Keith M. Donaldson, Poet

Cedar Crest
City View From Cedar Crest
Daughter
Genes and Souls
Given and Lost
Hope
How Is One To Know
Is This The Day I Die?
Is This Your Best?
Let Us Not Forget - 2002
Let Us Not Forget - 2006
Life Chain
Loss
Mother
Ode To Golfer Jan
Pot Paradox
The Quilted Field
Resurrection
Shards of Jamestown
So Cooool
The Twelfth Night Cake
Under The Moss
We Can
We Didn't Know, We Really Didn't Know
What Is Your Standard?
What Makes Us?
Witch Hunts
World Peace

Cedar Crest

There is beauty we have never seen
Yet glories we have beheld are real.
Our existence does achieve an end
Our beginning and middle have none.

I am where I want to be, my youth,
my soul lives on this hill where one
sunny July afternoon I nearly ended
piled on rocks reddened with my blood.

This place holds my father's strewn ashes,
his spirit, mingled in time - I know not;
perhaps his youth mixed in with mine;
playing together 'ore this rocky ridge.

What times were had here since my fall?
Climbing, walking, loving, crying; all
the whys of my return to this very holy
ground searching for the who of me.

My mind absorbed with flashbacks;
people who made up my life back then.
The women I loved and those lost here,
fabrics of my tapestry lay all around.

Exploration is best begun at the source.
The who and what of my being encased in
shadows of this house in all its forms,
on paths and rocks - in caves and lake.

Need I be scared at what might occur or
by which ghosts that 'ere be encountered?
Or will I find the spirits of my dreams and
be the promise I so long ago discarded?

City view from Cedar Crest

The city's noise doesn't reach this far,
whilst viewed this clear, crystalline day;
Low clouds and mist may the horizon mar,
hiding the display of millions in the way.

O'er hills and valleys, lakes and rivers,
Our gaze drinks in a rich, dramatic view.
No blare reaches our perch, no quivers
Or ripples affect this spectacular purview.

Winter's lake below iced thick for skaters
Summer brings sails, rowers, swimmers.
A steep incline is low for climbing raters
Yet enough to engender sightseer's raves.

We know that all around forty million merge,
yet lives so entwined stay unincorporated.
Here wild life flourishes, to suit their urge
Yet, thirty miles east wild living is unsated.

A skyline comes, goes as weather changes;
Winter's stark wood against the snowy fall,
to Summer heat, humid, wet, dry, o'er ranges,
we suck up a vista, we continually abuse.

Mountain shapes, valley's scored, are adorned
by only human changes within a Godly frame.
It is beautiful, serene, a rare ecstasy formed.
A rarity we pray will stay, but each day lose.

Daughter

I love you more than life itself,
But I have never let life love me.
I loved you more than imaginable,
Yet my sad conduct intervened
And selfishness tarnished any
Display of the love I held for you.
You were my precious little button
The greatest joy of my life.
While reveling in having you,
I fell to hapless stumbling, pitiful conduct,
I laid bare an ugliness within.
I have this disease.

It eviscerated my sagacity,
Making barren any hope,
As gluttony coveted ill gained pleasures
And addiction robbed a future with you.
My soul and heart impeached by sloth,
Forfeiting joyous years with my 'lil button.
I robbed me - muddled those years.
To you my actions were horrific.
I have this disease.

People suffered at my hand, I had my way
Unrequited love left fallow, strewn
With trails of broken promises,
Dissolution of family,
Painful estrangement
Self inflicted tragedies proliferated
Eroticism an oppressive sickness.
You suffered from my abhorrence,
I have this disease .

Insidious, creeping destructiveness -
Mere amends won't void that fraud.
How can my debris be washable.
What humility can find its place here?
I didn't know I wasn't there for you.
Elixir voided my defects of character
I cry my sins be buried before my bones
I have this disease .

Avarice long fueled an ugly pride.
Can such a soul and heart resuscitate?
Yet, what better face be unmasked?
When I'm gone, so will be recovery.
My identity relegated to emptiness.
You and I had no we so many years.
Life once hated - now inhales life.
Yet, I have this disease.

