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

Donn Wayne Deedon

Donn Wayne Deedon, 67, of Kingman died Monday, March 26, 2007, in Kingman. He was born Dec. 24, 1939, in Arpin, Wis.
 Donn was passionate about many things, including traveling (by any mode), motorcycles (Harley-Davidsons in particular), reading and writing. He was best known for his poetry. He started writing when he was a teenager. He found inspiration in the Marine Corps and later in politics. His two biggest inspirations were philosophical freedoms and love. And so he wrote prolifically for 50 years about freedom and love in its various forms, and of course, things that offended his sensibilities.
He was well known at the poetry venues in Los Angeles, Las Vegas and Austin, Texas. By the end of the millennium, he became known in poetry venues and on radio and television in Europe, Asia and Australia. He was published in numerous poetry anthologies, as well as publishing three books of his own and releasing a CD with 27 of his best poems. As a person, he inspired many, and as a poet, he had no equal. He was a poet and philosopher extraordinaire. He was a member of the International Society of Poets and the American Motorcycle Association.
Donn is survived by his wife, Andrea Deedon of Kingman; his mother, Ann Deedon of Granby, Mo.; three sisters, Medora Walters of Middletown, R.I., Marlys James of Granby and Dawn Dotson of Kirkland, Wash.; three brothers, J. David Deedon of Lafayette, Ind., Maynard (Skip) Deedon of Conway, Ark., and Glenn DeeDon of Kingman; three daughters, Jenni-Rebecah Deedon of Dallas, Rebecah Deedon of Blytheville, Ark., and Rachael Deedon of Eugene, Ore.; and one son, Aaron Deedon of Santa Clarita, Calif. He is also survived by two grandchildren.



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



If Life is a circle (there are those who declare it so)
Such that we keep reincarnating to feed our souls
Some experience that only comes in a corporal package.
If Time is linear only to keep the mind sane, but, in truth,
Stands on end making all Time exist in this moment; in this Now.
If Dejá Vu is when possibilities superimpose in the head
Like a photograph double exposed and slightly out of sync.
Then I know why my soul keeps hungering to return time and again;
For each time it does it finds you to love. Remember?

Donn Deedon © 07/13/99

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

Posted via web from Andrea Starbird