Good evening. My name is Donatello X. I am a poet.

After an endless era of poetic expression, the time has come for me to make a concession to the will of my heart. I have grown tired with this routine. I will now depart.

Beyond this point, the future of my poetry is in the hands of the reader. I leave you with an interactive gallery of my literary catalogue. I realize, that unlike my recently concluded career, your need for beautiful poetry is neverending. Use this generous gift to satisfy your woefully insurmountable yearning.

Enjoy and indulge. Good bye.

by Donatello X

There is a watchdog on my porch.

He watches...nothing.



by Donatello X

The following is a tale of sadness & woe.
Starting with a small boy, and up he did grow.

Locked in his room, not allowed to go out.
Fed worse than dogs, with nothing but grout.

Punished by parents who were far too imperious.
He became quite bleak, dark, and mysterious.

Huddled away in a small corner all alone.
With a pen and a pad, writing many a poem.

But this boy grew strong and overcame his shackles.
And in his poems it is his demons he tackles.

Now here is the secret, the most startling blast.
The boy's identity will be revealed at last.

To the audience here, it may be easy to see,
That the boy in this story, was none other than... next door neighbor Bill.
Definitely would not want to be that guy.

by Donatello X

Streetlight, streetight,
shining bright.

In my eyes and in the cries
of the homeless wanderers of night.

Lampshade, lampshape,
dimming light.

So i am unable to read a book
try as I might.

Lampshade, lampshade. Thank you.

Because I hate reading anyways.

by Donatello X

O Jack, my dear friend.

How you hammer at the ground.
But would you please,
without such a pound?

O Jack, my dear friend.

How you hammer at the ground.
But do you think about,
making such a sound?

Seriously, cut that out. It hurts my ears.

by Donatello X

Bang, bang, bang.
Bang. Bang.

A shot to my heart.

I see them there,
shattered, scattered on the floor.
My dreams, that is.

From me he taketh.
He taketh my freedom.
My poetic license to spread my...legs.

In the rear I sit here,
Knees so high that I can't see so I...

Just keep complaining that I didn't call shotgun first.

by Donatello X

R, me matey.
A weight has been lifted from my shoulder.

A weight. That lovely weight.
Is no longer...there.

But wait! Please, please wait.
I guess you didn'

We all wish we would get up & fly.
I know you did, and so did I,
But I never thought you would really try.
And leave me here die.

R: me matey.
Me best friend.
Me parrot.

by Donatello X

Poet O Poet
Why are you so demanding?

Poet O Poet
Why are you so reprimanding?

Let me be to see me.
Let me be to be me.

Poet of the Poet-tree
How you write your poet-ry
Is far beyond me.

What is your secret, O wise one?

...Pot? Really?
Man, that's cheating.

by Donatello X

Out and about.
Eating a trout.
In my favorite restaurant.

My waiter,
overcharged me for my trout.
O I just had to pout.
He said
Sir, I am sorry, forgive me.

I said
No can do, boy.

So then I left.

by Donatello X

A pile of fur, shed from a beast.
Strewn across my floor.

Anonymously left in the heart of the night.

Where o where o where o where
Did those dark hours go?

Was I asleep in a deep deep sleep?
Or was I awake in a fake fake wake?

The answer to that, I may never know.
Where those hours of the night seem to go.

Where o where o where o werewolf!

by Donatello X

Jackpot. Ten million dollars.

O how I long for this loot.
Without guidance though, my point is merely moot.

But today it seems that I am in luck.
I have found a source that will make me a buck.

With confidence I declare my winning numbers:
4. 4. 4. 6. and 4.

I wait patiently for the result of my gambles.
But when I hear them, I am left in shambles.

One whole dollar, wasted away.
Because it was me that my source did betray.

Fortune cookies cannot be trusted.

by Donatello X

A new life.
A new leaf.

Returning to their state,
those trees that mate,
grow once again.

Pass by grass of sass a mass
ive amount of green.

My senses are enlightened to the aroma of the day.

That means my allergies are coming back.

by Donatello X


When again will it come?
For too long I waited.
Too long, longing.
Longing for a change, what a
Strange, strange, change.
This change was out of range.
So at a long longing last, I left my home.

Now here I am.
Sitting. Seeking. Wishing. Weeping.
When again will i come?

Because I really wish I hadn't missed that first bus.

by Donatello X

Bowl half full.
Bowl half empty.
Bowl full of emptiness.

A deafening silence overtakes my actions.
I expected more than this.
Hoodwinked by my senses,
betrayed by my fellow man.

In two swift motions, my beloved is gone.

Unfulfilled and unresolved.
Hollow. Empty. Full of emptiness.

Little left to do, little left to feel.
Anger overtakes my actions.

If there's half an ounce of cereal left in the box,
just finish it or throw it away, but don't put it back up on the shelf, man.

by Donatello X


To my sudden fright,
You died

No. Oh?

To my great delight,
You are indeed alive

No. No.
I was right the first time.


Donatello X is a poet.

Born into a world of seemingly limited possibilities, this talented artist overcame the oppressive shackles of the modern literary scene to eventually become one of the world's most prominent and influential poets. Donatello X rose to fame quickly after launching his fabled career at the Maryland Institute College of Art in Baltimore, Maryland, USA. After many years of revolutionary work, including the now-classic "The Blind Watchdog," Donatello X has decided that the time has come for him to depart. His final work, entitled Bye, Donatello X has just been completed and will be on display at the MICA 2010 Commencement Exhibition from May 14-17.

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