Posts tagged ‘poem’

August 16, 2015

am not asleep

by jhon baker

been awake too damn long and I’m sick of it.

nothing to do with the cup of coffee I just poured myself in one of my Vincent mugs.

I suppose it isn’t that late but I am hungry and looking for my angry fix.

I haven’t been sleeping well.

and the windows have faces that I can’t comprehend.

I put on my goggles and peer out into the darkness of the backyard sitting next to my wife who is equally as perplexed as I am but today I did not forget my medications.

I still feel the world spin and note the stench of cigarettes and dying sunflowers.

better than earlier when I could scent out the unique putrefaction of several birds finding only one feather.

but the couch got moved.

generally enervated and bone pain sick of it.

half-banana moon, toothpicks on the highway, sick of it.

skin falling off and miswriting sin, a lack of croutons in soup, sick of it.

tattoos, assassinating public figures, the FBI comes and visits me at six am, sick of it.

or I am in stir, a padded room with nothing but this white computer and the insatiable need to sleep.

or I am in a wheat field with crows thinking about a .38 special.

or I am in bed, lying prone, ready to fire with a hard-on and magazine dreams.

add a new category.

eleven: forty-six pm – my eye lids are heavy and I am over tired.

goodnight.

goodnight.

goodnight.

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August 1, 2015

I guess it’s a matter of sensation

by jhon baker

birds evening song

boys weed in the garden

making way for more weeds to grow and insist

 

cicadas sound

make love, make love

here I am, waiting out whatever

 

metal skewers don’t require a soaking

and I love your

face

 

smooth smooth smooth

a moment of several stages

the first one

 

hurts hurts strange

and a means of communication

I wave my hands

 

sidelong and erect

standing to the left of the finished masterpiece

tearing apart

 

and not taking it

anymore

we’re not taking it anymore

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

July 28, 2015

So Here I Am

by jhon baker

I am a man of chronic conditions

and if you bless me I’ll say thanks

but that’s all

 

no one renders the image well

and while the coffee is hot

the outside is almost hotter

 

and I eat a pinkish apple

drink bottled water

and stare at your walls

 

sugarless scenarios

contemplating my next tattoo

I am a spiritual guide

 

wearing a gun and a leatherman

ready for anything

I’m ready for you

 

– Hoc Scripsi

July 28, 2015

Dear Judas,

by jhon baker

1.

 

I cannot believe in God

for all the ill his world produces;

for all the memory of your embattled figure.

aren’t we all the sons of man?

the daughters?

aren’t we all the saints of tomorrow?

yesterdays?

dear Judas,

I weep weep at thoughts of you.

 

2.

 

holy holy

I suppose I call out for you

(your tragic figure)

feet playing the edge of a precipice

knowing not whither to fall

and be damned

 

speak for me

(holy holy)

Adonoi for sought blessings

for finding your body to love

speak for me

holy holy – holy holy

 

dear Judas,

child, saint

you are venerated in my heart

I feel you

listening now for words

from your voice

 

I pray to you

seek you out in hymn –

which star are you?

speak for me,

our holy blessings and names

our holy actions and love

 

 

 

3.

 

dear Judas,

where can I find you?

I look in back alleys

search the graveyards

stop in cafes

along busy streets

and I cannot find you

 

the air is desiccated

sun burnt skin flakes

and peels

as I strive in the daylight

looking for you

in the faces of dirty children

with uncombed hair

I seek you out

among the poor

and tax collectors

among the rich

and forgotten

 

dear Judas,

I write to you now

to understand

not of your purported betrayal

or that last kiss

wherein you created

Christianity

to understand

the end

the dark night of your soul

I listen among the birds

sitting under trees

for your final declaration

the last act of a hanged man

misunderstood for two thousand years

 

dear Judas,

you are the first

martyred

forgotten

hanged from the devil’s tree

where no bird sang but wept

where stone and arrow

met your body and mind

your last walk holy

 

dear Judas,

holy Judas

martyred Judas

I pray for you

call out to you

(your tragic figure)

I weep weep at thoughts of you

 

dear Judas,

sing for me

holy holy

your soul scarred

and sacred

your body left and

forgotten

that strength of a thousand thousand men

the courage of many more

tracing a line round your heart

broken now

broken for all time

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

 

June 13, 2015

Beneath this grumpy heart

by jhon baker

I would write more but I have little to say and what I do I say to my wife and child.

although I’ve purchased a new guitar I am not playing it due to the pain from old injuries.

Hot coffee on a hot day needs to be double fisted with iced soda or water.

Listening to Muddy Waters while my wife mows the lawn and whacks the weeds with concentration and aggression.

Happiness is a strange notion.

My neighbor is crazy in a different way than I am crazy – she is a lunatic howling at the moon while I am simply mentally abberated and unstable on the best days.

I am selling my motorcycle and have turned down offers I shouldn’t have and been offered some pretty ridiculous trades or amounts.

“I’ve got a black cat bone,

I’ve got a mojo too.

I’ve got a John the Conqueroo,

I’ve got to mess with you…”

 

These are two separate poems…

 

I love you

and that may be all

shared coffee over old television shows

and newer series watched in minute marathons

 

I have flowers dying on the kitchen table

in yellow hues turning brown

in whites turning yellow

– Hoc Scripsi

 

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