Posts tagged ‘prose poem’

September 26, 2011

tired today

by jhon baker

I am so tired today, phase one of writing room finished – music room finished…


and here I am, mic in hand, flinging myself through the air and rapidly descending toward the sidewalks and one way streets of our beloved downtown Elgin, Il.

July 18, 2011

by jhon baker

she’s allergic to the blue iris I always send to her on her birthday.

I slept badly and then we we made love – after I slept until 11:40 and an hour later haven’t moved from my cigarette and empty coffee cup.

at two in the morning my body was creeping out of my skin revealing a man within, the eviction notice again goes without serious note.

every day I have a responsibility to wake and breathe, I’ve done so unfailingly.

every cay I have a responsibility to write the most beautiful poems, something revealing, I’ve done so failingly.

– Hoc Scripsi

July 13, 2011

illusions, delusions, allusions

by jhon baker

illusions of clowns, teeth bared and wickedly grinned.
delusions, grandiose and thinking that my lawn matters to more than the pope.
allusions to escapism outside Chicago, allusions of beauty before the morning, allusions of ballet toes bleeding from the rain.

high colored reality , divisions of flashing white porcelain against tile decadently scarred by misinforming vandals. embassies from god or the prince of Valiumed ladies distressing the floorboards of old missions;
I hang up the phone and turn to go outside for smoking, drinking coffee and dancing in the rain.

though I can no longer dance, everyday I think of the two-step.

stuck, inescapable nighttimedreaming and forcing awake a moment of clarity and pleasant cool air drafting in from racked open doors, the sound of small animals fleeting, the sound of disquiet under moonlight, and I am in underwear with uneven legs bare, uneven mind shifting under weight of trailing thought.

water bottle is empty.
medicine bottle is empty.

there is enough light to shadow.

freight train carrying boxes of cartoon imagination
sounds from one mile east, moving south south east
and into Chicago

dawn and I hear the first passenger cars slow to a halt but cannot discern the passengers boarding.

– Hoc Scripsi

July 12, 2011

no title

by jhon baker

There is no thought predominantly in my concussed brain that merits posting. Sitting within a college building, I feel none of the inspiration of youth, knowledge, beauty, and unbridled idealism that college campuses are attributed.

But there is tinny piano echoing down the hall, there are operatic voices with indefinable words ornamenting the stabbed out notes on the piano and sung by children somewhere between the ages of 7 and 15.


word is correcting my grammar while I type at the speed of sound.


the speed of sound interrupted by corrections as if I were on the salt flats in wet season.

I am wearing no helmet and the parachute is dysfunctional.

wet salt gets into everything like play sand.



May 26, 2011

If I knew what to write…

by jhon baker

I would have done so already.

There are thousands of words lined up waiting for attention at my IBM Selectric III. there is a tenseness in my shoulders which is found to be un-ignorable. I read the Harper’s Index and as usual found irritation and disgust among its figures. There is no way out of this mess – only through it, maybe.
Life isn’t a rat race but a series of uninteresting mazes without cheese at the end. No cheese, not even the government cheese.
certainly no wine and crackers unless you are in a daycare filled with white folks. proof of God’s sense of humor can be found in every bathroom across the nation simply by locating the sink and looking above it at eye level.

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