Veneta Donaldson: I Watched a Star

Drawing  by C.L. Donaldson

all rights reserved

Here's a poem by my aunt, that I like for summer.  She always tried to find deep meaning in nature, and I think she succeeded.  The drawing above, was done by her husband in 1937 when he was in high school, as the cover of his geography notebook.  The teacher kept this notebook for 20 years as an example of good work, and returned it to him in 1957.  Young Clyde grew up to be an artist and draftsman for the  Army Corps of Engineers.

I Watched a Star

by Veneta Donaldson

I watched a star above a hill,

When all of life was quiet, still;

It shone upon a town below

As though it loved its people so.

And as I stood there, lost in thought,

I wondered why such havoc's wrought;

For there's a star above each town

To guide it upward - never down.

This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: Glimpse of Spring

Untitled oil painting by C.L. Donaldson

all rights reserved

Here's another poem by my aunt.  She was inspired by springtime every year, and this verse is from her early years of poetry-writing.  The painting above, was one of a pair done by her husband, which he presented to her in matching gold frames the year before they were married.  During the final months of her life, they were brought from her home to her hospital room, and hung upon the wall beside her bed.

Glimpse of Spring

by Veneta Donaldson

Each tiny twig reflects the spring

That haunts each tender, budding bough,

And I, who saw a robin's wing,

Stop not to ponder why or how

But steep my heart in rapture sweet

That grows with every passing year;

And store its beauty to defeat

Those days when sullen clouds appear.

This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: Snow Flakes

Untitled oil painting by C.L. Donaldson

all rights reserved

Here's a winter poem by my aunt.  She wrote it in her younger years, when, grieving for her lost love, almost everything reminded her of him.  The painting above is one of her husband's.  He was the great love of her life, who came into her life many years later and stayed with her until he died.

Snow Flakes

by Veneta Donaldson

Bright, myriad stars are falling fast,

Transforming all the countryside

Into a land of fairy charm

Whose beauty cannot be denied.

Each star-flake bears a treasure sweet--

For some a dream, for some the grace

Of love's deep truth and wondrous joy--

For one, the memory of your face.

This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: The Language of Autumn

Untitled oil painting by C.L. Donaldson

all rights reserved

Here's another autumn poem by my aunt, with a decidedly different mood.  The painting is one of her husband's, which hung in her house for as long as I can remember.

The Language of Autumn

by Veneta Donaldson

Autumn's swirling leaves imprinted by the winds

Upon the darkening sky above the town

Proclaimed the age-old change the season lends

In earthy volumes of gold and brown.

I heard the haunting voice of the sterling oak

That stands so strong, so proud and gallant still—

Bereft of beauty, alone, and yet it spoke

Of cherished days upon the wind-blown hill.

I heard the willow softly crying there

As tho' its heart could find no peace or rest

Until the resurrecting, springtime air

Touched it gently again upon the breast.

The language of Autumn is clear to me—

I understand the oak bereft of charm.

My heart is one with the weeping willow true—

I too fear Winter's irrevocable harm.

This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "God's Artistry"

Autumn Sunset in Texas
Here's another one of my Aunt's lovely autumnal poems. She was a lover of beauty, always grateful for its abundance in nature.

God's Artistry
by Veneta Donaldson

I walked among Thy woods today
Seeking nature's beauty so free;
And lightened was my weary way
By yon copper-burnished tree
With its flame of color splashed
Against Thy canvas of bright sky;
Deep within my breast there flashed
One long, heart-rending sigh.
God, by Thy grace may I impart
This moment of Thy artistry,
So that another humble heart
Adoring it may worship Thee.


This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Faith Absolute"

Veneta Donaldson on her wedding day, 1949
My aunt loved springtime, and she wrote about it quite a bit. Since this is Easter, and it's April, I thought this would be a good poem for today.

Faith Absolute
by Veneta Donaldson

Who stands upon a hill with April near
Shares in ecstasy of faith's eternal birth;
And knows the reason of his unshed tear
Delaying grief that he may bear the joy of earth.

