words of a people aligned in their perfect order
two days ago the birds were singing
calling out for lovers
thinking it spring
today it is too cold to stand outside
unless you were getting paid
and even then…
Chicago winter in the 21st century
it rained yesterday and then
snow fell all night
but waking only to an inch of it
not worth it to shovel the drive
not worth it to get the mail
not worth it to smoke and look
at the grass peeking out from under the snow
even the windows are frozen shut.
January, 31st 2013
– Hoc Scripsi
the air is not tense with rain
swelled clouds pass over
leaving only blue sky
——–
spirited glow of sun
leveling with dying grass
casting long shadows
——–
fireflies dance to make love
already
in yearning
——–
three haiku (sort of) – Hoc Scripsi
money
humbly
offers their
flowers
where did you get them? magnificent!
beautiful.
from the discard,
trash heap
the gutter, where everything
comes from.
the sewer, where everything
goes.
– Hoc Scripsi
77°
birdsong crashing into my skull
backyard
77°
arms burned from reading in noonday.
now,
that star buries deep into the west,
casting shadow over greening grass.
– Hoc Scripsi
also: don’t forget to go to here and download your own FREE copy of ark and other poems
It will print as a letter size but can be had as a normal chapbook if you would like. Simply contact me with your desire (at jhonbaker@att.net) and I can lead you to the promised low price ($6USD) chap which comes with a copy of gypsy bars chap – both with art by Micael Chadwick and poetry by yours truly.
skies painted dioxazine, phthalocyanine,
violet, prussian, phthalo blues and greens
cerulean and sunkissed naples yellow
portraits of madmen at 35 and aging
midnight scenes on the arroyo
crossing the black waters of Lethe
held fast to the stern
I have ultramarine oils
smeared across my forehead
because of you
butterflies in my beard
and cadmium red
staining my fingertips
because of you
we have met under porches
moonlit nights
waltzing, caroling
my heart has broken
handheld and shopped for nothings
with birds singing
and faces picked up in backyards
– Hoc Scrispi
the platitudes of willful resemblance 