February 7, 2011

Magpie #52

by jhon baker

 from across the street

we’ve sat across one another for years;
you, always green
me, always gray.

I sit and wonder about
the trimming of your lawn
about the condition of your bath.

how we’ve stood through better times.
but it is not proper to discuss these things
until we’ve grown at least this old.

 – Hoc Scripsi

image courtesy of Magpie tales #52
follow the link and discover others –

a few earlier Magpie efforts…

Magpie #51
Magpie #50
Magpie #47
Magpie #46
Magpie #44
Magpie #43
Magpie #42
Magpie #41
Magpie #41 a different one
Magpie #37
Magpie #36

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February 7, 2011

Monday, in the gloaming.

by jhon baker

My last cup of coffee for the day and it is burnt. The smell coming off the mug is too much for me to have my head around.
such a shame.

I need a cigarette and an off button for my brain.

yes, both are for my brain – because smoking does nothing positive for the lungs and I hate the way it stinks up the joint.

I’ve been creating and writing lately but have nothing to offer here as of yet. soon, soon.

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February 6, 2011

more snow but I did nothing about it

by jhon baker

a few more inches or nearly a few inches – I did not step outside today.
I have little to add. Little to express. It is Sunday and I have spent a few hours in my writing room and have not smoked enough or drunken enough coffee to be nearly genius enough to keep going. So the blog suffers.
my mind suffers, but what is new?

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February 4, 2011

Magpie #51

by jhon baker

I’ve never fallen to my knees
     and prayed to God;
tumbling on loose cobblestones
in old town squares,
I’ve spilled coffee over my shoes
but not often new ones.

perplexed but not quite daunted
or reversed stretching out at the frailty
     and being only man among men,
     poets.

2.
walk with me,
though I do not walk so much as sway, pitch
or stagger.

walk with me,
though I shall be muted, scarcely
swinging my arms at the sides.

walk with me,
though hell I walk, ancient seraphim
in ash and agony.

walk with me,
though hell is too wide for eidetic
narrative.
 
– Hoc Scripsi

image by Tess at Magpie Tales #51

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