My vilification was once my validation
Oh, resentment - change now to gratitude.
Cannot forgiving salve forgetting?
Still, cannot forgetting salve forgiving
What grade need I to pass your test?
Yea, tears of recovery now flood my soul,
Oh, how long this destruction be undone.
Harboring regrets sting the eyes,
Bile of loss chokes my days without you.
I - have - this - disease.

Scott opined: 'I can not tell how the truth may be'
The truth I seek lies not in facts
But in the longings of my soul.
Let ancient derelictions be eradicated.
My today is doable, a future reachable!
Let erased hurts burnish my newness.
T'would be a blessing, 'ere my last breath
To be embraced heartily in my new birth;
I have much to revel - after so much reviled.
Accept my supplication for time remaining.
Be with me once more, my little button.

Genes and Souls

From what heritage have we come?
What selection brought forth our lineage?
The oppressed, the downtrodden, the enslaved?
What long line leads to us this day?
How far back through the ages can we see?
Is our trail one of love, or of deception?
Are we blameless, or blessed?
How pure our family tree?
Were we the avoidees or the avoiders?
Or apostles to all?
If we were chosen, what comes of the others?
Could all have received the messenger ?
Can't God maintain a covenant in all the world?
Is our historical faith, belief, alone on earth?
Paul traversed his world - were there none elsewhere?
Does any of this matter?
John's testimony gives us the divinity of Jesus.
Christ's message has been handed down.
So many seeds have flowed to create our being.
We have been molded by countless generations.
Our physical being a morass of loving people.
But our soul, our living spirit be it our own?
We encase it, hold it, protect it, cherish it
No gene here. It is what God has given us.

Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world
May we know the way to become so cleansed.

Given and Lost

What have I given?
So much was given me.
How do we know?
Clarity is clouded.
Talents lay wasted.
Opportunities lost.
Abundant love rejected.
Loved ones driven away,
Never comprehending,
Undisciplined and floundering,
Lessons long rejected,
Is a sacred trust violated?
Oh, woe, what becomes of Me?

Hope

Before there was hope
...there was hope

Before there was a cure
...there was treatment

Before there was research
...there was prayer

Before there was prayer
...there was prayer

How is One to know?

What judges a person?
Sex, race, politics, education, religion
What secrets are held?
Lifestyle, morality, honest or dis...
Can richness be measured?
Kindness, service, thoughts, taste
Can the soul be explored?
Goodness, spirituality, esthetics, conduct.

Can we tolerate intolerance?
Should we? How?
Are we punished for our sins?
Now and/or later.
Are we a pain in the butt?
Thus get colon cancer.
Why do good people ail where bad people sail
Is there a lesson to be learned here?

Is this the day I die?

What greets me this morn as I push
Off bed covers, a chill icing my skin,
As a toe, blindly finds the carpet
Announcing yet another day - alone.

Could this be my final one?
My fuzzy mind and groping fingers,
Fumble for glasses - Why escapes me
As only despair ever mirrors back.

A last glimpse in this cold place?
A ritual divined to only live this day?
To meet society's blare of ice - to shun,
Not share, but view, so pityingly alone.

Is this withered day my last? Or has it
Come - and I so dull - failed to notice.
Yet, another defect, delaying me, to
Trade this pitiful existence for another?

What? Is it, could it be, that
deep within my soul there burns
a flame of redemption?
That failure is not my epitaph.

Is This Your Best?

Why do you play the fool and parade such ill respect?
Making pot your recreation, blotting out love so near at hand.
Why choose to get stoned; smoke, drink, suck meth.
Your life is only on loan, you say this is your best?

Right, man, you know it all! Ask for nothing any more.
Yet In all your druggie state, you find no shred of light.
Your world so cruelly decayed, this ruse is not a better life,
Created from an infected brain belying any fragment of reason.

How can you learn the way? Rejecting love for hatred.
We weep to think what's lost you - so gifted and so blessed.
Drugging makes no earthly sense. Your arrogant display so ugly.
Yet, once so alive - now dense; while Hearts break all around!

Life promises no guaranties. Maturation is but one exercise.
It brings you through the smooth and rough and aims you at a light.
Don't wallow and mess with fate. Time is not loaned its only spent.

Your deprivation steals from life; you're selling out the store!
The death you flirt gives no rebate. See our hands; reach for hope;
Hear our love; know the way, lest never, ever more be seen.

