Archive for ‘Kara’

August 16, 2015

am not asleep

by jhon baker

been awake too damn long and I’m sick of it.

nothing to do with the cup of coffee I just poured myself in one of my Vincent mugs.

I suppose it isn’t that late but I am hungry and looking for my angry fix.

I haven’t been sleeping well.

and the windows have faces that I can’t comprehend.

I put on my goggles and peer out into the darkness of the backyard sitting next to my wife who is equally as perplexed as I am but today I did not forget my medications.

I still feel the world spin and note the stench of cigarettes and dying sunflowers.

better than earlier when I could scent out the unique putrefaction of several birds finding only one feather.

but the couch got moved.

generally enervated and bone pain sick of it.

half-banana moon, toothpicks on the highway, sick of it.

skin falling off and miswriting sin, a lack of croutons in soup, sick of it.

tattoos, assassinating public figures, the FBI comes and visits me at six am, sick of it.

or I am in stir, a padded room with nothing but this white computer and the insatiable need to sleep.

or I am in a wheat field with crows thinking about a .38 special.

or I am in bed, lying prone, ready to fire with a hard-on and magazine dreams.

add a new category.

eleven: forty-six pm – my eye lids are heavy and I am over tired.

goodnight.

goodnight.

goodnight.

June 13, 2015

Beneath this grumpy heart

by jhon baker

I would write more but I have little to say and what I do I say to my wife and child.

although I’ve purchased a new guitar I am not playing it due to the pain from old injuries.

Hot coffee on a hot day needs to be double fisted with iced soda or water.

Listening to Muddy Waters while my wife mows the lawn and whacks the weeds with concentration and aggression.

Happiness is a strange notion.

My neighbor is crazy in a different way than I am crazy – she is a lunatic howling at the moon while I am simply mentally abberated and unstable on the best days.

I am selling my motorcycle and have turned down offers I shouldn’t have and been offered some pretty ridiculous trades or amounts.

“I’ve got a black cat bone,

I’ve got a mojo too.

I’ve got a John the Conqueroo,

I’ve got to mess with you…”

 

These are two separate poems…

 

I love you

and that may be all

shared coffee over old television shows

and newer series watched in minute marathons

 

I have flowers dying on the kitchen table

in yellow hues turning brown

in whites turning yellow

– Hoc Scripsi

 

May 27, 2013

I was going to post an old poem today

by jhon baker

I was going to post up an old poem today but my wife put better what it was I wanted to say – here are her words – may all have a thoughtful memorial day…

On Memorial Day

We remember all those whose chance at life was cut short and those whose lives were forever changed because of the ugliness of war.

We remember those who died thousands of miles away from home.
Who never enjoyed the scent of their mother’s perfume again.
Who never had the chance of experiencing fatherhood and motherhood.
Who never got the chance of holding their babies.
Who will never again wake up in a warm bed.
Who will never again enjoy being in the arms of their loved ones.
Who never got the chance to experience love for the first time.
Who died surrounded by death and destruction.

We remember, those who came back, their innocence lost.
Innocence lost on a field amid blood and limbs.
Who forever have to live with brutal scars both inside and out.
Who will forever wake up from nightmares the rest of us can’t begin to imagine.
Who will endure for a lifetime the awful visions of evil war.
Who will never again be the same innocent boys and girls they were before the left.

In Memory of both my Grandfathers who served In World War II. In Memory of my 4 Great Uncles who served in WWII, including Robert Wych who died on the U.S.S. Indianapolis.

To my Father, Robert Van Wych, who served on the front lines of Vietnam, forever haunted by the evils of war.

 

– Kara Baker

December 26, 2012

for K.

by jhon baker

I have loved

now I love

 

I shall lie betwixt her breasts

in the mood merriment of playful jazz

lust or longing, a wandering

a melancholy jest.

 

the star of Venus of Heaven

the tragedy of Euridice

we dance the dance of Polyhumnia

and write the words of Callopie.

 

we are like children

under cover of moon’s somber reflections

memories vouchsafed lying

on night’s dewy grasses.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

November 13, 2011

for my love

by jhon baker

Still missing my wife – another poem from the recently published “gypsy bars...” (go to published page for download or click link for scribd if you wish)

 

vagaries and kitchen tile tangos

for  K

I am St. Juan Grande Pecador in this new life;

unpredictably weeping and loving,

writing poetry and song.

 

so wantonly tired and worn but not sleeping.

sad that I cannot sleep next to you,

sad that I cannot sleep at all.

 

I think how I have loved you.

in morning and night,

I think how I love you.

 

I am St. Juan Grande Pecador

sitting in the sun, contemplating

the vagaries of kitchen table conversation

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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