Who stands upon a hill with April near
Must feel rejuvenation stir within his breast;
And know that hate and man's condemning fear
Before this ageless faith subordinately rest.


This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Time of Yule"

Veneta Donaldson with niece and husband, 1959
This is my aunt's Yuletide poem. She loved this time of year--her house was warm, her tree was draped with tinsel, and wonderful smells drifted from the kitchen. What a joy it was to visit her!

Time of Yule
by Veneta Donaldson

My heart rejoices with delight
In beauty glimpsed at time of Yule
When Heaven's wisdom reigns supreme
And fellowship and goodness rule.
The look upon a little face
At sound of merry tinkling bell,
The depth of faith in eyes grown dim
Through Christmases too sweet to tell,
The crunch of footsteps on the walk
When all the world is strangely quiet,
Heralding the approach of one
Who makes a cherished fireside bright,
The sound of carols, high and clear,
Borne upward by young voices sweet,
A wistful face in window framed
With gaze intent on snow-banked street,
The cheer of holly on a door,
And firelight's gleam like jewels spilled,
The glow of candles in the dusk–
Are mine until my heart is stilled.


This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Picture of Autumn"

Veneta Donaldson with her husband, c. 1950
In her poetry, my aunt showed an affnity for Autumn. Images of turning leaves appear in many of her poems, and this one is devoted to the season.

Picture of Autumn
by Veneta Donaldson

The morning breaks at my heart's door
And offers wealth beyond compare —
A mist that shines upon the earth
Like gems that bind a woman's hair;
A cloud inlaid with ivory,
Enchanting as a minaret;
A sound from scarlet, feathered throat,
Sweeter than that of castanet;
Sun-burnished leaves along a path,
More beautiful than purest gold.
Throughout my life's swift span of hours
May Autumn share its wealth untold!


This is part of a group of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Additional poems are continued here.

Veneta Donaldson: "And Now I Keep My Promise"

Veneta Donaldson's little box
This little box sat in an honored spot in Veneta's home for as long as I can remember, until the time came for me to bring it to my house. Inside, she kept a few photos, copied-down quotes, and her very special poems. A few days after she died, I opened this box and found the following brief poem. She undoubtedly wrote it after her husband, Clyde, passed away, and it was read at the end of her funeral, next to the grave of her beloved.


And Now I Keep My Promise
by Veneta Donaldson

And now I keep my promise to you
That I would "see you in a little while" –
Beyond the stars, the sun, the wind,
Beyond the long, interminable mile.

Veneta's favorite photo of Clyde

Endnote: We have reached the final poem in this series. I hope that you have enjoyed the work of Veneta Donaldson as much as I. She was an inspiration to me in life as an aunt, and now in death, as a writer.

Additional poetry by Veneta Donaldson starts here.

The beginning of this series of poems by Veneta Donaldson and a brief bio can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Little Old Lady in Blue"

Veneta Donaldson, 1986
Veneta wrote this poem many years before she became a "little old lady in blue" herself. I believe she was thinking of her aunt with this poem, whom she visited much like I visited her in my time, and "could hardly wait to go back again."


Little Old Lady in Blue
by Veneta Donaldson

Just a little old lady in blue
With steps that falter as old steps do;
And hands that tremble when they try
The tasks remembered from days gone by.

Just a little old lady so sweet,
So like the one you used to greet
Whose home you longed to visit, then
Could hardly wait to go back again.

Just a little old lady in blue –
To some, perhaps, but not to you,
For she is Memory of a day
Never again to come your way.


The final poem in this series can be found here: And Now I Keep My Promise.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Moment Exquisite"

Veneta's husband, Clyde Donaldson, 1956
photo by Steve Caylor
This is a winter poem that Veneta wrote for the love of her life, Clyde. It's another that I found in her little box of special things.


