Why Romance I often come here to write At this late night coffee haunt currently favored Where I'm given freedom to smoke my cigar; To explore this profusion of feelings. Why Romance, I pose, why not the bitterness and strife Others do it and they're telling stories about Life. I wear well earned scars without pride or shame Yet I believe in the ideal of the noble Grail. Pollyanna is not my name; it's more like Candide; Believing only for the best in all that is possible. Now someone must say seek your best by giving it And you will perceive the Romance of Life. I've paid my dues; my wounds are still fresh I've come to intimately know keening pain and bitterness But still I will paint Monet scenes with sensuous verse So you'll discover there is a best in even the worst. Finding the "Good" is the reward; but Romance is the seeking. Some one has to say it and the task humbles me. Donn Deedon © 03/08/98

Butterfly Bound I captured a butterfly, enfolding her with gentle hands. Like a Monarch, travelling afar, you came from cold city to L.A. haze. I chained your ankle for all to see, but you remain free to fly from me. I've known others that caused my heart to sing; you make me moan. I've known others that brought me pain; you brought joy and laughter. I've known others... God, have I known others! But I don't know you. I saw your needing eyes in the shadow of the full-moon night. I tasted your tear with the tip of my tongue and found it sweet. I saw you riding the face of love, fragrant of woman and wolf, Writhing in ecstasy as you pledge your essence to God. I heard you call my name as you gave yourself to the God in me. I saw you on your knees above the valley lights; and you don't know me. We shared our souls as we spoke the joys and sorrows of times past. You speak the words of love with your butterfly hands as you press Your frail body to my masculine strength tender and gentle. I held you in my arms and sank into your eyes. But I will never know you, Precious Butterfly, For you are Woman and you are a mystery to me. And you don't know me; you only know the who I am becoming And your saying so becomes me. Thank you. But I'm not there; yet I own the goal. You have helped to make it so. Together we will explore each other's mysteries. Together we will learn in a lifetime a lifetime of love. Donn Deedon © 03/13/99

Here I Am You declare me to be a generous man and if that's what you believe, I say you miss the meaning of the words for I have not yet begun to give. I've only given the early morning that holds you fast in my embrace And the freedom to fly unfettered to be the woman you can become. I listen to the words you say and show, as a man striving to believe Word spoken is word given and word given is word promised. In the warmth of the candlelit night you called me beautiful. Thank you. You see in the aura of my demeanor the reflection of the gifts you give. You hold the mirror of integrity to my face and make me look into The flickering fires of my own eyes where burns the flame of friendship; But I see another love beyond friendship forged in the furnace of my soul Where my spirit will trace a path we'll follow the way your fingers trace my face. Never ask who I am. I am the God standing before the Goddess. I am the howl in your voice when you run with wolves and the moon is full. I am the thrust in your groin when perfervid Eros spreads your thighs. I am the man who loves you when our moment is nigh and that moment is now. I am your trusted friend; your father and your brother; I am your spiritual lover; And never wonder from whence I came; you're the one who summoned me. Donn Deedon © 04/22/99

Goddess Love When I think of the women I've known and I guess I knew a few I find myself grateful for so freely-given gifts of lessons and love. One brought joy; one brought laughter; another brought pleasure Unendurable and indefinitely prolonged; yet another's path was sure And spiritual to guide me on my own quest to be the best I can be. All brought a special love and I love you all especially As each of you is different and each of you are best. Now where's the logic in that? How do I explain that each was meant to be; something Wonderful we conjure at the will of you and me? How do I tell her I love her, too, with a love That's different from my love for you? And in that there is no wrong or right; it just is. As God is Love the God in me loves the Goddess. Donn Deedon © 04/07/99

Fremont Street Experience Even now as I write down these words Experiencing Fremont Street late at night The tourists are sleeping and the compulsive Are at the games pushing buttons, cards and dice. The now lonely streets are left to the late night people; Those of us who can't find rest in the dark, Always wandering toward lights like a character Of Edgar Allen Poe, yet seeking to be alone. Hoping to connect just one more time and Hoping to not; and if it happened How would your life change for good or ill? Is this what you want? Or would you rather Be alone and immutable where you are? To not connect is not all bad. And if it already happened what would I do? It seems to me a response is clear; I'd simply say to whoever you are. "Woman, I love you!" Donn Deedon © 03/24/99

Eulogy (Kenneth L. Deedon 1910-1994) I sing of my father; Whose eyes were like a Chicago morning Set to the purpose of the day And whose creative hands set to industry. Life was not easy or kind, Yet his patience seemed to know no limits And his love was boundless. By example, he taught integrity and honesty And he lived as he believed. Unwavering in travail, he did not yield To the temptations that trap so many. He was constant at home or abroad; Without arrogant pride he walked tall. A man among men. This is my father. I sing of him. He fought the fight. He pressed toward the mark He kept the faith. He won the race. Donn Deedon © Aug. 1994

.

