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Mighty little atom, So central to everything, All being, Things in existence, Beautiful and ugly, Useful and useless... Ourselves. Yet, so seldom sung, Or praised, For what is an atom That one cannot hold Or see,.. Specious argument, For can we see or hold Love, Respect, Honor, Duty, Beauty? And yet we sing of these! So, let us admire and Write poetry about Atoms, Molecules, And more. • Donovan Baldwin

A naked flower Blushes not at Its being bare, For that is a Sharing of its Beauty, The purpose It was created for. It blushes at The happy joy And ardent love Upon the face Of the gardener, Who loves it So intently. • Donovan Baldwin

moonlight drifts like mist revealing lovers entwined... within silver robes • Donovan Baldwin

brittle candlelight while crystalline violins... play old memories • Donovan Baldwin

Open the floodgates of the mind, The mind filled to overflowing With the words and images, So carelessly gathered Over decades of living Oblivious to the storytelling And poetry of the day to day Activities and mundane conversations Which are the seed of exposition And fiction, fantasy, and The overall art of words. • Donovan Baldwin

The warrior's burning eyes swept o'er The host of the enemy. Testing his weapon's weight in his hand, With no thought that he might flee. Weary beyond what flesh should bear, Bloody with wounds of war. Determined to stay and meet the fate The gods had named him for. His flaming gaze swept left and right Heart leapt at the sight displayed, Comrades in gory unbroken line, The best of his friends on parade. Still to this day they recite the tale Of those who held that battle line, Stood fast till the enemy fled, Ground stained with battle's red wine. They chant the names of fallen ones, And those who survived that day, Offer homage to the warrior breed, Who gave a gift no one can repay. • Donovan Baldwin

Up on the hill stands the old broken fortress of Heidelberg. In her dust-powdered wig from yesterday, Still standing watch over her city, Though bare, broken bricks show through, and Sagging breastworks prove her youth's long past. Far down, flows the cold, blue-gray water Of the Neckar, With the old, arched bridge, Perhaps seen in postcards, Showing it in sunlight, But, In my mind it is last seen On a rainy April day. As I turned to view the bridge, Behind me, The vine-entangled castle brooded, About all the sad history she's endured. She's been burned, you know, and Damn near destroyed so many times. Even so, she still watches over the city. They say there's a curse on The old Heidelberg castle, But, he who laid the curse is long since dead... Still, the old lady stands there, Rain, sun, snow... Watching over her city. • Donovan Baldwin

loving gardener helping tiny bud open... waking shy flower • Donovan Baldwin

on her satin skin his fingers trace poetry... she sighs soft as silk ----- taught me simple words to speak with her of love and life... embracing more than meanings ----- flavor of her mouth lingers on my tongue and lips... hunger and thirst for more ----- your mouth a playground eager land of lips and tongue... love overflowing ----- lover's touch a breath each caress on secret skin... drives desires unward ----- beyond sexual freedom to be intimate... a higher level ----- a smile on her lips as he moans and asks for more... pleasure she causes ------ each breath a caress windblown satin over skin... my soft colored words ----- naked in the night moon's silver robes cast aside... two shadows entwined ----- touching soft tendrils seeking for a tiny bud... deep within her leaves mid curling tendrils a secret entrance lies... an orchid's petals open to his fingers as her blossom weeps for joy... beneath his caress ----- • Donovan Baldwin

there is a woman that others cannot understand... one she keeps hidden • Donovan Baldwin

truly sensual appears socially proper... her little secret • Donovan Baldwin

The morning air was softly warm. No.(http://warm.No) Not quite warm, but, not quite cold, either. Fog hung over the water of the bay, before the Sun rose, the world ending in a curtain of gray hanging a few feet from the shore. I slipped down to the leaden water lapping gently against the sand, and, Slipping off my clothes slid naked into the comforting water of the bay, While a heron watched, like Polonius, partly hidden by the fog's curtain. The water was too shallow to swim there, but, I splashed around, Reveling in the freedom, the feel of sand, water, and air, As each brushed past my boy's goose-bumped body. In less than ten minutes I returned to my bicycle on the shore, and, With my clothes, put my public identity back on, and pedaled off into the day, Leaving Mr. Heron with a story to tell about the strange bird he had seen in the fog. • Donovan Baldwin