from a forthcoming book… ‘Thanksgiving, Poem’


 

 

 

 

 

 

If anyone has given you
the bird today, be thankful.
Otherwise, bright
cynical and tough, it’s enough.

You could be the sacrifice:
plugged and stuffed, no feathers
to fly away,
surrounded by vegetables.

It’s all a matter of perspective.
What you pick,
choose, give up: surrender
can be a holiday, unless

It’s not your festival
someone else will always
be thinking of:
grateful no one asks for more, love.

 

©Dean J. Baker

Advertisements

from BLOOD UPON THE MOON… ‘BLOOM’


 

 

 

 

 

 

Listening to an argument
between the sheets and lawn-trimmers’ noise,
the women cleaning rooms
the overly damp mildew of a submerged
Kentucky bleeding colors

Beneath the flatness of a cast-iron sky
shedding relief between indifferent lives,
the levees neither gap, nor bridge
but parentheses
describing the inarticulate tide held back

Where this is thorn-stuck amid Bible
and belt, unholy pride an
anticipation: the cross-stitched quilt
on which the animals come alive,
triumphing a riot of signs they survive

Pure semaphore on a Teutonic scale,
as maidens sing thee to thy doom, and war
breaks out; a family reunion
gone astray amid rivalries, and feuds:
unacknowledged truths in this most modern of ages

©Dean J. Baker

from DARK EARTH… ‘The Stupids’


 

 

 

 

 

 

My mind’s a thread unwinding; I
pluck at darkness, which falls.
It won’t let the stupids out; it
suffers them to bray and shout,
these Attic businessmen and women:
busy, they are knitting spirit doilies.

Must I endure like a disease the bad
and bright side of the living’s enemies?
But who am I asking? We are so
few than farther between might be.

You cannot hear me; you are denying everything,
soiled by the crossways unclean:
strapped in a cocoon of the secondary.

©Dean J. Baker

‘Conspiring Distance’ …from SOLILOQUIES OF THE HORIZONS


 

 

 

 

 

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

This poem is from Soliloquies Of The Horizons, The Prose Poems, Vol.2, $16.99

http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

if you wish to add me on any social media sites – Facebook, Twitter, etc., – feel free to click the relevant links

Save

Save

Save

Save

from THE LOST NEIGHBORHOOD… ‘You, Vampire’


You, vampire
whose skill made me sick
of myself,
before I knew what
that was or even suspected

I would first have to
unlearn hardened guilt; then
begin again I said,
repeating the ritual:
my heart in your hand, my head

My pain
failed to keep me clean;
I came apart, at the edges:
not unlike
a corpse kept dressed

©Dean J. Baker

‘To Which I Wish To Confess’… from IN RIPARIAN FIELDS


I have nothing to which I wish to confess
no inequities which I must admit

I have no interest on your views of these
and many others which casually consume me

What I think about family and friends
will be told with appropriate sincerity

What might be considered humor but bent shall
always be indulged, your exceptions noted

The fact that I may desire those whom I won’t tell
is true of each of you in your loyalty as well

As long as money has been a necessity so too
is the depth and quality of your gratitude

Since everything for you is appearances I shall ignore
your ragged ideals of being dressed for success

Why I write this at all is merely the clue which you
in your deep secret heart have always known is true

© Dean J. Baker

Save

Save

Save

from DARK EARTH… ‘Islands’


 

 

 

 

 

 

I’ve been stumbling a lot recently;
though our late night walks,
well worth the pace,
mean more than any comment I make.

Autumn leaves in their rotting
browns and reds betray us. We
cannot compete with such litter
of the season: sweet desolation.

Even if one were so lost as the wind,
over this wide world, I know
you beneath the stars and how
I moved away: delighting in your company.

©Dean J. Baker

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

from SILENCE LOUDER THAN A TRAIN…’I Walk These Streets’


 

 

 

 

 

 

I walk O’Connell Street, across
the Liffey, then down
the Via Veneto; wander amidst
the Florentine wares, stride
from the Spanish Steps, Omonia Square

I come back to myself, out
of the orange groves; away
from Key Largo, and onto the streets
I know so well, invaded now
by strangers and violent sheep

I look every place, weighed
by responsibility and imminent
doom; I cannot find it
on Morro, or Higuera: nor anywhere,
else, except within these lines I tell myself

© Dean J. Baker

– from SILENCE LOUDER THAN A TRAIN, published Feb.7, 2014… at this time only $11.99

*******All books on sale til Dec.1, 2017. BUY A BOOK! Ebooks from $2.99*******Buy a Book

join me here – https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBaker

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

some 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

Save

Save

Save

Save

‘Incantatory Resolve’… from BLOOD UPON THE MOON


I recycle the names as they
designate since older – age is
another territory, the other world

From the first ground the Cree girlfriend
let me say Fuqué, Chaney, Grandma
Ben, though none mine alone

Through Pékar, Federov, etcetera
the bullies barking
at my father’s young back, ‘Galician!’

Like a huge crow
perched on my shoulder’s memory
I know I think well, having

Eaten Descartes’ lunch, yet
indigestible Wittgenstein aligns my brow
while I’m battling the dancing skeletons

No Jason, no Argonauts
in a Baryshnikov ballet
against the panoramic black and white and grey

Toward that other horizon, no flat
earth, no soluable decay: this
conjugation, this incantatory resolve

 

©Dean J. Baker

 

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

..from OF FLESH SCULPTURES AND ABANDONED LOVE… ‘Eating Bitterness’


Many the lessons not obvious to the culture
of mediocrity and equality; of my own, each
would test belief, aid me in discovery

In the home, the discipline of obedience:
acceptance consisting of performance in school,
loving warmth the norm for ages then

How scores of strength and athletics beat out
any weepy dependent rebellious rage:
what mattered was the goal, not the widow’s ashes.

In perfect ostracism would you obey:
too smart, too clever, not good enough, yes
suspected of something, I remained

Held myself without success, or vindication
from my source I could not stray –
broken stay whole, in my truth, a sad betrayal

Pleasing no one as a rule I pledge my soul
not inventing interest, nor stopping to duel
with what would be merely complaint.

From the bitter victories the sour mules disagreed
while I ate whole the mysteries, one without
one to gain from where I remain most devout.

© Dean J. Baker

poems are posted to share, be shared, and entice those who love the work to owning the books from which they are excerpts – BOOK SALE! – $11.99 for print, or less – Ebooks $4.99, or less: https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

****buy print book, add Ebook for .99****

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save

Save