Posts tagged ‘prompted poetry’

January 27, 2011

Magpie #50

by jhon baker

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St. Sebastian
walked, mid January,
through snowy wood
stepping lightly the tracks
of those traveled before,
leaving some for those behind.
no turns but trees to rest upon
no crickets to sing or call
no voices but those of
my companions
no other sounds,
the winds unfettered,
but that of our feet
crushing through
and impermanent.
as I looked further, 
down the trodden path
we traveled,
it was Sebastian I thought of
and his arrows
 – Hoc Scripsi
image courtesy of Magpie Tales, #50
January 8, 2011

Magpie #47

by jhon baker
 
Shona stone carvings

stone smoothed,

polished with Johnson paste wax 
a mother, or father perhaps,
     with two children,
his children, her children?
dirty children with distended bellies and
our bearded confessor on his knees
     playing
          embracing
 II
playful image.
captured by African artists
selling to American tourists
and tradesmen
importing to California, New York
et cetera 
via ups and fed ex
This made of rapoko
but cast in silver,
I would hang it on the neck 
of my wife
 – Hoc Scripsi

image by Magpie tales  – prompt #47
January 3, 2011

Magpie #46

by jhon baker
I’ve been playing a bit with forms lately and doing some inventing of my own, typically for the constraint which helps me to write. This is a reflection of one of those forms – which my forms make little sense and still involve little to no rhyme scheme – I can’t be bothered with it, not being able to use the best word is too constraining. I’ve done the rhyme thing and mostly wrote sonnets and the like during my @font-face { font-family: “Cambria”;}p.MsoNormal, li.MsoNormal, div.MsoNormal { margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; font-size: 12pt; font-family: “Times New Roman”; }div.Section1 { page: Section1; } juvenilia. 

left lying on the floor
where dropped 
in route to somewhere other
turned it’s aspect
apart from and
saintly away

the moment smells of sweat
lying unrested
wearing a buckle attached
tight to a belt, 
fastened loose, but
for safe keeping

left lying on the floor
where dropped, dark
brown, augments worn and pale planks
obfuscating
a vision, past, present
a moment varied

 – Hoc Scripsi

image from Willow at Magpie Tales #46

Now I need a title. Again to reference the image without utilizing the image. Does the poem require the image?

I think I talk too much.

Especially in sleep.

December 17, 2010

everytime I’m with you, I’m fucked up…

by jhon baker

religious iconography isn’t my thing.

When my impatience with people, cats, machinery et cetera come on – I know it is time to take myself out of the mixture for awhile, all in attempt to avoid the medications, the ward, having to make the excuses – I am lucky in that my wife is somehow able to calm me and distract until she can get me to a safer place. I live not only with bi-polar spectrum disorder with psychosis but chronic pain as well, and when the pain peaks it causes all the effort of control to spin wildly and quickly down – I need my pain meds, today crying a bit while trying to nap after snow blowing the drive I could only think that I wanted to vanish into Hawaii or the mountains to live as a crazy monk.

anyway

I’ve never met the man who isn’t torn between

clean, sober, right,
shame, bottle and heartbreak.

who isn’t sliding toward the selfish decision;
who isn’t the man he wanted to be.

prescription drugs, narcotics
bad poetry, tense moments

of quietude and longing.
leaning against rail fences

sun shining on his face.

 – Hoc Scripsi

image from Magpie #45

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blurred vision
two dimensional –
beginning existence.
the child looks to it’s mother
and is forgotten by
most of the world.

this is your child,
contemplate their sacrifice
to the rivers of working men
and think not of the blood
shed during
birth
from your body
in painful throes.
Mary was saved the
embarrassment of virginity
and graphic detail
in thanks to stain glass legends
and some Pope high on
power and opium

December 13, 2010

hanging christmas decorations or handling shotguns

by jhon baker

another Jingle Poetry Potluck Monday. This week theme being – Hobbies & Passions, Pastimes & Entertainment

Merry Christmas
 
I was the only one wearing a John Lennon t-shirt
and not camouflage or distressed leather
conspicuously eying shotguns, .357s and a few AR-15s.

it was a last minute decision
to go
a momentary hesitation
to leave

having breakfast at Baker Hill Pancake House
drinking Superior or something
enjoying the company

and the plangent chorus of diners
on a Sunday morning,
too cold for hanging outdoor decorations.


and I am unaware of looks or gazes
in other directions.




 – Hoc Scripsi




Not my best effort but it is all I have left today. I am not reaching for compliments as I am always straight forward about that but genuinely unsure about this one. 


Earlier I wrote a mess of lines and efforted those to a nose bleeding degree. I’ll sleep on this theme and revisit tomorrow or maybe harvest something old to offer the masses.

good night, good night, good night – With Patrick out of the hospital and on the mend, I only need concern myself with fellow chronic pain sufferers. Rest well my fellows, morning is around  the bend.

Edit: several, too many – probably going to delete this entire post around 3 am or in the normal morning.  
EDIT: obviously I didn’t delete it but I assure you that I did rewrite it several times before the first comment.

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