Conspiring Distance


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I am the fallen.

The runaway son, born and reborn through transpiring muck.
Crossing; the wide distances, currency. A dissonance
commanding recognition.

This does not go easy on anyone persuaded that they
themselves are listening.
Fanatics.

I am an assassin familiar; wanting to break your memory
of the balance of secrets.
The ransom unpaid by forged documents.

Let alone sheaves of thought stacked against the
moonlight of your staring heart.

 

© Dean J. Baker

- excerpt from The Transits Of Revelation 

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Out Of This Place


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Tougher than ever, you should have seen
me at eight, hitch-hiking the 401, having
escaped the dreaded day camp miniature planet
with its ache of strange, leaky canvas
where morons and adults all behaved
as though whatever they saw, said, or thought
was all there is in this world – not me, I’m

Out of this place where the earth is flat,
walking away with toast stuffed in my jacket
leaving behind interference with wonder, magic,
daydreams, talking silent with another,
gathering
pop bottles out of the ditch so I can buy
something to eat and drink, free from those

Who have no sense of direction even though
I was moving towards Montreal, away from Toronto,
into the mists rising off the horizon
I knew I’d visit and not remain captured by
the contemporary myths reminiscent of civilization
or something resembling the nearest crushing lie
of make believe to keep you still and quiet

 

© Dean J. Baker

BOOKS ARE ON SALE HERE – amazon.com/author/deanjbaker

My three new booksMeasuring Gravity By Grace, Poems 1970-1980, Vol 1., Our Geographies, Poems 1970-1980, Vol.2, and The Transits Of Revelation, prose poems available on Amazon.

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The P.C. Eats My Brain


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The P.C. eats my brain,
the corpses in the living-room
nod awake: another nerve expires.

I do not complain.
Such fantasies of doom
fail to aid the other liars.

You think you are satisfied
with what’s electric; your city
friends, and their mutual hatred.

This is no more than
speculation:
few rise to it, though you try.

Pull back the covers: even
your skeleton
stays cold and still and naked.

© Dean J. Baker

- excerpt from newly published Measuring Gravity By Grace  – ebook http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00OWEXX7W $8.75

print Measuring Gravity By Grace $12.60   buy the ebook for only $1.99 when you order the print

BOOKS ARE ON SALE HERE – amazon.com/author/deanjbaker

My three new books – Measuring Gravity By Grace, Poems 1970-1980, Vol 1., Our Geographies, Poems 1970-1980, Vol.2, and The Transits Of Revelation, prose poems, will all be available on Amazon in just a few days.

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The Boast


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My spirit lover, my finger
is damp with the self-respect
which some call angel dust.

It falls softly as snow
from the dehydrated organs,
pinned fiercely against this wall.

Standing up where I once stood,
to confront us in our lies:
rarely admitted before proven, my enemy.

Follow that direction if you can.
There’s no way out or divorce, from this
ill-fitting span of time, darling.

You don’t have to put anything on.

 

© Dean J. Baker

BOOKS ARE ON SALE HERE – amazon.com/author/deanjbaker

My three new books – Measuring Gravity By Grace, Poems 1970-1980, Vol 1., Our Geographies, Poems 1970-1980, Vol.2, and The Transits Of Revelation, prose poems, will all be available on Amazon in just a few days.

ALL BOOK PRICES ARE CURRENTLY REDUCED.  A VOLUME DISCOUNT IS AVAILABLE FOR REVIEWERS AND OTHER PURCHASERS UPON REQUEST.

Islam, and Isis, or i-Slam™ and i-Sis™


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So what do we have here, taking up our time, implying imminent doom, and carrying out threats and murders, torturing cats, and otherwise determining for us that they need to be pushed off the planet, post haste?

Has this anything to do with anything they say or claim? No. They’re psychopathic bullies, the mentally lame, the sexually deprived. Really, what’re they doing with those knives, and making men lie down in their underwear on their bellies? To top it off, calling them sheep as they’re led to slaughter.

