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
swag
the pirates walk
off these broken

Planks
lumbering forward
skyward bubble bursts:
believers scrag the political world

What a bunch of stiffs unfurled

©Dean J. Baker

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1091177414

 ‘Poetry that is classic and timeless.’

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

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

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/150052591X