Donald was very talented - Poetry

COSMIC FIREWORKS

Like moonbeams in the fog
except
          there is no moon
          there is no fog

A radiant explosion without sound
the late autumn air crisp; clean; fragrant; pure.

First a mystic glow like the full moon 
behind thin clouds;
Transforming to a starburst of pale green
becoming shimmering white rays turning pink as 
their tendrils approach the horizon;
and between them,
fields of faint dark red appear
as if to warm the glaciers over which they play.

A star-studded white tornado dances amongst the
mountain ridges
as a night bird screeches its applause 
somewhere across the still water.
Massive bands of green waves reflect their emeraldlike beauty
in Auke Lake
with a slight mist rising
as if to respond with their own aurora.

In the distance, snowcapped peaks with
brilliant blazes of ice-blue light above.

Midnight approaches like a false dawn.
No sun; no moon; only stars and nightsky.
frozen and silent;
earthplanet as spectator to the cosmos.

Ears chilled,
    hands numbed,
       eyes overwhelmed,
           soul calmed,
I rest with a peace and realization of yet another
of life’s dreams fulfilled.

Goodnight, Juneau.

      Donald Boothby
      October 30, 2003



Ode to Rhubarb

Sometimes had it hot
sometimes had it cold
always sweet
always bold
sometimes over icecream
sometimes in jam
spread thick on my toast
no matter how we got it
we loved our rhubarb most

Raleighdon
6-8-07



MAC AND CHEESE

mac and cheese 
if you please.
It'll do in a squeeze.
It don't make me wheeze
It won't give me fleas.
Its made in a breeze
just please don't freeze
my mac and cheese.

Donald Boothby
February 9, 2009



CROOKED BUTTONS

I button my shirt from the bottom
I always do bottom to top
my mommy says it should be perfect
much different, she says, than ol' Pop.

Now Pop, he does it all backwards
he always goes top straight on down.
Then walks around dressed up in flannel
buttoned crooked all day around town.

Then home he comes for his supper
and what does mom do, one wonders.
She cooks up a nice soup with barley
quite careful to ignore his blunders.

But me, does she give such leeway?
Oh NO! Here lies the trap.
If I get just one button crooked
there's sure to come a head slap.

Donald Boothby
February 9, 2009

QUIET DESPERATION

I the great noble Marine
Standing alone against the world.
I the scared little boy
In a grown man’s body.
Don’t worry about me, I can handle it;
Strength and endurance will carry me through.

 I the great survivor.

Don’t look at my insides, they’re too real;
No peeks behind the masks allowed.
Weakness and shame cannot show;
This is the fear worse than death itself.
When all else fails read the directions?
No! When all else fails mask it with

 drugs:  The ultimate foxhole; the bunker which keeps even the 
   feelings away.

Slowly, slowly the walls begin to crumble.
Fear turns to panic turns to rage.
Find a new bunker – a new drug.

 Mask the pain stuff the fear show the rage.

Anger is allowed
 it's manly
  it's deserved.

From nowhere a question begins to haunt the soul:

 “WHAT THE HELL IS QUIET DESPERATION?”

In self there is no answer
In self there is no hope.
The disease has eaten away from the inside leaving a mere shell.
In one brief moment the question is answered.

Someone says, “we can”
Someone says, “we care”;
a new child is born
a child with no uniform – no masks.
Then, taking that first step, reaching out to take a hand
 Lest I should fall….

Mistakes are allowed;
 They are human
  They are expected.
From deep within the answer is given:
 “I surrender”

      Donald Boothby
      January, 1998
      Seattle, WA