Moment Exquisite
by Veneta Donaldson

Close the door gently; come, beside me rest,
And pillow your dark head upon my breast,
While twilight shadows steal across the room.
Outside the hands of Winter will resume
Their cherished task of silvering the night,
To fill our hearts with rapturous delight.
Dear One, Time may not bring this hour again;
Let no word's cadence mar the haunting strain
Of music, exquisitely sweet and low,
The melody of night, caroled in snow.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Little Old Lady in Blue.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Impasse"

One of Veneta Donaldson's marked-up pages
It's always encouraging to read about an excellent writer who has those moments when nothing comes together right. Here's one of Veneta's.


Impasse
by Veneta Donaldson

I cannot write tonight; elusive words
Have taunted me until my weary mind
Bows low before its conqueror, nor girds
Its strength for one last thrust, however blind.

I needed words of truth and purpose clear
To frame the thought that near my heart has lain —
That each resolve to hold Truth's concept dear —
But though defeated now, I'll write again!


The next poem in this series can be found here: Moment Exquisite.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "In Memoriam"

Veneta Donaldson's father, c. 1952
This is another poem I found folded up in my aunt's little box of special things. She wrote it when her father died. I must admit that I have edited it a bit. Veneta had a habit of avoiding the trappings of grief, and I believe that she would have made the sorts of editorial changes I did here, if this poem had not been such a strong reminder of the loss of her father.

In Memoriam
by Veneta Donaldson

Our tears are yours, our grief,
This haunting, calendared day
When one we loved so earnestly
So quietly passed away.

The dearness of your smile,
Cherished throughout our memory;
The strength and beauty of your hands
Will live with us in constancy.

Your step, so eager and so quick
Across the threshold of our time
Brought joy to all our hearts
When we beheld you in your prime.

The firmness of your will,
The self-inflicted discipline,
Were tempered with a gentleness
So rarely found among men.

Our tears are yours, our grief,
For you who left us sad but wise;
A loving memory is ours
It never, never, ever dies.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Impasse.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "They Told Me — "

Veneta Donaldson with her husband, Clyde, c. 1950
Here's another anti-war poem. Veneta's experience with both World Wars comes into play in this one.


They Told Me —
by Veneta Donaldson

They told me of the strife at sea
When ships were tossed in maelstrom wide;
They told me of Victory's fee
And depth of scars men cannot hide.
They told me never would our sons
Again feel hatred in their breast;
They told me all death-waging guns
Had been discarded, laid to rest.

They told me all men should be free,
United brothers of One World.
They never mentioned sophistry
Nor darkness that may be unfurled,
Chaotic, worse than twice before
When Peace was thought predominant.
They should have told me one thing more —
That war stalks men intolerant.


A note about gender: As was the custom for most of the 20th century, Veneta used masculine words like "men" and "brothers" when indicating both genders. So she meant "all humans should be free, united siblings of One World." I prefer the way she wrote it, because it comes across as less technical and more poetic.

The next poem in this series can be found here: In Memoriam.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "The Darkened Hours"

Veneta Donaldson, 1909
More darkness. Veneta had some very sad events in her life: her mother died when she was three years old, her first love exited leaving her unrequited for decades, and her husband died 17 years before she passed away herself. This poem was written during the unrequited years, and as she noted on her typewritten page, in the style of a Shakespeare sonnet.


The Darkened Hours
by Veneta Donaldson

Tonight the years' hypnotic eyes are bright,
They mesmerize my spirit and my mind;
They will not let me turn toward the light
But torture me with visions of the blind
And crippled hours that haunt my spirit's shore,
Hours nurtured by despair and vain regret
That Fate once barred contentment's golden door
And placed upon my heart eternal debt.

O hours that pass as lightly as a sigh
And leave no trace of triumph or defeat
Where is the Joy the egoists decry?
The ecstasy in which their days are steeped?
The darkened hours that are my legacy
Mordaciously flaunt their supremacy.


The next poem in this series can be found here: They Told Me — .