Gangsters in search of virgins, when they’re not crucifying and making rabid noises that resemble speech only by the articulated vowels not far from a hound attempting to please us by imitating the art of communication – only these are so jealous they want to rip your throat out, stop all communication. Thus, eradicate humanity.

i-Slammers™. If they were in the neighborhood, what would you do? Barring the self-shambling civilization of political correctness (what is that shit except tools for authoritarianism to elicit our defeat in communicating, reality, and the denial of imagination), I’d think the government would go after them whole-heartedly. Or should.
Not hobble our realities with debate about murderers. Give them the gift that keeps on giving – eternal life in the pit with a pineapple sheep nibbling on the sensitive bits.

i-Sis™. Exactly. But physically strong, immorally focused, and more being born all the time. Yet bullies who won’t stand up to their own torturers,.. thus I, sis.
You’d wait even a second for someone on the street beating babies, killing them, making women dress in drapes? And threatening you with a knife, a gun, and a sheep?
All they have is the crowd of nitwits, numbskulls, and dummies. Should they even get a chance to say a second word? No. The i-Sissies™ need to be put to sleep.

But, wait. Who are their accomplices? Beyond the obvious traitors. How about the passive governors who want to debate, attempt to prevent declaring them for what they are everywhere? You know who they are locally. And nationally.
While the i-Sissies™, and i-Slammers™ infiltrate visibly, their useful idiots allow them into Britain in waves, allow them to have their own communities in Canada, the USA.
Can you get a brief, declarative answer from those fifth columns of betrayals about a real why? No.

So much for open government. So much for any governing… … it’s about time we require the corporate WalMartians to step up to the plate with their billions if they really are part of the country not just a few of its owners.

Or maybe it should be paid equally – put some government official in jail for life for every head that gets hacked off. Think they might find a solution much more quickly.

When it comes to domestic politics I think it can be agreed that unless there is a crisis, people will vote whatever their level of perception brings them – and the ability to perceive is compromised by their education, self-taught or otherwise. If you are amazed at whom they vote for, and cannot fathom the choices, look to the one factor that has never been successfully analyzed: stupidity.

Then go read a book, say Hannah Arendt’s The Human Condition, or Wilhelm Reich’s The Mass Psychology Of Fascism.

© Dean J. Baker

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Dignity


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When my cat comes to lie along the blanket
stretched across both my legs, she offers
no squeak of indignity when I behave
in an unexpected manner, but stands then walks
away, her bull’s-eye showing blatantly

O what does that mean getting up so
suddenly, the last thing seen of her
that round O, the tail above an exclamation
mark more eloquent than anything she
or I have to say about it all – no judgment

A silent pause and pondering, the disclaimer
in the face of mortality stating Here is
my back end Or, it spins like a hypnotherapy
wheel unpleasant as it appears: ignore it
at your imminent peril, peasant fool

Hoping I will give in and rush to approval,
or I am leaving this ass for you to witness,
what I give, what’s deserved for not worshipping
this: the mystery, my beauty and my halo, o who
is the god of cats leaving my dignity in ruins

© Dean J. Baker

- from a soon forthcoming book

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A series of excerpts from my current books. Poems afterwards will be excerpts from each new book.

All print book prices reduced.  BUY A BOOK! Ebooks from $7.99

Worldwide links

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http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.de/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.es/dp/1501046594
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Accepting The Challenge


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It’s not meant to be an old trick. I
found myself, finding
you.
No formula for words to please.

You cannot heal the deaf god.
Consult the lists
of dialog,
obituary notices your spirit keeps.

I came to it broken,
a full stop:
never knowing there already was
no avenue of retreat.

 

© Dean J. Baker

- from The Eschatological Dog – dedicated to Irving Layton, Levon H., Paul Butterfield, Mike Bloomfield

first appeared in Descant

All print book prices reduced.  BUY A BOOK! Ebooks from $7.99

Here’s the link where you can buy my books, in ebook or print format. http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

Worldwide links

https://www.createspace.com/4981330
http://www.amazon.com/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.co.uk/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.de/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.es/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.fr/dp/1501046594
http://www.amazon.it/dp/1501046594

Books2014