Posts tagged ‘poem’

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

 

August 21, 2014

writing lyrics is harder than I remember.

by jhon baker

So, I’ve been mostly talked into getting a band I was in back together for the purpose of recording some of the stuff we never got a chance to record. This means that I am writing new lyrics to old songs that I like the tunes of but having outgrown the lyrics. Writing lyrics at my age is harder than it was when I was a tenor. It must be because I am out of practice.

I’m a slow writer – always have been. I take no issue with this as Leonard Cohen takes no issue with it.

and now – a poem that has nothing to do with anything.

 

 

some poems

 

some poems take years to write

some only minutes

every other poem is in-between

and none so far has taken more.

 

like Bukowski, Williams, O’Hara

I am a writer of poems

short poems

long poems

most a few in-between

like all creatives I am

disgracefully unreliable in action

chasing down the inspirations

with a stick in one hand

a pen in the other

months of missing my prey

and weeks of eating well

and growing fat

 

but I write on this IBM Selectric III

and drink coffee like it was religion

no longer getting drunk or drugging

my days away

and slipping into the nightgown of poetry.

now they all come fully dressed

with ten fingers typing

furiously in fits and starts

mostly done during the day.

 

I am nostalgia interrupted

a willful resemblance of another time

before my iMac and laptop dominated

my final drafts and submissions

email rejections or acceptances

 

I haven’t stamped an SASE in years

or walked to the mailbox hopeful or dreadful

waiting to throw away another poem

such as this.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

July 20, 2014

Wait… wasn’t this a poetry blog?

by jhon baker

Why, yes it was and is- when I write poetry but lately the focus has been elsewhere and I’m okay with that. I have not been focusing on my disbelief in any god or gods but have been playing music again and seriously studying to become a better musician. Mostly Jazz Trumpet and reading music – Trumpet is a new thing for me as of last October and I am coming along with it as well as can be expected I think – maybe even better than can be expected as this is where all my creative energies lie. You may think it a shame that I am not posting more poetry regardless of what I am writing – there is surely more poetry written than I’ve ever placed on this blog and if you had that thought then you thought correctly and it isn’t as if I haven’t written since I started with the trumpet but I haven’t written much and am waiting to see what of it gets published elsewhere before it lands here.

This is a meditation on the blog in recent light of the most popular post I’ve ever written – far and away the most popular post and I need to consider what this blog is really about as I’ve never really wanted a random blog but one that held out meaning and a constant theme – more or less.

So, I will put a poem here for the followers that are with me for the poetry –

 

speaking of hell

 

this is one poem that will not get written

not everyday can contain a poem

or the written word

or the vague ramblings and ideas

of abstracted madness.

 

my beard grows long

and I am in good company,

months of tender care

with shampoo and conditioner

with little gray.

 

I am younger than I look

and more experienced than the color of my hair.

it’s resilience, perseverance

it’s sitting down and getting to it –

keeping hell in a back pocket.

 

most people live truly blessed lives

their nightmares kept safely at night,

others don’t sleep and howl at the moon

raving like sharp toothed dogs

gnawing at their own fingers and bones.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

 

And put this here for the randomness of it. I don’t think the article needs comment from me but you should know that it is sorta about vaginas – or one particular vagina and it isn’t mine.

April 18, 2014

poem

by jhon baker

the obvious end

death

and the mystery of it.

love is a chemical thing,

there is only mystery for the uninformed.

 

but

still I love

and soon will die;

the poetry of death is inexhaustible.

the poetry of flowers and birds is equally inexhaustible.

and when it rains everyone writes poetry about the rains.

 

but

we still think of a rising sun

a setting sun

in ignorance that it is the earth

that rotates on an invisible axis.

that we are always in motion,

balancing with the flat of out feet,

sometimes on our knees.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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