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Fleeing through the European darkness, Leaving behind laughter and pain, Bringing joy or sadness, Onward rolls the Rome Express Pounding over the invisible German countryside, Where, in other times, the young men died. Faces tell stories, some of which are lies, A smile may cover sadness, A gloomy visage may hide a happy heart. Strangers, strangely intent on remaining strangers, Eyes avoiding eyes, souls avoiding souls, In dark windows of the cars, Outward looking eyes, Mingle with the stars. American soldier, German hausfrau, Turkish laborer, In the compartment, rich and poor mingled, Poured into this tiny, mobile room. Across the compartment sits a Sikh, With his uncut hair and beard. An old woman takes black bread and apple From her bag to make a meal. The train passes sleepy German villages In the night, Where, not too long ago A war was fought, Now, peacefully fading Into the night, And memory. • Donovan Baldwin Based on a ride I took, Germany, 1968

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.

I pick up a famous book I really know nothing about. Never read it. I'm smart, went to college, lived long, read lots of books, but, never this one. Always meant to, but never got around to it. So, one day, in the bookstore, in the library, I pick it up and read a paragraph or two. Makes no sense to me. Does NOT capture my imagination. I put it down, move on. Forget about it, until, one day, someone asks me about it. I say I didn't find it interesting. Someone else starts telling THEIR thoughts and impressions from it. They HAVE read it. THEY know! So, I go back, and get the book and read it through. Wow! What a book!!! If I had only known! Okay, I see my point. ----- One day, I meet a guy. Know nothing about him. Not impressed. Write him off. Only read one of his paragraphs. Think I know what he's about. Hmmmm... • Donovan Baldwin

When I'm thinking, like many people, I don't necessarily reach conclusions, or solve problems, every time. In fact, I may create more problems and leave myself with more questions. Still, that's sort of implied by the word "thinking". It's an ongoing process. Also, as we encounter "problems", things to think about, some may be new. We may not have been aware of the problem/question before, or maybe only in a peripheral way. Now, it meanders to the forefront of our mind, and, like a new acquaintance, or even a friend we haven't seen for a while, we have to learn, or re-learn, information about it. Learning is also an ongoing, open ended, experience. So, our thinking about the "thing", an ongoing process, involves "learning", also an ongoing process, which means that the "conclusion" or "solution", may become a bit of a moving target. When we read, listen to, encounter, a great thinker, that someone who makes us think, we tend to expect their great thoughts to enlighten us... solve the problem, provide the conclusion which we can then use to show ourselves to be "thinkers" as well. Nope. Tain't necessarily so. Usually they just show us how much we don't know yet, and start us thinking and learning. That's a "maybe", not a conclusion or solution. Just thinking out loud... about thinking. • Donovan Baldwin

Campfires and old guitars, Cheap bottles of wine Passed around as are The words of old songs Lovers swaying together Arms around each other Exchanging kisses and Whispers followed by Giggles, more whispers, As dancers circle the fire Pairing off at the edge of Light drifting into shadows. • Donovan Baldwin

dying poet writes until all his ink is gone words and breath fading • Donovan Baldwin

