Ravensong Poetry And Writing Blog by Donovan Baldwin

By Donovan Baldwin

I left my house and walked to the shore,

The white sand laced with seaweed,

And dotted with shells.

Hands in pockets and wind roaring in my ears,

I walked beside the talking water,

Rolling in and rolling out

Talking to me of faraway lands.

I was a boy and only knew of distant places

From books I had read, or from lessons

Taught at school.

Being a boy, all was jumbled up in my head

Treasure Island side by side with

Encyclopaedia Britannica.

Sants and sinners lived "out there"

Somewhere across that water,

And, despite the efforts of the nuns,

I liked the sinners better,

I thought.

Still do, sometimes.

Out in the bay a sometimes ship

Went by, going somewhere...out there,

and, on weekends, I could see

The white sails of pleasure craft as people enjoyed

A happy life I could only dream of.

Then, one day, I left my house.

I went out there

And met some sinners and some saints

And still like the sinners better,

Generally.

While I was gone

My father left this world,

My mother left the house,

And I lost track of who I was.

Then, one day I came back.

The house was there, but, not my house.

And, I realized with sadness,

I had left my house for the last time.

9/30/2016

Labels: aging, death, home, house, life, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

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 covering her face,
Leaving him with but fading memory,
Of the most beautiful poem...
Never written?

Labels: poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry

Lover's Tale
By: Donovan Baldwin

On wet gray stones my boot heels clattered,
Echoes from silent walls... as if it mattered,
That she and I had passed this way,
And, parted at the dawn of day.

One hurried night of thoughtless pleasure,
While taken to its coarsest measure,
Within my heart a bright light gleamed,
It had been more than what it seemed.

Touched, oh yes touched deeply by,
The lady who had caught my eye,
Who I had claimed so casually,
Yet, tossed aside so soon to be...

And yet, twas I was caught within,
As net of love rose from our sin,
And as I heard the first bell toll,
She left ME there, a joke so droll.

As I lay, unbelieving and heartsore,
She left my world and shut the door,
And let the darkness in my soul,
Yes, on ME a joke so droll.

19 July 2018

Labels: love poem, lovers, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, sad poem

By: Donovan Baldwin

One night I wandered aimlessly as
Night fell on mountain, plain, and sea.

I sighed, and sadly sang a mournful tune,
Which caught the ear of Lady Moon.

Moon wondered why I sat so sad,
And, spoke her wish that I be glad.

"But, Lady Moon," I wept to say,
My dearest love is far away.

Miles and miles from me she sleeps,
Between the sands and ocean deeps.

I love her greatly, yet cannot go,
Kneel at her feet to tell her so."

Lady Moon glowed then silver-white,
And, said, "I see her every night.

She gazes in the sky for me,
Sees secret lover's words from Thee.

She keeps your words locked in her heart,
And, dreams of days you're not apart.

Then, pressing moonbeams to her breast
In peaceful slumber takes her rest.

As memories of your silver song,
Play in her dreams til night is gone.

When the Sun, she wakes to see,
Her first words are that she loves thee.


Copyright 2018

Labels: distant love, distant lover, love poem, moon, moon poem, poem about separated lovers, poem about the moon, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, romantic poetry, sad poem

By: Donovan Baldwin

If one day I awoke, and you were not there,
My computer screen was blank,
Without a message from you,
And, I was left to wonder...

Would I cry?

If I sent a question, or told a story,
And there was no response,
Despite repeated requests,
And, I was left to wonder...

Would I cry?

If I began to think that it was over,
That you no longer cared about
What I thought or dramed,
And lived a life withot me...

Would I cry?

If I realized how much you meant,
But, had forgotten how much you were,
In my heart and in my mind,
Every moment of each day...

Would I cry?

Of course I would.

Labels: love poem, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, sad poem, would I cry

By Donovan Baldwin

I sent someone
To tell the Sun,
To shine on you today.

The Sun said, "No.
I shall not go.
I will hide my face away."

Then, I climbed high,
Into the sky,
And, did so out of love.

Despite his wrath,
I cleared Sol's path,
As he passed so high above.

I'll not hesitate,
To alter fate,
I'm up for any crime.

To make skies be clear,
In your world, dear,
And, the Sun shine all the time.

Donovan Baldwin 7/19/2017

Labels: poem, poem about the sun, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

** With apologies to Edgar Allen Poe **


Each night in dread anticipation
I await a visitation
By a guest named, "Inspiration".

Sequestered in my smoke-filled den
Prepared to quickly let him in,
If he should visit me again.

As minutes crawl and hours fly,
Without his having yet stopped by,
I remind myself that I...

On many a long and barren night
Swore I'd give in without a fight
And "Nevermore!" attempt to write.

Yet, here I sit, awake once more,
As so many nights before,
Mind a blank, eyes red and sore.