Becca I hide my own tear On seeing you after so long. I didn't recognize you coming off the plane. I was looking for my little girl; Not one who has grown so tall. I remember when you were first born I held you in one hand; you were so small. I hide my own tear As you hug me 'round my neck So hard as to pull me off balance. Whether driving or walking you grasp my hand; Holding on tight where ever we go. Spontaneously drawing close You whisper, "Daddy, I love you so!" Sixteen days is all we have And my, didn't we have fun? Disneyland, movies, visits with friends And grandparents; So much to do, so much not done. One night, as time to leave drew near, You cry and I hold you and whisper, "I know." And I hide my own tear. Suddenly, the day you leave is here. As I watch your plane disappear I hide my own tear. Donn Deedon © 1995

Photographs Before I bury it in a box with the memories of you I look at the last photograph you took And see the old man with roadmap experience Etched in his highway face, marking The gambled years that were lost to infinity, Hope springing eternal from morose eyes That sadly know the unequivocal truth; That nothing is eternal, least of all, hope. Before I bury it in a box with the memories of you I look at the last photograph I took And see the youthful face that belies The hard years of life already lived; Whose radiant smile never shows the truth That is revealed by the angst in her eyes, Like a full cerulean moon, Filled with sadness and grace. The difference of years that demark the demise Of the truth that is not revealed in glossy prints I will not deny or denigrate until I am buried in a box with the memories of you. Donn Deedon © 1996

.

Idiot's Delight Once more the bitter night beckons And I alone hear its silent, disconsolate call. I am enveloped by lugubrious darkness Where illusory life is least questioned; And though enervated, a perfunctory attempt is made To keep Love's razor from slicing the wrong metaphor. With a skill as deft as the hand of Phaedrus The nocturnal knife severs like the vorpal blade, Through and through and snicker-snack, Eviscerating heart and mind from body and soul. Voiceless fears shout with fingers of the deaf, The mind is devoid and the heart bereft, Not of life, but of living. And the body and soul, Shape and shapelessness vying for control Now; as darkness fades to black, Only that monster Id is left To make sense of it all. Deedon © 1997

.

Phoenix Personified The cold, callous night still beckons As before, but with a difference. He no longer stands solitary Against the mournful, mindless dark, Watching dreams dissolve and puddle In the diffident dirt of indifference. Like a phantasy realized In sweet song and fair sonnet, Delivered on ariatic wings And soft-spoken, perfervid words, She reached beyond the pretentious persona To expose the hidden, dynamic man, Breaking barriers to set Free Spirit free, Long time bound in self-made walls And repressed in past-time circumstance. With melodious word she touched his soul And discovered a kindred spirit, And with dancing music she touched his heart. The variegated flower within blossoms Emancipating Love's dissilient aroma, He breathes deeply. Donn Deedon © 1995

.

Renaissance Man I truly am a renaissance man. I do all that I say I can. I've sampled the brews that twist the soul. I've lived and loved like I was out of control. I follow the path that seems right at the time And embrace each dream with a love that's sublime. I'm an old romantic fool chasing impossible schemes; Jousting Life with a heart full of dreams. By the beauty of the Spirit my soul is touched And I believe all the lies that promise so much. The women have been varied and many And I swear I loved each one true; But whenever my plate is empty, I find myself still looking for you. Donn Deedon © 1997

.

Blank The blank page stares at me Challenging equality with my mind Which is like a sieve with everything filtered out. I hate this kind of writing Where I have to struggle for each phrase And the words don't flow; When my dreams seem dormant And I can't find my soul. Then my thoughts run to you And I am filled with wonder lust That transports me through time and space To lay by your side where you are Engulfed in my warm embrace. To find yourself secure in the safety of my arms Where you learn to trust the feelings of your heart And know in your spirit; in your soul That I belong to you and, woman, you are mine. See what I mean? Sometimes I just can't write. Donn Deedon © 1997

.

Rachel I want my words to flow like a song in sign From my heart to you with graceful hands; Painting pictures in the air like butterflies on the wing That float and flutter to where you are so far from me. I want to know the sign to say to you I know The sign for 'I love you' is never enough To truly tell you how much I really do, or to say To you how much my heart aches from missing you. Like the boat that takes Morgaine to Avalon I want to silently sail Into the shrouded mists of your mind where I can explore What you can't explain, unheard and unspoken, like the weep Of the willow when my tears commingle with the silence of your rain. I want to shout like firecracker fingers exploding with joy On seeing you as you throw yourself into my embrace, Or as you put fingers to forehead to sign the only name You know me by when you say, "Daddy, I love you." Donn Deedon © 04/21/98

.

