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Best Poems Written by Donna Fullerton

Below are the all-time best Donna Fullerton poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

The Ballad of John Muir Woods

The Ballad of John Muir Woods

	
	I squint at the splendid morning sun	 
	golden filtered bright rays conveyed.	
	Speaking they say, sit, little one		 
	rest a spell in our noble shade.

	I squint at this forest of titans
	sitting, I wait for more whisperings.
	They weigh my thoughts across the breeze
	you are part of our air, they sing.

	Youth returns in kaleidoscopes
	sprightly green patterns swiftly shift.
	Tinged golden from morning’s new hope
	their harmony in sea breezes drift.

	These conifers sprout from stump and boast
	wildness, our need is undisputed.
	Redwoods, the glory of Cali’s coast
	engage me and call me beloved. 

	DE Fullerton

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The Washer Woman of Canyonlands

The Washer Woman in Canyonlands


An old woman laments
of her daily chores,
the stinging lye soap
and a biting washboard.

With knuckles bleeding
into the day’s dirty water,
she sighs and prays 
for a better tomorrow.

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

Easter Eggs and Tulips

Easter Eggs and Tulips

Grandaddy was a quiet soul, 
born in 1888 on the first day of Spring.
He often stopped to graze his sheep, 
on the lush green grass 
found at my grandmother’s old house, 
where she played with dollys and jacks.
A knowledgable gardener by trade, growing flowers and crops
he caught a beautiful maid’s eye nearby, 
some 20 years older than she was he
and yet from their earliest glance, 
he remained loyal to his Corrie.
Grandaddy planted stately green Rhododendrons, 
bordering the road and our land, 
growing his own pipe tobacco. 
His battle with bamboo most grand
exotics brought from the Great War, 
in France’s trenches he sat long
wondering if he’d make it home, 
the mustard gas a near swan song.
My childhood recollections of him digging in the dirt bed
planting Avignon tulip bulbs, 
silky pedals flowering brilliantly red
bursting freely with our Easter Eggs, 
cleverly hidden from our sight
by gentle liver-spotted hands, 
unfurling them with slow delight. 
You left us when I was but nine, 
my memories are vague shadows,
dreams of you, a bible in one hand, 
pipe in the other, 
curling smoke around you,
smelling sweetly of spicy tobacco.

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

Easter Storm On Mesquite Dunes

Rushing toward the desert monsoon
I sought to capture a rare midday storm.
We arrived to the valley of ever-changing dunes     
with quilted layers shifting in cadential form.   

Isolated and distant beneath purple majestic peaks    
whose grains of time find harsh deposit.  
Ocean winds once prevailing now serve faithless creeks
meandering through limestone composites.

An expanse where time ceases and wind erases,    
sounds existing only between the spaces of my steps.   
Shimmering purple hues and tumultuous lightning amazes,
awakening childlike wonder in sacred vortexes.  
   
This afternoon midnight sky sings to me a quiet minuet, 		 
falling upon the desert’s newest sapphire silhouette.

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

We Count Life's Breath

What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yet,
last year’s death toll amassed far too much grief.
We count life’s breaths with terminal regrets. 
 
Lost my loud and crazy best friend, Yvette, 
we had just spoken. I’m still in disbelief.  
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yet. 
 
Aunt Queeny and Cousin John met June’s debt  
with weariness and time stretched not so brief.    
We count life’s breaths with terminal regrets.
 
Shakespearian Sawyer ended his verve, met 
unending anguish from Issac’s unborn sleep. 
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, yet. 
 
Five more red curtain calls left us bereft,
Mom’s Song of Farewell brought lasting relief.
We count life’s breaths with terminal regrets. 

Casket palls placed, welcome new life, netting
God’s comfort for the kin and the deceased. 
What does not kill you makes you stronger, yet,
we count life’s breaths with terminal regrets.

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

Tree of Jesse

Secret mysteries
                      open before us in the light of the Lord. 
           The flame of which does not burn but warms as the 
 sun’s morning rays. This flame penetrates the consciousness of man, 
giving him a soul. Looking inward, the soul then answers this Divine call 
     of Love and becoming self-aware leaves behind egotism and conceit. 
           The Soul’s gaze reaches outward, opening to the beauty and 
			         the truth of the Light.
                                  It now understands 
                                    the Guiding Word 
                                      and  Supreme 
                                       Harmony of 
                                         Heaven.
                 Joy found in her journey of life becomes 
          a collective symphony triumphantly singing a celebration 
                       of life's journey in the tree of Jesse.

Details | Donna Fullerton Poem

Easter Eggs and Tulips

Easter Eggs and Tulips

Grandaddy was a quiet soul, born in 88 on a spring day.
He often stopped to graze his sheep, on the lush green grass shoots in May
found at my grandmother’s old house, where she played with dollys and jacks.
Knowledgable gardener by trade, he grew crops and purple lilacs 
catching a beautiful maid’s eye, some 20 years older was he,
and yet from his earliest glance, he was steadfast to his Corrie.
He planted stately green magnolias, bordering the road and our land, 
growing his own pipe tobacco, his battle with bamboo most grand
exotics brought from the Great War, in France’s trenches he sat long
wondering if he’d make it home, the mustard gas a near swan song.
I have childhood recollections, of you digging in the dirt bed
planting Avignon tulip bulbs, silky pedals flowering red
bursting freely with Easter Eggs, cleverly hidden from our sight
by gentle liver-spotted hands, unfurling them with slow delight. 
You left us when I was but nine, my memories are vague shadows,
dreams of you with a spade in hand, smelling sweetly of pipe tobacco.