Posts tagged ‘poem’

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July 20, 2013

Sitting

by jhon baker

Waiting at the music school my son attends for him to finish an hour and a half of lessons. There is nothing to do except scan Facebook, Twitter, and search around for news of the coming apocalypse (there is one isn’t there? There is always one coming down the pipe.). But, the coffee never lasts long enough and there isn’t entertainment going on in the waiting area of the school for any length of time – though this time I get to restring a guitar and make an unintentional dollar.

As noted above – I’m on twitter now – I am officially a twit or one who twits or whatever. Follow me or not  – @JhonZBaker  – I’ll not be offended if you do not or cannot or will not.

I refuse to be offended personally by anything – because no one fucking cares.

 

and outside it’s storming

 

temporary black out

and the keys on this machine hesitate

and stop momentarily.

 

my heart jumps as I am in the middle of a poem

and will be left sitting in the dark

with only drink and silence

 

and no poem

 

but the lights flutter and return

and the machine hums again

scenting the room with ozone

 

it’s January in Chicago

and raining, with intermittent thunder

and lightening keeping the cats awake

Posted in Othe blogs and other interesting things., Poetry | 2 Comments »

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May 13, 2013

what I say is holy

by jhon baker

but it’s no good,

the secret out,

and I am on my knees.

 

what I say is holy,

holier than the tomes of great men

whose bodies are dust;

 

I can no longer blow them for good graces

except by exhale,

 

head buried to the lap

of dead gods turned to ash.

Posted in Poetry, Short poem | 3 Comments »

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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.

Posted in Poetry | 2 Comments »

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March 26, 2013

so what!

by jhon baker

So, I haven’t posted in a while… So What?

I have no skin, but a basketful of protections from the sun and I am waiting for the coffee to brew at 4:43 pm. What I have in my cup is cold and coffee isn’t meant to be enjoyed cold – no matter what you or your fancy coffee iced lattes think. For coffee to be anygood cold it has to be brewed with a double batch of grounds and served over ice – even then I cannot stand it but normal coffee ice cold is no good, damn you and your alternate opinions. This is where the advantage goes to tea – I pour a hot cup of tea and drink some, forgetting about it for awhile and when I return to it it has become cold as forgotten things do – but I can drink it regardless of this as tea can be served hot or cold at the same strength.

advantage: Tea – but I enjoy coffee more and it is why I smoke now – to further enhance the coffee experience out in my garage where there is no organization but an ashtray and my motorcycle. Also a BB Gun to shoot raccoons in the ass when they get too friendly.

I just finished a Novel where one of the secondary characters suffers the same mental aberration as I and as where I can normally identify with my characters like this I found this character to be a reflection of popular symptoms and not reality – or his mental depravity was too close to home and I divorced my mental aspect from his. In the end the book wasn’t very good and failed to live up to the promise that the authors previous work had made. Now I am rereading “Dream Songs” by the one and only, John Berryman. This is never a let down no matter how many times I read them.

 

coffee, cigarettes and waiting

 

I am staring at this black piece of paper

with four poems waiting to be written;

drinking coffee but

wonting for something else entirely.

my ears are dirty with grime

and later I’ll shower.

right now I am not adjacent to godliness

but God doesn’t drink coffee

or smoke endless cigarettes turning on the next line.

 

my poetry isn’t in vogue at present

and I cannot support what is.

Bukowski imitators.

and I am going gray;

easily depressed by these rejections,

waiting for more coffee to brew

so I can kill myself

with these several cigarettes

or maybe a gun.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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