Let Us Not Forget - 2002

Let us not forget. Forget.
Or we'll become the lost.
It's time we grow and heal
As we give tribute to them.

Special people have departed
They have given all they had
Their absences are sorely felt
Their lives so cruelly crushed.

It's time to get our lives in shape,
while we honor those who've gone.
Let us not forget, they didn't ask to go.
It's up to us, we know the way.

We will not forget. We can't
Though many lights went out
Glowing souls reflect within
In every shining tear we shed.

Special folks have been taken
Our hearts still ache their loss
It's not time for any slacking
Take the cure and live to give.

Honor those we no longer have,
By getting our lives in shape,
Let us not forget that frightful day,
Nor the beautiful ones to come.

Let us not forget. We can't.
Yet we need to move ahead
To unite and love each other
Share our strength and get better.

Special people have been lost
But their spirits still remain
Join in a circle, pray with them
Honor them and lead your life.

Let Us Not Forget - 2006

Let us not forget.
Or we'll join with the lost.
We best pay them homage,
But we need to grow and heal.

Special people are five years gone
Their lives so cruelly crushed.
Their absences sorely felt
Our lives forever changed.

We need remember why
Their lives were cruelly taken
Yet whose souls reflect within us
From the shining tears we shed.

Special folks horrifically taken
Our hearts aching at their loss
It's not time for any slacking
No time to forget our vows.

Let us not forget
As we live out our lives
Do we unite as promised?
Are we better, the same, worse?

Special people were murdered.
Do their spirits remain within us?
While we join in love and prayer,
Seeking a way to help another.

We shall not forget. We can't.
To hold each other tightly.
Men, women, boys and girls
Reach out, share, love, give.

Special folks five years were taken
But special people are all about
Who with heads held high, can roll
And do right by them forever.

Life Chain

What heritage precedes me?
The process of my lineage?
Who were those ancestors;
That long line leading here.
How far back is back?
What strewed this line?
Love, hatred, deception?
Do we turn away from it;
Blameless, disavowing it?
How clean the family tree?
Were we avoiders or apostles?
Does any of this matter?
If chosen, why be bothered?
We hear it was not given all.
Is not God's covenant for all?
What if the chain was broken
Before my time on earth.
Do I come to life unblessed?
Or, could all have received
The messenger in their time?
Was not God here at the start?
As Paul traversed his world,
Could not others elsewhere?
John's testimony gives divinity
To Jesus, and the Way to us.
But wasn't it intended for all,
Even those who never heard?
What arrogance denies Grace
Because some were absent?
We've stumbled on this greed,
And denying others have lost it.
So many seeds have flowed
Through a morass of living people
To create a bodily presence here.
Who was it held my gene,
When Jesus Christ was born?

Loss

Loss
Describe loss.
How feels a loss?
Loss
Penetrating pain
Irrevocable
Loss
It can't talk
Won't feel
Loss
At a loss
Tears are dry
Loss
So awful
Such a waste
Loss

Mother

Poetry and paintings first come to mind.
Gentleness and warmth are close behind.
There is much to relish on first inspection,
Like old photos and her girlish reflection.

Now stately and caring in her elder years,
The panache of her youth is very much here.
Her wit and her charm visible for all to see,
Be she formal, casual, or is on the first tee.

The years blend together in a tableau blur,
Yet my memories are still very vivid of her.
Dancing with her special beau, her Don.
Brewing a great meal in her kitchen apron.

When little, I lap sat, as she read to me.
Or baked popovers that gave me such glee.
Times at the lake, so much that we shared,
All that she engendered, because she cared.

Be she Virginia, Ginny, Grammy, Mother,
She is very special to me, and many another.
But this ode of love is especially penned to -
My Mother, from her little boy. I love you.

An Ode to Golfer Jan

A beautiful walk in the park
On grass so soft and green
Is suddenly made fun, a lark
When a gaudy birdie you glean.

Not meaning the ones that fly,
But a one-under, rolling putt,
That elevates every swinging try
Wiping out holes of another glut.

Living with that little white ball
Is a struggle hard to contemplate
We're so mighty, it's so small.
Yet our scores not ego we inflate.

But hearken on those days you trod,
If you think you've won this game,
For up will jump the Spherical God
And make all those shots be lame.

