Posts tagged ‘music’

September 24, 2014

There is generally nothing interesting on Facebook

by jhon baker

I’ve spent the last several minutes or half hour scrolling on FB to no avail. The most interesting thing is my cup of coffee and this cigarette that I should not be smoking. I am over medicated but still crazy and dedicated. Several of my guitars need the attention of a luthier and I am out of ideas.

(What I initially wrote here is too personal for a personal public blog.)

I have no new poems to offer. Haven’t written one in about six months but I have not been idle. Or I have been idle, whiling my time away on trumpet and guitar. There is only one discipline I can concentrate on at a time. Fine Art, Music or poetry – I don’t know why I cannot intermingle them but, alas, I cannot. I feel as though I can no longer call myself “poet” as I no longer call myself a painter – these things require the action of the brush or pen (or IBM selectric III as it tends to be) and I am Hors de Combat.

I think that’s right.

In a general state of needing new shoes.

and another cigarette. I’ve quit it three times this year and am always drug back down by weakness of one moment and then the roller coaster of addiction. I can’t stand the way it smells or tastes and this time I find myself brushing my teeth several times a day just to get rid of the mouth feel. The next time may be it. I like myself better when I don’t smoke and I like that I don’t get headaches as often either.

A shout out for Leonard Cohen’s new album “Popular Problems” – he kills it.

I’ve started on the e cigarettes – I like them but for the weight that I am not used to holding in between my fingers. I don’t count this as quitting or staying quit. but yesterday I did the dishes and gathered the garbage making my son clean out the cat boxes and take the can to the curb with the help of my wife of many fine years. Last night I contemplated (while not being able to sleep, again) going down to my writing room and banging out a letter or a poem if one would present itself but I reclined on the couch with a cat that hates me and thought my way through the map of a fretboard. And right now I am waiting for a water company to come and tell me whats wrong with my renters house water system. I’ve a feeling that this is going to cost a lot.

My son tells me the best way to rid myself of writers block (which I don’t think I have) is to go to the coffee shop and people listen and watch. This is not something I would opt to do. Not that I am unwilling to look like a wanna be writer with his laptop open typing away – that part doesn’t bother me. It’s the sitting there, spending money on coffee when it is already paid for and cheaper at home. It is the people part really. I don’t like them much. Or it isn’t that I don’t like people but just like it better when they’re not around.

He says it is the noise that does it. To not sit in a quietude. But I don’t – I write to Jazz and the classical station. I go into my mental spaces and try out combinations of words until it hits. then I go.

that is my process.

And, normally, I don’t like capitals when I can avoid them.

six hundred and eleven words .

right then anyway.

January 2, 2014

January Second

by jhon baker

I miss being a regular smoker but the cost is simply too high – in dollars and lungs.

I didn’t post yesterday – the first first I’ve missed in a few years.

I had nothing to add to last years first – reference that if you like.

In trying to put together a coherent collection of poems for a possible book I’ve found it harder than anticipated.

In polishing the language of a non-native speaker in book form I’ve found that harder than anticipated as well.

I should be busy but I am not.

Playing trumpet takes little time per day but a lot of energy.

Constant and chronic pain takes the most energy.

as does fighting the mental crash I see coming.

The coffee is cooling too quickly and I find myself refilling more often for heat.

I have flowers dying on the kitchen table – in yellow hues turning brown – in whites turning yellow.

 

 

April 21, 2013

a luddite in the 21st century

by jhon baker

I have a subject in mind

but that isn’t what this poem is about.

 

Judas Iscariot, and I’ve been writing him

for months

but that isn’t what this poem is about.

 

drinking coffee and listening to the symphony

with projects that need attention all around.

at one time I thought I would stand while writing

to allow the body to sway into part of the meter.

but now I just sit here and type.

BANG BANG BANG

on the keyboard of a typewriter

a luddite in the 21st century

attracted buy the trappings of Steve Jobs innovations

but preferring to still use my old IBM

but that isn’t what this poem is about.

 

I’m trying to reach Judas Iscariot through song

to no avail, through prayer

but I don’t believe.

a hard poem to write and little is known

so I make it up and type on

BANG BANG BANG

really striking the keys though it makes no difference

to the imprint on the paper

but that isn’t what this poem is about.

 

later today I will rewrite this poem into my iMac

computer that’s sitting twenty feet away

and wonder why I didn’t write it there in the first place

but I know I know I know

and I will sit here again tomorrow and do the same thing

with coffee, symphony music and projects all around

that need attention that they will not receive.

but that isn’t what this poem is about.

 

what is this poem about?

I don’t know.

March 16, 2010

I don’t know.

by jhon baker

 I don’t know, I’ve never known, but, here you go. Post comments, follow prodigiously, dance or don’t.
Guardame Las Vacas is one of my favorite tunes to play. This isn’t me but it isn’t bad either.

DEATH BY MACHETE

she looked down to kill the fatted calf
then lay her body beside the animal.
no longer filled with hunger,
no longer needing.

she looked down to kill the fatted calf
and her feet carry her, she carry her weapon;
then lay her body beside the animal,
knuckles stained with blood.
no longer needing,
no longer hungry.

she looked down to kill the fatted calf
and laid her weapon next to the animal.
she lay her body beside them both,
her knuckles stained with the animals scent,
no longer filled with hunger.
no longer needing.

she looked down to kill the fatted calf
then lay her body beside the animal.
no longer needing to eat,
no longer hungry.

she looked down to kill the fatted calf
and rose her weapon to it.
the blood staining her knuckles,
the fatted calf falling to the floor;
she lay down her weapon next to it.
bloodied her knuckles in its flesh.
the demolition soaking into her clothes,
she rested her body beside the animal.
no longer filled with hunger.
no longer needing.

it’s death merciless. her
remorse washed away with soap.

– I wrote this

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