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J. Dwight Donald

Copyright © 2017 by J. Dwight Donald

Simpsonville, SC 29681

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Copyright acknowledgement:

Total solar eclipse by Igor Zh.

via Shutterstock


All rights reserved. Any kind of unauthorized reproduction, distribution, or exhibition of this copyrighted material in any medium or form is strictly prohibited.


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This book is dedicated to my parents (James and Eunice),

maternal grands (Ross and Bertha),

paternal grands (Wade and Ella),

and the late Dr. A.M Sharpe.

Also, to those who

persevere in their artistry.


I would like to thank my wife, Krystal, for being

very supportive, patient and understanding.

Also, a ton of thanks to Robin Bryant, Gerald Jackson

and Selvy Cobb for their undying

critique and insight.

To Dr. Butler Brewton, who inspired me to write poetry

and my many coworkers who read my poems

and gave encouragement.




Trees Felled

A Native Son

The Young Man in the Cemetery

Surnames of Strength


The Back Porch Well

From Without and Within

God in the Storm

Altar Call



A New Harvest

We are not Afraid

Tomorrow, Too Late


*Dum Spiro Spero




Bring Them Out

No More Gray

Rain men


Sorry Won’t Do


Stolen Years


The Strap


Turning Point

Bewitching Hour


Christmas Without

Glad You Were Born

A Thief in the Den

A Fading Glory

Modern Development

Joel on the Wheel



Angel on East Fair Isle

Aunt Rose


Kudos to Our Fathers

For Those Who Gave


Mountain Top

Steve and Tiny

That Girl

A King in the Queen City




I will go out into the night of day

And witness as your body gets in the way

In the way of rays of sunlight-

In the way of the circadian clock of crickets-

In the way of chaos and confusion

In the way of thoughts of men-

Then those who dare, in this brief swath of a miracle,

will slowly and carefully lift their heads in

totality and behold your majestic crown and rejoice in

the grandeur of the moment

Trees Felled

(17 Parkland Fla. and Many More)

Some trees will never see the splendor and fruition of their purpose

Many are felled before soaring and reaching majestic heights

never to give shade nor solace

Many an eagle or jay will never get the chance to alight upon their lofty crowns and look down upon the ground

With roots having yet to spread, they will never branch to their

truest potential, with sap running rich and wild

Saplings truncated, while yet dawn

A Native Son

This land is my land. For

I have trod barefoot upon

the red clay and waded in

streams where snakes abide.

And I’ve picked cotton,

peaches, blackberries and

hauled hay, from the red soil

from which they sprang.

Climbed steep, wet hills with

brother, sister and my brood

of friends and slid down in

rapid descent.

Walking a hilly and meandering

pothole infested road, I would

see the chain gang taming sprawling

growth and repairing years of decay.

And I would descend and walk

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