So be humble on your jaunty walk,
What's given can be taken away.
Best you pay homage, softly talk;
You're only a guest on any fairway.

Pot Paradox

Puking pikers' preaching puffing pursuits,
Pillhead produced pique; purging parents.
Peacocky pushers, promenade playful pot,
Pernicious paraphernalia; promising pluck.

Precipitous, paranoid, pimpled preachers
Polarizing pathetic, pubescent punk heads;
Professing perverted, pseudo psychic puke.
Passionless, pale, permanently perishing.

The Quilted Field

We walk through this quilted field of loss,
Seeing grief drink from many cups of sorrow.
Viewing a regimented array of departed souls
Now esteemed, too late, to keep them whole.

What duplicity brought their premature demise?
Is this another "thing" never to be solved?
Wishes scream out from these cloth templates;
Urgent pleas on winds of hope, to find a cure.

While hatred weaves its ugly, viscous web,
Thru fretful factions so fearful of themselves.
The ill fated lost all humanity - nay to friends
Who ache their losses, whilst fearing the future.

Yea honor these souls, oh living; yet not forget,
They loved, toiled, savored, gave, and only ask,
We not discharge those afflicted who still live,
As the last quilt is folded in the growing dusk.

-- Commemorating the AIDS quilts,
Washington DC, October 1996

Resurrection

Twenty to forty years ago, I had no thoughts of my sixties,
Content to slosh about; sloth in my thirties, lust the desert.
Happily, I no longer covet that liquid I regularly did flaunt.
It is no longer the fuel that fires the pride of my day's jaunt.

Those early years were vigorous, yet naive and ignorant.
Wasting many opportunities; much lost in life's content.
Fired by derisive visions and a corruptible low esteem,
My capricious course wavered; no rudder, never a dream.

A score of selfish, slogging and salaciously spent years,
Drove this sad soul downward into divorce and tears.
Yet somehow, through the torment and intoxicated blight
A light shined through; igniting my rebuilding, sober fight.

Now thirty two years into this new age, enlightened,
Challenges now met and won is what makes me excited.
My light is no longer hidden from others, nor from me.
It fuels my verve, my desire to be sober and always free.

My eyes were finally opened to the joys life long did offer;
Because my misuse had not drained dry my ebullient coffer.
Even with finite love from God within me, I still must cope,
Not regress; never to again dangle on a drunkard's rope.

Now my life is cloaked in love. There's no need for paranoia.
It is evolving everyday, filled with faith, works and koinonia.
What thought lost was found; talents of my genes excavated;
Awakened - this treasure energizing me. I am resurrected!

Shards of Jamestown

Excitement was undeniable at the excavated well.
Jamestown rediscovery gave up artifacts galore.
Extracting implements, shards, an armored breastplate.
Four hundred year old histories rusted and crusted.
Memorabilia dug from a new nation's beginnings.
Depicting rough, hard lives, an uncharted wilderness.
The mustard seed of freedom planted and nurtured,

These settlers also brought hypocrisies and immoralities
To these shores in the men and boys of so long ago.
Buried under sweeps of grass and foundation remnants
Speaking to the heart and soul of a vulnerable island,
Skeletons, cookware, tools, fragments are laid bare.
Archeological discoveries shadowed by today's ugliness
While TV reports violent acts alongside these finds.

They sought freedom coming here, but today fear grips us
Fingertip digging and a sniper's trigger finger don't compute.
Jamestown's beginnings brought what to these pristine lands?
Freedom costs and its price and payments are always dear.
Oppressive rule exists, only the faces of repression changed.
The "Naturals" of the new land rebelled to keep their own,
"Royals" were bent on becoming rich at everyone's expense.

Sheer numbers and better firepower was what won out.
We learn through rediscovery of our settlers' fabled past.
We don't conclusively know if what we read was real or not.
Settlers wrote to please their sponsors, not give actual account.
Such is true with laws misused, trust abused and greed excused.
These lands were taken through force and appropriation, and
We wonder why horrors visit us each and every day.

What have we built upon these shattered shards of yesteryear?

So Cooool

Vilifying punks haughtily announcing their way.
Disrespectful kids flaunt anger and rake parents
cocky users flaunting their addiction and use
of all the tools they used to bolster their self image.

