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He writes just one more poem. Alone with himself and his words He composes a love song, a sonnet, An unstructured piece of Poetic prose, hoping that These words, this poem-like Gust of words will touch her, Sway her, arouse her to Notice him, to understand, The love he can only share Through the message held In the mad words clamoring To leave his mind and touch her. • Donovan Baldwin

Sometimes the thirst is too much The hunger gnaws at my soul My mouth fills with all the words That I desire to pass between us, And I swell with conflicting Satisfaction and desire, Wanting more of you Than I can ever have, Crawling slowly across This desert of need and want, Bleeding poetry from A thousand mortal wounds. • Donovan Baldwin

flickers of desire twist like a flame in his hands... as he feeds her fires • Donovan Baldwin

There's whispers on the wind, Telling me it's gonna snow. There's many miles to travel. God! I hope it isn't so. I've not yet seen a rabbit, Or quail, or rat, or deer. The sky is going grayer, I begin to taste the fear. Better men than me have died Too far up this slope. Damn. Those clouds look heavy. I'm quickly losing hope. The wind tells me it's coming I've not a single doubt. Tho' I'm moving when it hits I know I'll never make it out. My little cabin's bitter cold But, not as cold as death. If I get there before the storm... God! I ache with every breath. So wild and pretty way up here Even storms have beauty rare. If you ever read this warning, friend, Plan your pack with care. These high, green meadows lead you up Below their caps of white. Then, the winds begin to blow And snow blots out your sight. A deadly warmth begins inside As dreams begin to roll, While amid the awful beauty, You surrender to the cold. Another day they'll find you there Upon earth's icy breast, And those who call you "kin" or "love", Curse the call that drew you west. But, one day when this world turns green, When it's hard to think of doom, My shade will tread the trail it loved As the mountain flowers bloom. That final image in my mind, I write these lines and rest. Perhaps they'll save another, The last hope within my breast. • Donovan Baldwin

As war unfolds Death and pain Spill onto my screen Onto innocent faces Soldiers and militants Kill any person Indiscriminately Leaving empty faces Families in anguish Beseech the watchers To intervene Heartbroken faces World leaders make speeches Promises made While suffering continues  Face of terror Critics smear and geer Bolstered by politics Loudly commenting Ugly old faces Parents trying to explain How men destroy And people die  Sad faces Horrible scenes Replayed at nauseum Desensitizing us  Blank faces

I feel you near, coolness spills  Like an icy sea  washing through living plains And rolling over me  Icy digits, figments and  Vast unliving things Chills run up and down my spine Where fingers were unseen Ghostly kisses on my ear Whispering it’s alright You’ve only come to say hello And then to stay the night Sweet eery singing  Phantom band Breezes through my head Is it real or coming from the dead Goosebumps on my arms and legs Shivering, balled up tight Afraid to on my bedroom lamp Dying in my bed of fright  Moonlight breaks through the clouds  My room is now alight  There’s no one here, I’m alone And everything’s alright Susan Smoter - October 8, 2023

Connections are so strange. Walking on a cold morning, I smell wood smoke. Someone nearby has a fire in their fireplace. I look at chimneys seeking the smoke, And, though I see no smoke, I see all the other fireplaces I have sat before. My boyhood home in Florida. Another where I sat one night, Smoking cigarettes, Drinking beer, and... Writing poetry. Several in homes now far behind me, With their memories... Some good, some bad, But mine. Memories made of chimneys And anonymous Wood smoke. • Donovan Baldwin

Your pen tickles  As it slides down my spine Alive with pleasure With how you join words Phrasing so sweet It makes this English major Weep for joy Wanting more, yet more Those are the ones I re-read over again Sipping each slowly Enjoying its essence A beautiful passionate Poem is like an Aperitif Sweetly imbibed  At the end of the day