Donny Barilla, a self-taught poet, works diligently on his creative pursuits. He resides in the beautiful state of Pennsylvania where he absorbs the tender nature which surrounds him and uses this as a platform to improve and expand his poetry which stays alive with passions and energizing thought. Donny has published two books of poetry, he awaits publication of six more and has self-published nine books which includes three books on mythology, also written in verse. Sixty-eight poems found there way to various journals, magazines, and literary reviews.
Donny has placed as winner of the Adelaide Literary Voices Award for poetry. This year, two thousand and eighteen, ‘2018’, Donny hosted seven poetry readings, and four book signings. He gave twenty books a home in academic and public libraries. He currently works on his latest book which touches upon the subject of death, the departed, and weaving takes upon the afterlife.
The swelling pouch of slick leaves depresses beneath
Each step of my ankles and boots.
With the stretch of heavy maples which line
A woodland trail of antiquity, crackling upon the snapping winds,
I slow to the halt of the halting breeze, pause, then
Continue on my way.
“Walk across my parchment threads. Stretch through with the trembling
Wind across the fibers of your hair and all its fullness. I offer
You the deepest soil. In the madness of our departed, we welcome
The pastures of these guests of Winter.” moaned the crackling trees.
These trees loosened their leaves and wept
As the widower of this empty trail.
I came to a kneel, picked a fist of leaves covered
In slick rain, the slip of muds which spoke of a distant Spring.
Crinkled and pressed beneath the sole and heel
of these tethered boots, I feel, smell the snip
and crack from roots to quivering buds.
The onion shoot rose to the thick yellow pollens.
I stepped again and they rose beneath me.
I listened and heard a scream of the almost black,
creep and swarm of a cloud.
Brooming gusts of cool wind as the belt unloosened
and madness of Summer rain blitzed across my
well pasted shirt and hug of the dampening jeans.
I gathered myself under the spread of a canopy,
trembling trees. The branches smacked in the deep
of Summer’s madness.
I crouched and hugged as I recall the scent of you,
quiet beside the evergreen.
Forever Loose in the Autumn Night
The soil I love tumbles, treads across me as the
gust of wind flutters, each mineral shrouds my chest.
I absorb, saturate the water which beads upon my
Trickling grass fondles the loose flesh of my nakedness.
In the crisp hour of nightfall, I stood and wandered
my way through the laughing madness of the slapping winds.
I shift and roam through the fibers of moonbeams.
I am loose in these hours.
I take flight upon the wilt of the Autumn breeze.