Holly, No Wood…






The vacuous perfidy of clowns
requires the brass
of bronze, gilded
globes of what’s in pawn

Called golden, fatted
calves all
talk, anything else’s
invisible except

Hoorahs, cash
the pirates walk
off these broken

lumbering forward
skyward bubble bursts:
believers scrag the political world

What a bunch of stiffs unfurled

©Dean J. Baker


 ‘Poetry that is classic and timeless.’

‘Vital, intense and uncompromising – singular in clarity, artistry, and authenticity. ‘

Noble Rot – after Turdsworth – from The Eschatological Dog

after Turdsworth







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 J. Baker
-excerpt from The Eschatological Dog, 96 pages, $12.99, ebook $6.99

The Eschatological Dog On Amazon Canada

The Eschatological Dog on Amazon Uk


Trespassers – check out Petty Gods Of Apparent Decline







The night highway
a long unending light

a lucky charm against
superstition of the unborn folk

trespassers on the road
carrying darkness in their clothes

©Dean J. Baker


$13.99 US.


121 pages, $16.99 Canadian

Links to my books in Canadian $


from Silence Louder Than A Train – Modern Romantic







Come on over to my room
I’m in a bad way

I see that’s how it is with you
I’ve been thinking of someone
You have been thinking of them too

Let’s take advantage of each other
Our morals are unassailable
Let’s be different and not call it love
Though that won’t solve our problems

Let us be honest in our insincerity
Admit we wish again we could be
With the unbroken flame:
that one most unavailable

You’ll have to excuse me once more
I lost my manners for a few years
I’m happy where I’ve always been

Who needs another death, amidst
The incestuous circle of ghosts and friends
If you agree, I’ll meet with you sometime

When you nor I remain, haunted,
by this and other affairs of cash flow:
the adulterated distances of loose ends

©Dean Baker

-excerpt from Silence Louder Than A Train, 103 pages, $11.99, ebook $5.99

$14.99 Canadian


Poetry, lyrics and prose of Dean J. Baker

Our conversations in still moments, despite
what some might say is gone, your body being
here, continue. Your delight unceasing guides
toward an ever-present gift: how this shines
against the shadows only such light will lift.

That you always knew and carried the cost
never in doubt: what could be saved narrowly lost,
you preserve of the best and bright,
regardless of the overwhelming torrent of thoughts.

Others as sensitive towards you as they persist
towards themselves a practical impossibility.
Held now forever by those who care, you endure.

Your soul stands out, the great heart of being
neither wrong nor unfair, declares:
what always counts is that you love, however unprepared.

©Dean J. Baker

https://www.byrnfuneralhome.net/obituary/logan-phillips October 18, 2005 – January 25, 2020

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There Is A War On, Raging

Poetry, lyrics and prose of Dean J. Baker

Stupid times. Immigrants before native-born poor, kids, and vets: the disadvantaged.
Criminals in charge and debates about it, rather than action. The media costuming everything in the form of their agenda. No free press untainted by egomaniacs.
People swept up in the importance of having their say without addressing the need to investigate to the core the so-called sources.
If God is anything, a higher power, a great being, then it is made manifest in people. We thus worship poorly while perversely maintaining an iron grip on a status quo since change is desired but frightening.
We betray ourselves.

Consuming everything, talking about it all without a sense of import or invocation, they lie. Achievements measured in degrees, or jobs – nothing done without the marketplace in mind. Passion a deed of sexualized innuendo dissipating everything even as it may falsely satisfy.
Our gods the blonde leading the bland. Seduction…

View original post 267 more words

Turd Burglars

Poetry, lyrics and prose of Dean J. Baker

a rupi for your non-thoughts

If poetry, art and perspective,
was meant
was meant to be
sort, stunted, stutterings
to be taken
metawhorically by minds
unconcerned, dismissive of

what craft can bring
expressive of a mental decline
displaying high signs
pretentious to higher worth
of learning, fine tuning ability
of sight and sound
thus understanding

no difference would be
between the quibblers of
misdirection in language
literary traffic police
causing clash and crash
for cash

than those excremental
artistes scribbling visions
on shithouse walls
while believing those who read
those words of wit
rolled into little balls, resigned
should eat those little balls of shit

now designed

©Dean J. Baker

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New Blog /Address

Contrary to rumor, it doesn’t work to just click

‘like’ on this post if you want to read new poems, get updates, from the other blog here – http://writingsofdeanjbaker.wordpress.com

however if you click on any and every post in order to frame your gravatar for followers, otay.


for updates, poems, excerpts from my forthcoming book


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

©Dean J. Baker

New WordPress – new poems, new book forthcoming, poetry samples


for updates, poems, excerpts from my forthcoming book




©Dean J. Baker

121 pages, $13.99, ebook $7.99 – the latest book; Petty Gods Of Apparent Decline https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1091177414

Poetry that is classic and timeless.’

Vital, intense and uncompromising – singular in clarity, artistry, and authenticity.

Work which illuminates as it informs – a reviving sense of discovery and perspective.’

 Soliloquies Of The Horizons, 102 pages, Book 2 of The Prose Poems, $12.99 print, $6.99 ebook

book 1 of The Prose Poems is The Moon Worn Tides,120 pages, $13.99, ebook $7.99

you don’t get the entire import of the poems in a book unless you can read and re-read – you must own the book, in more ways than one..”- C. Harold




Toronto: This Used To Be My City







This used to be my city, that had
not become a Third World country
where I’d fail to classify immigrants
by their methods or prospects
for wielding murder, the damages

Where I would walk past midnight
unarmed except for poetry and my guitar,
mobile from Bloor St. to Queen
past 2 am for the streetcar, no thoughts
given to congregations of assholes

The offers of women, drugs and other
lies laid out with the singular subway
the medium for contrary ways of
contained assault: the coward commuters,
guilty bystanders crouched in conquest

Now hunched and mouing in defeat, the
cops state your word against theirs always,
the crowd scurries around in escape;
the millionaires have taken over the short
parade, not saying: you’ve been priced out of existence

© Dean J. Baker 

(c)All Rights Reserved

$15.70 print Can., https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/150052591X 12.99, ebook $6.99 US