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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

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

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

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

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

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. • Donovan Baldwin 8/28/83 Published in The Advocate, 1993

I took over 600 photos in just one day at Valley of Fire state park, so many Red Rock Mountains.   While it takes few months to process them and pick the best of them, I came across this one which I felt sharing the photo along with these few lines….   Standing still, changing their formations,   Layer by Layer covering their pains,   Minute by Minute hiding their experiences,   Thanking the Almighty for their existence SILENTLY!

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