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I, self-proclaimed writer of poetry, Read a bit of doggerel, Listen to a country song, Watch a stream skipping over rocks, A bird flying by on a way to somewhere, Assist the sun in rising, later, Putting him to bed, and, Welcoming my lady moon, Lay down my pen in darkness, Close my eyes, and, Let my poem write itself. • Donovan Baldwin

Warmth runs over me, pure joy As sunshine quickens Memories alive, vivid Sunbathing in serenity Eyes tight, unabashedly smiling Face glowing and flushed Skin tingling at sun’s touch Soul erupting in song  My chair and deck Morph into sandy shores Rejuvenating needed In the shortening days A sigh escapes me In blissful peace Wrapped in glowing rays Kissed by the sun Darkness and gloom May be threatening Coming to invade my peace Certainly soon Sunbathing serenity Lock it away Retrieve as needed On a cold winter day

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

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.

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!