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One night while hunkered in the gloom Working on a poem in my small room My keyboard jumped and came alive Keys started clicking, writing Upon the screen appeared this scroll Not of my head but that of a ghoul The air grew cold as it’s words appeared Speaking of worms, stink and death Woven through vivid tales of yore Lost loves, war, pain and more Mostly of doubt and lingering regret Keeping its soul chained to Earth With tears streaming down my face At the terrible suffering taking place The clicking stops abrupt and sure  Ghostly hand retreats from view Wrung out with fear, filled with woe To my bed I rush and bury down low But sleep is fitful, rest unspent It’s words invading, urgently sent I surrender sleep and run downstairs And read anew what the spirit said  Revealed in print, shock and awe  It’s a message from my own grandpa He says to live life in the present Don’t hate, maim nor carry resent But let each day be lived well Avoid his torture in the depths of hell So I share this tale here with you Hand to heart, every word is true Eyes wide open, full of hope Lesson learned from this sad ghost. Susan Smoter - October 9, 2023

The sound of the surf as background music, The sea breeze whispering old love poems in my ear, The sunlight playing on your face, smiling At my request... You crack the crab, take the meat, Dip it in the butter and raise it to my lips, I kiss your slippery, seasoned fingertips. • Donovan Baldwin

I often see discussions, or comments, about what makes us humans different from all the other critters out there. One will say it's the ability to love, and then I'll see something that sure seems like love in some "beast"... or, sadly, a human that doesn't seem to get the "love" stuff. I'll read that it's our ability to create beauty. But, then I realize that "beauty" is what we, our little group of "us", believe it to be. In fact, we create a concept of "beauty" and THEN identify stuff, or people, that meet that concept's parameters. I see, hear, that we are human because we think, create, fantasize, dream, plan, construct, etc. ad infinitum. Somewhat confusing, yet, we seem to be able to recognize another "human" when we meet... usually. I sometimes wonder, often somewhere in the second glass of wine, if it's NOT that we do, or have the potential to do, all that... and more... including the "etc." Maybe it's the fact we're such damned individualistic, bonded, collaborative, idealistic, pragmatic, realistic, imaginative... whew... generalists. We can turn our puny hands (with their opposable thumbs), and our impossibly outrageous minds to damn near anything. Don't know. Just thinking out loud. Maybe I'll come up with a bright idea later. More coffee, please. ----- • Donovan Baldwin

Writers from unknown lands Different language, Different clothes, Different customs, Different religions, Goes without saying, Atheists always different, Yet like me, friend, Or friendly enemy, Because we both Write and understand. • Donovan Baldwin I often run foreign language poems through Google Translate. The words may not be perfect, but I get so many beautiful ideas from the thoughts of other writers who write in another language.

My brain is in overdrive Rivved and firing fully Creating beauty everywhere Spreading light and love My passions are escaping The confines where they enprisoned strangled Emerging into the light Many thoughts and feelings Swirling like subway cars Passing from brain to body And back again Such is the power of poetry Creating powerful images Passed like invisible touches From one soul to another Never again into darkness Will i subject my dreams But like nectar they quench The longings of my soul

How can I tell this tale In ways that make it clear When its not clear yet to me But I know love awaits When yet a girl I fell in love Exciting, enticing Spicy love A real gift from above In retrospect this love of mine May have been one-sided I since learned dear Dad of mine Saw this but kept it quiet I wish he’d told me what he saw How he wished for me much more His special girl should be a queen Not just an object to be demeaned Across the land, plains and hills There comes a love for me anew At long last someone with whom to share Poetry and love and happiness