Hi There! My name is Kerry, and I am a new volunteer at ArtsKeeper. I'll be sharing my books and writing process as well as sharing more about all the services and creators here. I also write on mental health and wellness on another blog. My passion is writing creepy/horror, and chapter books for kids with a message within the magical adventures. I have dabbled with quite a few things, but the basic professions were a commercial cleaning business, and a karate school. Both of which I have retired from but I still practice karate. (Uechi-Ryu, which is a sister style to the Goju-Ryu in the original Karate Kid movies. The real Mr. Miagi and Mr. Uechi were best friends back in the day. I hail from the White Mountains in the state of New Hampshire, having moved from Seattle some twenty-five years ago. I have three sons, all grown, two with families of their own. My husband, I lost two years ago, but we were happily married for twenty-one years. Together twenty-three. Now I live with my ten year old German Sheppard Ellie, and her best friend, Kiff-Kitty, who is a year old. That little cat's name is constantly changing, per his latest antics. At first, he was Kiff-Hanger, because he loved to hang from the curtains, and anything else he could keep his claws in long enough. Most recently he is Kiff-inator, because he is getting into things and wrecking them all. LOL. His first name was inspired by "The Kiffness" on YouTube because the Kiffness never fails to make me laugh with his amazing talent. I will put a link at the bottom in case you haven't seen one of his videos. Completely worth a check out. Other than writing, I love rocks and gems. Go rock hounding every year, or did, with my hub. Can never get enough of being right in the heart of nature, be it in the mountains or at the ocean. Thank you for the read! Kerry AKA K~ Numnum-Cat The Kiffness!(https://youtu.be/GArzu9ttQ0M?si=qdnQNOc_x5ex0BEa) The Jolly Muse (https://thejollymuse.com/)blog Mindful Manipulation (https://mindfulmanipulation.com/)blog Books(https://www.amazon.com/stores/author/B00C3GQADU?ingress=0&visitId=fb53fa54-c59a-4144-9811-fe8e0e54e40b&store_ref=ap_rdr&ref_=ap_rdr)

I miss twisting words hiding jewels in rainbow clouds so you can find me ~ Priya

Writers, poets especially, often know more than their readers. That's not a derogatory statement. After all, only the poet knows what was really behind the words that wound up being a poem. To us, a rose is not just "red". It is desire, hope, love, a thing of pleasing aromas and hurtful thorns. To a poet, anything, including events, can be a thousand things that the average passerby might never imagine. Often, the words used, how they're used, when and where they're used, means more than the meaning of the words themselves... and, for us poets, the words have meanings beyond what's set down in the Oxford English Dictionary, assuming we're even using English words... and, in the next poem, may mean EXACTLY what's set down in the OED. Sometimes we lead the reader to a conclusion, sometimes, set out a trail of lexigraphic breadcrumbs. Yes, by the way, that IS a word, about words, and indicative of the playfully poetic mind at work... which is a playful work itself. The mind of a poet goes places and sees things the non-poetic person doesn't even think of. This is why poets are often a bit mad... or considered so. We see what is not really there, or maybe it is, and write of it as if it were, although it might not be, leaving it to YOU, the reader, to try to figure out what the hell we are trying to say. • Donovan Baldwin

As a mother, partner, sister, wife, we are trained to let pain slide So many times in our lifetimes, we let words slide; we forget them, tuck the hurt away, and move on, because that is what we do So many times, that is what I have done But I have gotten to the point where my skin is paper-thin, and all the words you throw at me; words laced with acid, cut deep inside me like razor sharp teeth I can feel myself wasting away It has become harder and harder to let the hurt you so easily and selfishly save just for me,to just let it slide away I bleed just like you do, more so, because all my cuts and perfectly preserved bruises are all from your words that I could no longer let slide You have cut me so much, that I have become paper thin ~  ©️ Priya Patel Jan, 7, 24 🕉 Artwork by Medha Srivastava titled Motherlove * For a friend who is going through some very difficult trials.  Many will read this and silently think, I know how that feels or I've been there.   I want you to know you are not alone!

Copperas Cove, Texas, The Pitt Grill, 1993 Indians used to ride here, Comanches on galloping ponies, The best light cavalry in the world, Across where an army post now stands, That trains The best light cavalry in the world. Now, instead of dusty trails and traces, A highway runs through it. Across that highway, A Whataburger sign rises in the air, Dwarfing the scrub oaks Which grow here, Shelter and shade to Settler, cowboy, Indian, Rancher, and soldier, Then and now. The land was cruel, Beautiful but cruel, The people were hard, But, hard with purpose, And need. We've conquered the land, And the other people, The first people, With air conditioning, Guns, And greed... And, perhaps, In doing so, We've conquered ourselves. NOTE: I am aware that "Indian" is not a generally acceptable term, but, I used it for the the historic weight. • Donovan Baldwin