Archive for July, 2011

July 18, 2011

by jhon baker

she’s allergic to the blue iris I always send to her on her birthday.

I slept badly and then we we made love – after I slept until 11:40 and an hour later haven’t moved from my cigarette and empty coffee cup.

at two in the morning my body was creeping out of my skin revealing a man within, the eviction notice again goes without serious note.

every day I have a responsibility to wake and breathe, I’ve done so unfailingly.

every cay I have a responsibility to write the most beautiful poems, something revealing, I’ve done so failingly.

– Hoc Scripsi

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July 17, 2011

one stop poetry photo challenge

by jhon baker

saw this image on a friends blog and it immediately struck me as something I should write about.

 

early childhood/ late summer life

modern Mona Lisafound you

standing backyard, hiding from

the boys teasing your name

around the corner.

 

the image of Plath or Sexton,

 

and sometime

dancer.

 

but here is what I want from you:

follow though

burn their eyes out,

kick their balls so hard they’ll think of you

fifty years later.

then go

go

go

be someones little girl again

and wait for branches to untie leaves

and wither in fall

before you stop dancing.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

 

July 16, 2011

Post 401 and the most artistic post of all 401

by jhon baker

(THIS PAGE IS INTENTIONALLY LEFT BLANK)

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July 15, 2011

Post 400

by jhon baker

and my readership is at an all time low. I blame my choice of switching formats and web addresses.

I thought I would make an interesting post it being 400 and all but I am not feeling interesting today. This means plainly that you ought to read the previous posts, the ones that led to this moment in time, marked by a simple heading and celebrated by taking four kittens to the vet.

 

I have eleven years worth of poetry that has only ever been read by the recipient and never republished or even copied. This is a detour from my modis operandi which dictates that I keep a copy of everything unless it is crap and deserving only of trash heaps and recycling.

I think that after my death there may be a collection out there titled “love letters” – but it may be that they are always kept private. as it is they are not mine, I wrote them but K owns them, they are hers and only she can dictate their offering. It is my job to create the market for that particular collection before I die – as if I kicked it right now there wouldn’t be enough interest – save the few hundred that have purchased my initial offering.

Do all writers obsessively keep copies of everything? Once this would have been labor intensive but is now quite easily done with the technology that has erupted around us. Even in the age before the widespread use of computers many writers used carbon sheets as I am sure I would have done if in that age – now I use a copier that came attached to the printer which came attached to a fax and all together has the ability to scan things.

but all this is off subject – or I haven’t a subject. The kittens cost me nearly 500 today and we are giving up one of the seven cats that inhabit our household this evening. Over the next few weeks we will be two kittens short of our current count and can then start considering colleges as there are too many bodies occupying this house at the given moment.

 

I am gripped by my body’s sense of humor.