Posts tagged ‘love’

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.

February 14, 2011

Happy Birthday Gregory Heins

by jhon baker

oh, and it’s Valentines day too.

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a love poem

 

I caught your glance

and offered a small gift

which you refused.

an apple,

a token, to toe

the water.

another month and you would acquiesce

to my teenaged display of nerves.

I was twenty-three

you were soft and scared

and thinking I’d meant to use you

but I’d love you instead.

you humored me

answering every question

I had.

 

you were twenty-five

and I knew, over coffee

that first night

at Denny’s,

our life would be braved

unknown

together.

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March 18, 2010

this is/this was

by jhon baker

Last night while ingesting a handful of prescription pain killers and mood stabilizers; my wife sat on the bed, beautiful and alluring, pushing her back on the bed and kissing long passionate depth, we made love, the kiss was among our best the groping was tantalizing , the visceral connection was enigmatically wondrous. In all the world last night there was not another two as deep and powerful as we.
and they say marriage is the killer of intimacy but no, no, no, it is the conjointment that only the profoundness of we know. My wife saved my life, she was the turning point between train wreck and the self I am. All my poetry is for her, this one is also dedicated to her.

this is/ this was
            to my wife, Kara

here, this is/ this was
the scene of our love
left only now to misshapen sheets
and my hands on your hands
    hands of a body
    your body
    eyes of windows immensity
    after evenings hour
    your moonlit being

here, this is/ this was
the scene of our love
and configuration of sleeping bodies
     head to head
     on cased feather pillows
dreamt singing voices
     of your gravity
     after midnights hour
and my obeisant being

this is
this was
the scene of
out love
now a windowless immensity
after mornings hour
and your vanished being

– I wrote this

February 14, 2010

Valentine’s final hours, the poor bastard.

by jhon baker

St. Valentine wrote a love letter to his jailer’s daughter. He fell in love with her supposedly. I think if this is true it might be the first example of Stockholm Syndrome. Now we celebrate this mental abnormality by sexing one another.
As I write poetry often for my wife, there is little that I make public. I wish for her to compile it all after my death and put it out as a book of poems for her. This idea isn’t new but it is my way of offering something to her that is not offered to anyone else, as I do not have much I have this and it is for her only.

I don’t hate flowers

I fill the page
I write this on
with flowers;
on the other side I sketch my wife,
naked.

I ‘m not terribly fond of flowers.
though I tend to stoop and pet them,
I would as soon pluck one from the earth
to curry favor from my wife as I would
to plant one.

 – I wrote this.

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