Invitation


 

 

 

 

 

 

You’ve caught me with
my suicide mask wearing thin –
Death, an old sidekick
and various forms of unrequited love;
accompanied by
virgin humiliation,
strike the bone of the ghost-ridden
music that echoes in the
hollow of my heart

I want you to take
some of your old medicine;
this hate, this emaciated bitterness
and the dehydration of the body,
the loveless trough
throat and lungs make amid the unheard

Pulsing of a sick sun
in the pumped-out stomach ache.
God, I’m tired of being late –
suiting my person to a fool’s
tailor who labors blind for the emperor;
and does not know
the difference between desire and dust:
nor these odd goodbye scenes
conveying no taste of
the final, approaching lust

©Dean Baker

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Abandonment


 

 

 

 

 

 

The past is longer than the future can be. Winters
are now limited, as are the beautiful mild and temperate
days of May.
My personal calendar has switched from notching months or weeks.
Years now represent decades. All the holidays fade toward permanent vacation.
Nothing of bad measure becomes an unexpected surprise.

Wild women or forward men are no longer even incidents
that did not happen to another. Society itself has become
an idiot child, pablumed and cooing, diaper full.
Money a wish for more than less, waning with it the
benefits of better health and food, less stress, even friends.

You know who’s speaking, should you so choose.
Under that snow, poised for flight; that pile of clothes, the vanished
take refuge in plain sight among the fiercely knowledgeable.

Look closely. They leave nothing whether they remain, or go.

© Dean Baker

-excerpt from In Riparian Fields, 162 pages, try one!

Noble Rot


after Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a turd
through the bowels of aching sheep;
beyond the alimentary canals

Where there is no sudden word, past
dreams we do not keep
far from the maddening crowd –

Exploding on the scene that sweeps
small animals which creep
within the visions of my nightmare scene

Towards a breaking dawn, no loss
erupting in passion’s blast: a knowledge
of the heap on this salad bowl I’m tossed

© Dean Baker

Antic


 

 

 

 

 

 

Goddamn the penny
Ante satanic antics of everyday

Adversarial lies that pass
As discussion, in which you

Assume, graceless
You’re above the fray

Competition you made
For a self

A mere ego stroke away
From having its heart

Attack itself in protest of the narcissism
And die

Suddenly disabused
Of the notion that others do not remain

Puppets in your museum
That monument to unholy lies

You enshrine until
The idea of sacrifice is suicide

The unpetalling of a rose
Your only crime

©Dean Baker

Of Insomniacs And Amnesia


 

 

 

 

 

 

I could not sleep
until I learned to stay
awake:
the words of your betrayal
speak loud and clear, in
every action that you take
As though you keep
behind those swept green eyes
each secret of defeat

As if carrying on,
when the days are dark
could be all;
but I must travel far,
to gain back
the self I lost in torment
Loving you, forever as I do,
amid such careless lives:
tossed upon the world, against that splash of blue

-excerpt from Silence Louder Than A Train*

©Dean J. Baker

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


Own my books – SALE all ebooks $2.99, print mostly $5.99

Who among us cannot remember a time when silence alone didn’t ring in our ears as loud as thunder?”

A bold and refreshing approach to modern poetry, one that breaks the rules when necessary and yet conforms when it suits. Highly recommended…”

“If all the reader is looking for in a poetry anthology are the poetic ramblings of someone trying to impress with their command of language or a gently rolling stream of consciousness then this probably isn’t it; but for poignant and thought provoking insight and new ideas, one would be hard pressed to do better than Dean J. Baker’s Silence Louder Than A Train.’”

https://www.amazon.com/Silence-Louder-Than-Train-Baker/dp/1494963353

Banditry


 

 

 

 

 

 

I offer you my hand: you swing
the axe faster than the eye can see

I tell you my love: you wish
me well with these labors in hell

I proffer gifts wise men do not bring:
you refuse permission of such bribes

I kneel down beside you: without enmity,
or attack, you pat me on the back

I accede to your lack of humanity:
you feel my politics are not Third World

I wonder where you find yourself: we
sing and stare, the bare moon our ornament

I know you are there as well: hiding
behind the True, the Good, the Beautiful

“This author’s mastery in posing challenging questions by default is a rare skill. A superb set of poems I would recommend to any potential reader of modern poetry seeking out the works of a poet, who has no fear; who never pulls a punch or flinches from one circumstance has thrown his way. He simply commits the event to words.”

“Those in or out of ‘love’ will find much to identify with here.

“There are the general accepted thoughts of love and its antecedents, and then there are these fine poems which give us through their ironic delight in what might be oppressing another appreciation for both poetry and the messages conveyed through its medium.Not your parents, or their parents’ poetry, these works, distilling through a loving awareness of great literature and its medium, the newer dimensions not previously available through such manner of thoughts and expression.

As with his previous books, Silence Louder Than A Train, and The Lost Neighborhood – along with such masterworks as Dark Earth, The Eschatological Dog, the volumes of early poetry in Measuring Gravity By Grace, and Our Geographies, Dean J. Baker’s poetry succeeds beyond hope in transcending the limits of abstract poetry (which it is not), and conventional literature. Something new, different, and great.”

Anonymous, or In These Territories


I like the sunlight
in my life

It’s not too bright and warm,
as opposed to night

Which I like as well;
even more,

If I didn’t have to think about
what I must always tell

 

©Dean Baker

“This author’s mastery in posing challenging questions by default is a rare skill. A superb set of poems I would recommend to any potential reader of modern poetry seeking out the works of a poet, who has no fear; who never pulls a punch or flinches from one circumstance has thrown his way. He simply commits the event to words.”

“Those in or out of ‘love’ will find much to identify with here.

“There are the general accepted thoughts of love and its antecedents, and then there are these fine poems which give us through their ironic delight in what might be oppressing another appreciation for both poetry and the messages conveyed through its medium.Not your parents, or their parents’ poetry, these works, distilling through a loving awareness of great literature and its medium, the newer dimensions not previously available through such manner of thoughts and expression.

As with his previous books, Silence Louder Than A Train, and The Lost Neighborhood – along with such masterworks as Dark Earth, The Eschatological Dog, the volumes of early poetry in Measuring Gravity By Grace, and Our Geographies, Dean J. Baker’s poetry succeeds beyond hope in transcending the limits of abstract poetry (which it is not), and conventional literature. Something new, different, and great.”

A Nation Of Lunatics… from Dark Earth


 

 

 

 

 

 

The anhedonics have it; more pills,
loveless sex, booze and cash, all
forms of coping with the modern world.

Or athletics, politics, religion –
each interchangeable and dependent
upon the credulity of homo sapiens.

Enter the delusion of impending fame,
no less than cosmic significance, and
don’t forget the neighbors’ good opinion.

All this plus an ability to command
weather by temperament, along with
the omnipotent faculty of being bland.

Fueled by money and growing sophistication
as the level of education sinks:
the picture of a people who cannot think.

©Dean Baker

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

-excerpt from All These Being Hinterlands, 120 pages, All my ebooks $2.99