Reckless scared kids putting on a front that hooks
naive kids who know less but think the are so cooool,
whilst spouting off smart-mouths, digging themselves
a hole into which they will fall and find only death.

The Twelfth Night Cake

You think baking easy?
A piece of cake?
How 'bout with ingredients
Only Chef Tel can find?
Lemon rinds, almond paste, marzipan -
All to go with 'chilled puffed pastry.'
Up one aisle and down the other
Clerks answered with blank looks and
Fear. Some cried, others ranted:
Try 23, or six, no seven, eh - I mean two.
What madness is this twelfth night cake?
It ain't bagels and cream cheese, that's for sure.
Finally shopping's done.
I'm heading home to face the fun.
I've got to - ( grimace ) - bake this thing!
Oh woe, I was handed directions
And told not to call.
Ha. A maze is more a piece of cake!
Unsalted butter, 2 eggs beaten.
Why not beat the chef, who invented this mess?
Lemon rind, flour and marzipan;
And get this - It all makes - Frangipani!
When done it is to be frozen.
Wait a day.
An intermission from this stress.
On the morrow we get out puff pastry,
But it's flat - what?
Oh, my scribble says it's okay.
I roll and cut; 2 layers, 8 inches round.
Bring out the - Frangipani - a solid rock now.
Rolled and shaped, the pastry is once more chilled.
The oven? No! It must wait.
The fridge is its cradles forty five minutes more,
Then this chilled glob is painted with egg,
And with great relief, and in the oven placed.
I then read: this is now the time to pray.

Under The Moss

A tiny trickle; natures liquid. A thin glide -
through vales, down gentle slopes - slowly
flows, so clear and unadorned with filth,
passing rocks, trees, ferns - soft moss.

A thought filled wanderer, hiker - awed traverser
of woods, fauna, streams; is beckoned to by
laser rays leaking through the leafy canopy -
bathing warm an emerald cloak of moss.

A tranquil breeze rustles high leafy limbs,
A wistful muse - textured by the dead and living
Titillates senses in a wood so rich, Some obvious,
Some mysterious, such as secrets under the moss.

We Can

We can weep
We can hold candles in the air
We can sway to and fro
We can feel passion
We can feel loss
We can ache with sorrow
We can be lost in the moment
We can meditate or pray
We can hope
We can yearn
We can have wisdom
We can have healing thoughts
We can promise to follow
We can fool only ourselves
We can feel pathos and longing
We can crumble in the light of day
We can erupt over insignificant acts
We can find fault
We can berate
We can be torn by grief
We can be aggressive
We can bully
We can pick at and pick on
We can be unruly
We can be ill tempered
We can drive with rage
We can rage over nothing
We can hold life dear
We can barely hold up our heads
We can have fire in our belly
We can have hope
We can have love
We can give love
We can love life

We Didn't Know We Really Didn't Know

We didn't know we didn't know.
Bright skies darkened with blackening hate.
Unbelievability streaking to sudden doom,
Gray billowing tidal waves, swirling death.

A war is begun, but where are the soldiers?
Unseen protagonists turn victims to dust.
How do loved ones face up to such a day?
What cowards created thousands of dead.

We didn't know - we really didn't know.
A coffee cup raised, but lips never reached.
Phone calls; gossip in the halls, interrupted.
Where is justice? Hearts forever broken.

While cruel men gleefully chortled in caves
At our people, their cruel minds destroyed,
Innocents gave the ultimate not knowing why.
Brave people rushed in to get one more out.

We didn't know that we really didn't know.
What manner of people takes joy in such chaos?
Insanely creating choked desperation - havoc,
Forcing eyes to look from desks to windows.

Quick goodbye glances, jumpers hold hands,
Bodies and souls crushed - are one in the debris.
Filthy evil steals it all. Children are orphaned.
How are tomorrows confronted with this day?

We didn't know then that we really didn't know.
But those hellish fires cauterized our determination.
Those lumped throats, twitching eyes, aching anger -
Are plentifully given over to healing and growth.

Now, a year gone by, we bury our hatred in their caves.
We fly our flags, sing songs, rejoice in who we are.
Our lights will brightly shine while theirs go out,
Because we know, and they know we really know.

9/11/02

What is your standard?

By what standard do you live your life?
Do you hate so, that you glaze your eyes,
And flaunt your stoned condition, or
Are you merely scared and impotent?