A Night Like This The Santana Wind is blowing and the moon is rising full The evening weather is balmy from the hot wind's breath That turns the leaves and ripples the pool A night like this brings out the passion That pervades my perfervid soul I feel a yearning like restlessness released And my heart starts singing a loving song I hunger to touch you; to embrace; To feel my body twist into your caress As you submit your flower to my eager kiss And open your petals to this wind-driven dream 'Til all your fantasies are released And your ecstasy resolves to an open-throated scream A night like this, with the moon so full, Demands we give our love with all our pride. On a night like this if one can't find love One should, at least, have a motorcycle to ride. Donn Deedon © 1997

.

Poets You think, you speak, you shout With words that flail! I hear your cries. I hear you wail. I see you perform As if you were the only one To feel the pain and be blinded by the sun. With twisted metaphors that strive to rhyme In sing-song words and liturgical verse You derogate the injustice of humankind. Poetry Profound. If only they'd listen to your words You'd aright the world or at least you'd try. Whether it's the needle or the chalice you chase Where one holds Life and the other Death's face. Only wanting things better, you'd swear there's no malice If you could you'd chase that devil 'til it's out of place. Yet you love fellow poets and declare we're all one; Then you backhand as if to knock one down. But that one's already laying on the ground, Stumbled over self-made mistakes, hurt And bleeding like something you've never known. Did you help this one up or did you kick dirt? Did you put balm on the pain or grease up the ass; Or did you try to heal more than one shattered glass? I don't justify! What's done is done and what's wrong is wrong! And when you spit and sputter you're singing the same song; What's wrong is wrong! When you denigrate your sister or brother no one grows And your virtuous verse becomes lies in prose And you've sunk to the level of what you despise and fear. And when you ridicule; call one a fool; just to be cruel You're not as good as the one you left lying there. Donn Deedon © 1996

.

That Place I drove down Olive Boulevard late one night on my way home, I found myself, driving slow, looking through the late night Darkness and the neon glare for that place, but it's gone now; They tore the building down some years ago. Maybe there was a fire or something; I don't remember. The sign was left for a while, but now, it too, is gone. I do remember we shared hamburgers in that place. We laughed because I was trying to be a vegetarian, More importantly we cried as we shared our lives; Burning memories of that place deep in our hearts. As Time had its way we drifted off; different directions. Now I am boldly called to genuflected homage Before the icon of "That Place" for what we knew. Remembering the best keeps me warm when nights are long Reminding me each time I drive past the place Where "That Place" was. Donn Deedon © 01/16/99

.

Lovely Lady This blank page is for you. lovely, lonely lady. You know who you are. We've spoken a time or two And you honored me when you showed me your soul. We'll say our say the way you have spoken to me With your enigmatic touch and your soft, urgent lips. I didn't know you'd come to where I am And bring with you a joy that I've been missing And I do not know if this will end in some sappy sonnet. So I stand in wide open trust; arms extended for your embrace. But here you must lead the way for I never go where I'm not invited. I won't intrude like that yet, I'll meet you more than halfway if you say. Your friends are manifest and I have no right to call you lonely, lovely lady, But your eyes tell the story and your hands lead the way And your soul has spoken to mine telling me tales I already own. You need the need I have and I need yours and our time is now. I was examining these feelings tonight and found myself confused. Oh, I know that I'm attracted to you and you seem to be attracted to me. The confusion lies, lays?, who knows, maybe it is all lies. But, I can't tell if it's the hunger of my loins for your caress Or the hunger of my heart for your love that draws me to you Like a lodestone to a motherlode of gold and grief. You are beautiful, woman, like youth in bloom Juxtaposed to your ancient soul and I can see the flame Burning there. Donn Deedon © 02/23/99

.

Your Presence Is Desired Come to me with your sylvan nakedness wrapped only In swirling skirts like the sylph you are and I will burn one candle For you that will light a lifetime and last as long as love. Come to me with a license for poetic justice; love loving love, And we will celebrate the birth of a way to rainbow memories Born with a butterfly's kiss and the freedom of the eagle. Come to me in the growl of the wolf that runs wild in your veins And our progeny will not be the cubs of the pack, But full-grown poems that speak of truths we both know. Come, beautiful woman, to love. Come to me Donn Deedon © 02/24/99

.

Erotic Poetry I don't write erotic poetry; never really wanted to. Now I don't know how to say these things that happened When you did what you did on your knees as if in worship. You honor me and my honor rises at the press Of your warm body, your cool lips, hot mouth. I dreamed of your love a thousand years ago And last night, again last night of the way you arch your body To shoulders as earthquake shudders rack your supple frame; Legs tightening like a noose causing me to cry the Goddess' name. But I don't write erotic poetry like some that would Make you sigh and moan and come to my dreams And I just don't know how to say these things. Donn Deedon © 03/28/99

. Click for more poetry
and CD and Chapbook order information.

email: deedonlast@earthlink.net