Perhaps he needs this indication
Of my unceasing dedication,
To this, my chosen avocation.

In truth, I think it's in his head
To come when most of night has fled,
And I've given up and gone to bed.

8/28/83
**Published in The Advocate, 1993**

Labels: Edgar Allen Poe, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, The Raven, writers block

By Donovan Baldwin

The times, the places, the people that I care about,
All seem so far away.

As if all are at a great distance and can only dimly
Be sensed...or imagined?

Perhaps that's all it is, just a dream, an imagining,
Of what I wished for.

Reality is near, and I can feel its weight. Happy times,
Seem so far away.

That's how it's been and is still, this thing, "life",
A weight to be borne.

Children run and play in the Sun, without a care
In a playground far away.

Nothing here is real, because I have chosen to live
In a land so far away.

Today is the nearest thing, near to yesterday and tomorrow,
And no real difference.

When the finest things were near I should have held them,
Not let them slip away...

So far away

Labels: donovan baldwin, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, sad poem, so far away

By Donovan Baldwin

When people speak of passion,
They use words like
"Hot", "Fiery", "Burning",
As if passion were always heat.

Heat for me evokes
A clearing in a jungle
Or a beach in sunlight,
A summer day spent driving nails,
And carrying iron rods
Made burning hot by the Sun...

Or hard hot times when I wore,
A helmet, a web belt loaded down,
With ammunition, water, and more,
And carried an M-16.

My passions are never near the surface,
And so,
Do not know, or show, "heat".

They are cold as the color of moonlight,
As it showed me your face,
And your body,
In that moment when we took
All each of us could give.

My passions are cold,
But they are true,
And they always lead me back...
To you.

09/18/09

More original poetry by Donovan Baldwin at http://ravensong.4t.com.

Labels: donovan baldwin, passion, poem, poem about passion, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

Of course, if I could
I would choose to hold you
In my arms.

But, we are too far apart,
Not just in miles, but
In so many other ways.

We can never be together,
Yet...

Each night I can hold you,
In my dreams.

Each day I can hold you,
In my heart.

Every day,
In almost every way,
I can hold you,
In dreams in my heart,
Instead of in my arms.

This is what I have,
This is what I regret,
But,
This is what I will hold
Until I can hold nothing more.

Labels: hold you in my arms, love poem, lovers apart, lovers online, poem, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry

By Donovan Baldwin

I miss the day which saunters by so casually upon its way
To all the calm amusements which will fill its time.

We eye each other warily if perhaps we pass as I
Go about my missions, toils, and tasks.

I used to know him well in younger days
With far reduced responsibilities, but now
He's gone the way of gods and I've grown up,
Down to the level of each man's daily life.

Each morning he rises, putting on
The vestments he has chosen, and, calling to him
The flying, feathered finery which will announce
His measured entrance on the scene, and,
Accompany him through the waking hours and discuss
His actions with occasional loud altercations
And whispered disputation
When the world has returned to night.

As he comes on some Spring mornings, he gradually
Removes the blanket of rejuvenating mist and dew
Which was laid upon the Earth that it
Might sleep more soundly.

Oh, the smells that softly ride the air, and
Bring me back to days which happened
Forty years or more ago,
When each morning I could watch the coming of the day
Learning lessons then on how to live
With the wide-eyed wisdom of a child
Which the man who's learned to live with life
Has long forgotten.

I miss the day.

For every time we pass each other by,
Stealing a stranger's glance,
Each of us at the other,
I am again surprised to discover
We've forgotten almost all we knew about each other.
But, sometimes, for just a moment
A dim light of memory flickers in his eyes
Quickly dying as he tries, but, fails,
To recognize his one time friend.

Yes, I miss the day I used to know so well,
Who now hurries by with no time for me,
Or me for him.

Labels: donovan baldwin, old friends, poem, poem about day, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, sunrise, the day

I was driving in evening traffic in Austin, Texas. It was bumper to bumper, so I was listening to National Public Radio on KUT. They interviewed a poet and spoke about how the death of his wife had affected him. Most of the poem came to me as I sat at a light, and I wrote it down as soon as I got home.


The Poet's Dead Wife

The poet's being interviewed on the radio,
And I listen as I drive the evening traffic.

The poet's wife is dead,
And I don't remember her name,
Or his.

As a man, I understand his grief.
As a poet, I understand his desire
To make a poem of it.

Whether words are used,
Or not,
Is immaterial.

The poetry is within
And witnessed without.

He feeds her birds,
Tends her flowers,
Observes her moods
In her absence,
Because that's who we poets are,
And how, sometimes, we say,
"I love you, and I miss you."

As I sit at the next light,
I feel a need to feed birds,
And mourn in Autumn
For unknown poets
And their losses.

***4/25/95****

Labels: donovan baldwin, poem, poem about a poet, poem by Donovan Baldwin, poetry, wife of a poet