How close to death must you become
Before life's grace turns to dung, as
Blasters turned high cup your brain, so
You'll never hear harp strings play.

Why is it you despise you, and treat
The miracle that is you so disdainfully
Whilst smashing love others hold, with
Selfish, destructive, spite filled acts?

Dig deep, what is your standard? Can you
Wake to make the day a joyous place, or
Are you riddled with debilitating hate, that
You forsake love, and choose this day to die?

What Makes Us?

From what heritage have we come?
What selection brought forth our lineage?
The oppressed, the downtrodden, the enslaved?
What long line leads to us this day?
How far back through the ages can we see?
Are we the blamed, or blessed?
How ripe or rotten our family tree?
So many seeds flowed to create us,
Molding through countless generations.
Yet, our soul, our living spirit, belongs to us.
We encase it, hold it, protect it, cherish it.
No genes here.
It is ours and only ours.

Witch Hunts

Once lived we in an iridescent and less fretful time?
When easy, friendly talk, straight out - a virtue.
Whence was innocent contact made a virulent crime -
Words a forbidable sin; all grist for a witches-brew?

Voracious accusations of doubtful origin, made brutal.
Flagrant. Accusing fingers pointing one asunder -
Defiling, media hype making futile a defense -
So menaced in a ravenous and hideous thunder.

Our world laid waste by sensational sound bites,
Hail stoned with cries - it's the people's right to know!
Who amongst us can defend the `casters' bile?
While almosts and maybes translate to gospel and right .

First stoners fling their morality - right or wrong
Oh myth of Eden, the serpent devil fills your space.

Witch-hunts fill history's pages.
Media and spin-doctors now the arsons
To whom a bomb is more appealing than a blessing.
There is no message of love and caring.

None dare rebuke the tabloid-bred wily witches -
Lest be denigrated - 'Another one. That one' .
How Machiavellian this visceral news contest.
Democracy fails protect - opposition is suppressed.

The media sucks the sweet nectar, sensationalism wins.
Human emotions run amuck - headlines fuel the fire.
Their circumstantial rages a bite of acrid strife -
Frenzied cries - Hang them. Hang them - their mantra.

The Crucible 's Abigail gave us this sense;
Too, the Red-hunt of the fifties, Miller's inspiration.
Irrational behavior obscured. Air spuriously dense.
Good citizens done-in by little ditties .

Turmoil exacerbates witches' abhorrent behavior.
The venom of media vipers feed the fires.
Highlighting the devil's videographic specters.
They, too, would crucify the savior.

Talk shows gab - TV news promotes -
Horror stories proliferate - more lurid the relating -
Biting sensationalism the media's sharp sword
Vicious, vacuous, venomous. Lucifer aggrandized.

Yet, when accusations become barren - blamers turn sour -
Satellite dishes, faxes, computers, modems turn to salt.
The media's preachers air no apologies -
They're off on a new hunt, seeking more horrors to exalt.

Now, where is 'the people's right to know' ?
Their dirt now done - The accused disgraced;
Honor squashed - lives left in ashes. Witches gone.
They are mum - steeling away in white vans - fast jets.

The people do have a right to know!
Self-righteous deans of news - denizens of Hell,
Worshippers of the holy innuendoes, turn their backs.
On ruined lives they've skewered by their slanted views.

Would that lessons were learned, from the lives you breach,
When from the very beginning your accusing stories break,
You'd be more circumspect, investigate, before you preach
And remember that it's 'the people' whom you put at stake.

World Peace

Take a share of responsibility
For the world
Welcome strangers
Write to world leaders
Be friends with neighbors
Mediate a conflict
Start a petition
Don't make others wrong
Be, don't be at .
Seek mutual understanding
Be a peacemaker
Don't fight, forgive.
Stand up against bullying
Be grateful don't resent
Cultivate inner serenity
Help those in need
Exercise what you tell
Provide what is missing
Talk about peace
Be open minded
Aid the starving
House the homeless
Really, educate the children
Become an activist
Don't react to anger
Exchange ideas
Care for the environment
Support charities
Know our actions matter
Don't just talk, act
Let others be heard
Speak up for peace
Avoid prejudice
Do voluntary service
Learn new ways
Give, care, love