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neck bared to his mouth heart thrown open to his words exquisite poison • Donovan Baldwin

Once again, looking back over the 78+ years of my life, I come to a conclusion... of sorts... almost. Right? Wrong? I can only say it makes sense to me. Maybe not to you... and that's my point... sort of... Just, as I like to say, thinking out loud. I hear a lot today that one topic or another is a "minefield"... meaning, anywhere you wander in it, you are risking something, or somebody, exploding in your face... injuring, if not your body, then your mind, your beliefs, your equanimity, your relationships... your view of yourself and the world. I personally believe a lot of the "explosions" come from the ability of anybody to put any thought up on the internet... or take exception to someone else's thought or opinion, but, not all. Some have been happening all along, I don't believe these "minefields" are new. In fact, looking back over my life, and the history I've lived through, life itself is a minefield. There is always the chance to take the "wrong" step, to move in a "dangerous" direction. The actual chance of "explosion" depends to some extent on a person's volume of activity in living. There's sayings I've seen from various sources that essentially say that if you haven't made a mistake, or made someone angry, or caused someone to think, you haven't done anything. A certain amount of truth there, I believe. Hope that opinion doesn't blow up in my face. • Donovan Baldwin

I know your body, and, Material man, Must say I love "you". That is "who" you are, Yet, body alone is not the attraction, Nor magnet, to hold my attention. The spirit within, behind, That beating heart, Excitement of your gasping breast, Your mind, which caught, And yet holds me. • Donovan Baldwin

The nice thing about writing my poetry is that, as long as I know what I'm trying to say, it probably IS officially poetry, even if nobody else "gets it". I remember a story years ago about a poet who got a government grant to write a poem, and, as the time was running out for him to produce his work, he submitted a single sheet of paper with the word "Nothing", on it. That was his poem. Was he right? Was he a poet? I certainly don't know. To tell the truth, I CAN see where a poet, attempting to deliver a "message" could do exactly that. On the other hand, it's also obviously, quite possibly a cop out, by someone who was unable to deliver the goods. Who's to say? Only the "poet" knows just what was in the brain that produced the end product. Rambling thoughts. Under the heading of "thinking out loud", but this seems off the beaten path enough to be called errant thought. Not a deep subject, but one I've wondered about for years. When do we cease being a poet, and become a charlatan, using our wits to disguise our lack of inventiveness? And, just as an aside, does the ability to deceive in that manner show that we actually ARE what we claimed to be in the first place? • Donovan Baldwin