Camellias at Dawn

I would bring you alabaster petals
From camellias at dawn,
If I could renew the burning foam
Of your touch.
I would no longer live
Inside the strange mountains
Of random lightning gods,
Where silhouettes of unknowns
Scurry in the unpredictable darkness.
But your touch is gone
Rejoined the invisible dew
On the leaves of extant
Bitter oleanders

Beauty

HE who assaulted Beauty
Will be destroyed,
Twisted into triangles,
Made to weep beneath painted fences
Without the stones of evening,
Chained by florescent clowns,
Forced to find desire in unlit alleys,
Soaked in the urine of Moses.
Yet, HE named Her.
Called Her naked face to life
A heart descended, immobile
In the rich mud of perfection.

^

Biography

He s a neo-naïve visionary poet/artist/photographer. His poetry, art and photography has appeared in hundreds of print journals, anthologies, and on-line zines, including Poems Neiderngasse, Mobius, Bitter Oleander, Black Moon, Poetry Motel, Pacific Coast Journal and Art/Mag (print) and Poetry Superhighway, Poetry Tonight, Room Without Walls, Archeflamboeth, Lynx, India Journal, Entropic, Indie Journal (on-line). An on-line interview with Donald can be found here:

You can mail Donald here.