Archive for ‘Long poem’

July 28, 2015

Dear Judas,

by jhon baker

1.

 

I cannot believe in God

for all the ill his world produces;

for all the memory of your embattled figure.

aren’t we all the sons of man?

the daughters?

aren’t we all the saints of tomorrow?

yesterdays?

dear Judas,

I weep weep at thoughts of you.

 

2.

 

holy holy

I suppose I call out for you

(your tragic figure)

feet playing the edge of a precipice

knowing not whither to fall

and be damned

 

speak for me

(holy holy)

Adonoi for sought blessings

for finding your body to love

speak for me

holy holy – holy holy

 

dear Judas,

child, saint

you are venerated in my heart

I feel you

listening now for words

from your voice

 

I pray to you

seek you out in hymn –

which star are you?

speak for me,

our holy blessings and names

our holy actions and love

 

 

 

3.

 

dear Judas,

where can I find you?

I look in back alleys

search the graveyards

stop in cafes

along busy streets

and I cannot find you

 

the air is desiccated

sun burnt skin flakes

and peels

as I strive in the daylight

looking for you

in the faces of dirty children

with uncombed hair

I seek you out

among the poor

and tax collectors

among the rich

and forgotten

 

dear Judas,

I write to you now

to understand

not of your purported betrayal

or that last kiss

wherein you created

Christianity

to understand

the end

the dark night of your soul

I listen among the birds

sitting under trees

for your final declaration

the last act of a hanged man

misunderstood for two thousand years

 

dear Judas,

you are the first

martyred

forgotten

hanged from the devil’s tree

where no bird sang but wept

where stone and arrow

met your body and mind

your last walk holy

 

dear Judas,

holy Judas

martyred Judas

I pray for you

call out to you

(your tragic figure)

I weep weep at thoughts of you

 

dear Judas,

sing for me

holy holy

your soul scarred

and sacred

your body left and

forgotten

that strength of a thousand thousand men

the courage of many more

tracing a line round your heart

broken now

broken for all time

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

 

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March 31, 2014

have I ever posted this before?

by jhon baker

part 3

 

 

the good girls gave in

to enfant terribles of late night

sophistication, movie drive-ins;

Caligulas of teenaged heterosexual addiction

homosexual a priori instinct.

 

ultramarine blues playing on in back room wasteland

tones, color, emotions of form.

she sips brandy and smokes cigars

a Cognac dipped haze, muted consideration

sand paper verses of strange fruit in sequined dresses.

 

we are the drunkards of brass rail barfly joints;

we celebrate half broken neon signs.

we are the soulful moth occupying

the half-light of fading streetlamps.

we are the desperate, misconceived.

we’ve shirts off in a moment of frenzy

and misaligned allusions to greatness

we are the bop shambala meditations

of time-space inequity.

 

and I cannot free you this,

heal you this.

 

but I am with you,

in a body beautiful,

shattered, crying out

on back porches, smoking, singing,

dancing you with crazed two-step and Spanish tango.

protean tongues lapping at the innocence of milk,

slingshot flames and firecracker wisdom

twisting our bodies around images

and starry night scenes

on freshly made beds too small for comfort.

 

sheathing my pen in high fidelity smiles,

we weep like soft-skulled school children

– aesthetes of playground bike rack bloody noses.

February 26, 2012

A repost but I’ve been inspried to put this poem out there again today.

by jhon baker

a poem redacted, preface – JB

 

startled by impact

cumulative

a hunger for youth

 

he was fifty

J had seemed much older

as though

absorbed and consumed

in the very intensity

of his memory.

 

a matter of life

and death.

 

his ambition propelled

a

striking photograph in Life magazine

 

it would be eleven years.

his amours

turmoil

consumption of alcohol

alchemized

to represent the agon

essential attributes

syntax

tone

diction

cadenzas on carefully

tuned strings

allusion

meter

primal manifestations

to be difficult, “obscure”

obscene.

 

a besetting consideration

narrative accounts

or

the world seen through inebriation

dreams

a disjointed film

shapes

presences

identities

sometimes in mid sentence

often presumption

singular

voice and vision

effeminate

intimated, elusive

wild,

unbearably beautiful.

– Hoc Scripsi

 

and what the hell – here is another on the same subject…

 

 

October 25th

 

October 25th

and we celebrate the birth

of John Berryman.

heavy with the burden

of his smashed skull

and dream songs.

 

his final entry a comment

on the Washington Avenue bridge

in Minneapolis Minnesota.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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