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Within the Night"

Veneta Donaldson, 1949
"Did Veneta have a dark side?" you ask. Well, apparently she did. As her niece, I never knew about it, but some of her poems are brooding, and this one is so upsetting, it made me cry. I have included "Within the Night" in this series because it is so very powerful.


Within the Night
by Veneta Donaldson

A crash splinters the dark of night,
Disturbing as remembered fright
That fringes one's distorted dream;
As piercing as malignant gleam
Of saber drawn in bloody fray,
Forever curtaining the day.

A crash splinters the dark of night —
God help the boy who longs for sight.


The next poem in this series can be found here: The Darkened Hours.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Haven"

Veneta in her own cottage, 1960
Here she is in her kitchen, looking very Julia Child-y. On the back of this photo, Veneta wrote, "Evening, Dec. 23, '60." This is her eventide poem.

Haven
by Veneta Donaldson

A small white cottage on a quiet street
For me holds loveliness complete;
For within its walls such beauty lies
As makes the heart more richly wise.

And as I gaze from my window ledge
Across an intervening hedge
Well my heart knows by their crimsoned leaves
The sun again has kissed the trees.

Now as the deepening shadows fall
Crickets sing by the garden wall;
The birds' muted chirp betokens rest
Within the shelter of their nest.

Soon now, Dear God, may Thy peace abide
Within all hearts at eventide;
May small white cottages on quiet streets
Harbor those whom peace sweetly greets.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Within the Night.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Summer's Child"

Veneta Donaldson with niece, June 1958
Since today is the Summer Solstice, it's a good day for this poem. The photo shows Veneta with me, taken around the time of Summer Solstice in 1958. I happen to have been born in the summer, but she wrote this poem many years before my time.


Summer's Child
by Veneta Donaldson

Sweet Summer's child I saw today,
Whose piquant features were designed
By playful breeze and ocean spray
Upon a shore with seashells lined.

Sweet Summer's child I saw today,
A child so gravely young and fair;
I watched her joyfully at play
With sunbeams glistening in her hair.

Oh child of breeze and ocean mist
The world is lovelier for you;
A creature whom the sun has kissed,
Yet left as fresh as morning dew.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Haven.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "Old Houses"

Veneta Donaldson at home, c. 1960
My aunt lived with her husband in a pretty little house that was dove gray with white trim. She always had flowers blooming in the front yard. This picture shows her on the front porch in a glamour-girl pose, a far cry from the houses she describes below.


Old Houses
by Veneta Donaldson

The somber, apathetic mien
Of houses old, untenanted;
The haunting look of wistfulness
As though their grief had ferreted
Each memory of lovely days
When joy and laughter were their own
Invariably bruise my heart
When I behold them, mute, alone.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Summer's Child.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.

Veneta Donaldson: "The Answer"

Veneta's husband, Clyde Donaldson, 1940s
Clyde was the great love of Veneta's life, but he appeared after many years of sadness on her part. As a young woman, she fell in love with a beau who for an unknown reason, left her, breaking her heart. Carrying on, she managed her grief while building a career for herself. Then in walked Clyde--one of the sweetest men on the planet. By the time they married, Veneta was 40 years old. Choosing not to have children, she and Clyde had a wonderful, devoted marriage for 30 years until he passed away.

The Answer
by Veneta Donaldson

Last night you said, "Darling, do you love me?"
And I could only nod my cradled head;
The lovely words were not upon my lips –
They were engraved upon my heart instead.

And then again you said, "Do you love me?"
Do I love you, who gave my heart a song,
Who recognized the sorrows of the years
And gently marshaled them where they belong.

Do I love you? If only I could tell
In glowing phrases what you've meant to me
Since first I glimpsed the beauty of this love
You could not then doubt my sincerity.


The next poem in this series can be found here: Old Houses.

This is part of a series of poems by Veneta Donaldson. A brief bio and the beginning of the series can be found here: Veneta Donaldson: A Poet in the Family.