Thankfully, it’s fatal

by jhon baker

I’ve not been present for the past two days.  I would ask, beg, plead for forgiveness but I do not believe anyone has been offended or should be if they were.

 there’s a painting. Acrylic and ink on four canvasses. 54.5″x43″

The inability to have been present was entirely within my scope of control and I simply chose to not be or rather I spun into a depression that I am still in the grips of but am now choosing to at least be productive to see if that lifts me from the mire I find myself in. This isn’t a good time for depression as I typically hate my poetry and prose when I am this down and this depression has chose to not set any new precedents in that vein. Posting may be a doorway out or into an abstract depression which would also be fine.

abstract depression being far more preferable to standard depression
So, here I am in mid post with two photographs that have little to do with anything, but what is this post about anyway? 
I long to write poetry about the beauty of flowers but I either pick them or they wither while the words lie in wait for the impressionistic moment when they will be most needed. So the flower dies and I write vignettes about soup, carpeting and the clean feeling teeth have after eating a fresh apple. 
who wants poetry about flowers? who wants photographs about flowers?
just in case you wanted a photograph of flowers
the sun hides
–    for Jackson

The sun hides
behind clouds &
cold wind
but
   wishes
        to
shine down on
my garden
for the flowers

 – Hoc Scripsi

just in case you wanted a poem about flowers – sort of.
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5 Comments to “Thankfully, it’s fatal”

  1. Damn.. I missed you.. serious..Oh no, I've become a groupie..
    Remember, you are the fist pushing forward, always forward.

    (lovely poem)

  2. Jhon…

    You have a way with words, my man… And they're DAMN poetic.

    ~Anthony

  3. I for one missed your little poems. I love them. And the photo of the flowers!

  4. thank you, thank you and thank you.

  5. See? Even when you think you don't, you do!
    You can't help it, you just think in prose and poetry…

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