Posts tagged ‘Holiday’

May 27, 2012

remember the fallen

by jhon baker

I have a headache.

I’ve had a headache to varying degrees for three days. this is regardless of it being memorial day weekend.

bright sun now in late afternoon casting long shadows of birds across neatly trimmed lawns.

I resist the urge to glance skyward at low flying helicopters.

the beautiful muse, my wife, is the grill master during this long three days. I only confirm the degradation of gas lines and she uses charcoal lighter fluid.

according to one weather source it hit 95 today.

remember the fallen. be reverent. strike up the band. we dance for others.

be lunatic love luck lost in sacred reveille.

July 13, 2011

for K

by jhon baker

It is my wonderful wife’s birthday today – she is mumble mumble years today and wonderful to be looking on to so many more years as her husband.
Happy birthday my love, my one, my other self – without you I am nothing but flesh, bones and beard.

I love you with all –

– J.

Tags: ,
July 4, 2011

Happy 4th!

by jhon baker
 (if only I’d gone to school to learn to blow shit up, I could have done this for a living)

For my overseas readers – read the title line as – Happy Monday!

(this will have to do as finding an image for happy Monday that wasn’t cheeky or didn’t involve breasts and kittens was too much work.)

What I think is that we celebrate on the incorrect day. Unless what we are actually celebrating is the declaration of war or the intent to be independent and taxed by our own people.

To celebrate our actual independence it ought to be moved not to the sixth of July (which was the original celebratory day but the fourth sounded better (citation needed)) but to September 3rd in recognition of that fateful day in 1783 where we actually gained independance and collectively said “what now?” – to be answered by “I don’t know, we’re fucking broke – someone call China or start taxing the peeps, or both.” (citation needed).

But, I write this in America where we love our violence and wars, bloodshed is best remembered with a lot of explosions and many many missing fingers.

So, today I am playing the hell out of my ukulele and spending much time on the about to be painted deck.
here is another image which I found but couldn’t fit in anywhere else.

(this is the kind of stuff that eliminates fingers from children and stupid men.)

premature ejaculation

firecrackers, bottle rockets and gunfire.
July 3rd premature ejaculation punctuating
already poor sleeping summer night.

roman candles blue center light sizzling
like so many horribly dangerous sparklers
blinding and burning.

mortars shake the house and

dozens of fingers and hands sacrificed
at the alter of popular patriotism.

 – Hoc Scripsi

A few links which contain the ability to have new poetry not only by myself but by others as well.
Pre-order – PigeonBike (beyond the broken bridge) here – DO IT NOW!!!

and free to read on the internet and/or print copies to keep and give away! If you give some away get photos and send them to me and I will get the to the proper place where each image will be celebrated.
Get one or all eight issues here – also, DO IT NOW!
I appear in volumes 1, 3 and 4 – however, a lot of my good friends and some excellent poets appear across all volumes so I suggest you read them all.

May 8, 2011

happy coca-cola day!

by jhon baker

Today, 125 years ago, John Pemberton concocted his cure all tonic which would eventually keep America stoned until they removed the special coca ingredient – probably resulting in the seventies and eighties coke binges and nose bleeds.

I hear my son walking around singing and now I shift from soda products and soda jerks to the woman who everyday makes me proud and reflects a light that comes from a place I am not aware, My wife – the perfect mother and a fine woman. Baby, happy mothers day – I won’t bill you for the pancakes and bacon this time.
It takes a fine woman to raise a boy like Jackson and to tolerate a man such as I.

I love you baby.

My Mother – a woman rarely spoken of here largely of her unwillingness to allow me to share her story which is a hell of a story – I’ll wait for her to perish and tell it, damn her sisters that would probably be eternally upset by its truth. Anyway – Thank you for bearing me into this world and, variously, assisting me in becoming the man I am now.

My secondary mother – my sister. Thank you for never dressing me up as a girl, thank you for holding me in your lap and I bled half my bodies capacity onto your body and lap – you were twelve and mistaken for my mother – this is not the last time that has happened – now I call you my little sister as I am a manly 6’2″, 300 lbs and you no where near it. It was so good to see you recently and I can only hope you take my wife’s offer to stay here on respite from a blissful like in Colorado.

April 25, 2011

Monday, isn’t it?

by jhon baker

Fortunately the Easter Bunny had already hidden and left his wares by the time I was awoken and mistook him for a six foot intruder. Needless to say there was rabbit on the table for dinner and eggs for breakfast.
being a non-christian, non-catholic, non-pagan, non witch or warlock type (did I miss something?) makes celebrating these things a bit odd. But there is the children – or child. I want to give Jackson the best of childhood memories for his impending memoir so I aside personal beliefs and offer candy, presents and a good time had by all – sans the shooting of the Easter Bunny – I don’t know how I am going to cover that one next year.
I jest about the bunny but did find another dead/dying raccoon behind the house of the walk out steps from the lower level. I allowed rigor to set in as I didn’t want to handle a floppy dead two stone animal. I imagine this also gave his brethren time to grieve properly and if they didn’t there is always the garbage can to go to for visitation until Thursday morning.

it’s starting to rain and I must bring this inside.

On the front of good news – after a year or so of waiting I finally found the most talented cobbler and had new boots and a pair of New Balance (unpaid advertising) made for me. No, I am not some rich weirdo who can only wear shoes made for him – I am some weird cripple who needs shoes made a certain way so I can walk.
The new boot and shoes are so perfectly made I almost forget that I am crippled when I walk, almost if not for the pain. On the cycle I now completely forget that my leg isn’t whole, that I am not broken. My ride to the food store yesterday was the best ride I’d taken since the accident.
If any readers need shoe mending and are in the north of Illinois – I strongly suggest going to Geneva Shoe Repair for this service (also, unpaid advertisement).

But back to the business of poetry.

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it’s monday, isn’t it?
awoke, fitful night of dreaming
a chapter before sleep or 
 Chopin waltzes
 in interstellar time space conversion.
Pleiades, the seven sisters, gathering together,
gathered and looking down
in a pirouette of secular astonishment,
or not looking but close eyed
intersection of some young girls jeans;
these are the seven wives of the stationed
star rishis of the Great Bear.
in dream,
stirring in twilight rest;
looking up,
looking out
sextant guiding the way home.
 – Hoc Scripsi
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