Posts tagged ‘published’

November 1, 2011

This and more

by jhon baker

This poem is better represented in the now available copy of ‘gypsy bars, back alleys and one way streets‘ from Free Penny Press. Download your own copy – link to it on FB and Google+ – tweet it – nominate for various prizes and print copies to hand out to friends and lovers.


you are my own brother

– For MC


you are my own brother.


my AIDS stricken angel.


a heartbreak.



I’ve come to find

I’ve always loved you

and out love flow thick

through shared veins.


could I promise you a rose garden?

or no, a field of daisies and sunflowers.



you cannot help but be beautiful

and lovely

in summer hats

still dancing

under umbrellas in the rain.


– Hoc Scripsi

October 30, 2011

Gypsy Bars, back alleys and one way streets

by jhon baker

Here it is – a day early – published by the fine folks at Free Penny Press…

gypsy bars, back alleys and one way streets

You can also find it here.

Print out a copy for you, print an extra one or two for someone else that you may well randomly give them without knowing who the fuck they are.

This chapbook is a team effort of Lynne Hayes – editor, Micael Chadwick- Cover artist – and myself, poet. All of these three people are excellent poets and their links can be found here…


Lynne Hayes

Micael Chadwick, Micael Chadwick

If you get the chance – please light a candle for MC as he is in the Hospital battling for his life and freedom.

September 30, 2011

A good day for a few links

by jhon baker

One of the most loving things I have ever read

take it to the pamphlets and soon Guerilla pamphlets #15 are both VERY good bets

Take it to the streets poetry – many good links here for many good volumes

Get a subscription here if you can

Always a good site

Newer press but they accept some excellent work

keep checking this store for when it opens – if you want something you’ll have to beat me to it!

another of his links

good reading in general


okay – that’s enough for today –

but lastly – it’s older than most being posted here lately but I like it.


dying roses are not broken promises


literal or not

we bled on pages

and pages and

pages of uncertain poetry.

women bleed with efficiency.


dying roses are not

broken promises as

are crumbling petals

no longer red.


– Hoc Scripsi


okay – I’m adding one today – don’t be a bully – this isn’t poetry, it’s about bullying and a very very deeply affecting story beginning on sept 24th post – read though from there to the most current – you won’t regret it and I wept openly.

July 4, 2011

Happy 4th!

by jhon baker
 (if only I’d gone to school to learn to blow shit up, I could have done this for a living)

For my overseas readers – read the title line as – Happy Monday!

(this will have to do as finding an image for happy Monday that wasn’t cheeky or didn’t involve breasts and kittens was too much work.)

What I think is that we celebrate on the incorrect day. Unless what we are actually celebrating is the declaration of war or the intent to be independent and taxed by our own people.

To celebrate our actual independence it ought to be moved not to the sixth of July (which was the original celebratory day but the fourth sounded better (citation needed)) but to September 3rd in recognition of that fateful day in 1783 where we actually gained independance and collectively said “what now?” – to be answered by “I don’t know, we’re fucking broke – someone call China or start taxing the peeps, or both.” (citation needed).

But, I write this in America where we love our violence and wars, bloodshed is best remembered with a lot of explosions and many many missing fingers.

So, today I am playing the hell out of my ukulele and spending much time on the about to be painted deck.
here is another image which I found but couldn’t fit in anywhere else.

(this is the kind of stuff that eliminates fingers from children and stupid men.)

premature ejaculation

firecrackers, bottle rockets and gunfire.
July 3rd premature ejaculation punctuating
already poor sleeping summer night.

roman candles blue center light sizzling
like so many horribly dangerous sparklers
blinding and burning.

mortars shake the house and

dozens of fingers and hands sacrificed
at the alter of popular patriotism.

 – Hoc Scripsi

A few links which contain the ability to have new poetry not only by myself but by others as well.
Pre-order – PigeonBike (beyond the broken bridge) here – DO IT NOW!!!

and free to read on the internet and/or print copies to keep and give away! If you give some away get photos and send them to me and I will get the to the proper place where each image will be celebrated.
Get one or all eight issues here – also, DO IT NOW!
I appear in volumes 1, 3 and 4 – however, a lot of my good friends and some excellent poets appear across all volumes so I suggest you read them all.

June 8, 2011


by jhon baker

I need to start drinking iced coffee or maybe iced tea. I’m the only one I know that really doesn’t care for iced tea and I absolutely cannot stand iced coffee. iced soy chai – now your talking but why go out and spend five bucks just to sit outside and fuck around on the laptop. It is never too hot to enjoy the home brew – it is never too cold to eat a bowl of ice cream, and all movies watch better with popcorn.

Today’s poem is a few years old and has been published twice – once in Roadkill zen Journal and again in my book, hands on the hips (available from Amazon or signed if you order through the buttons in the upper right hand corner), I have put it up because RKzJ has closed their site and it is no longer available there – this is the bad thing about internet publication, it creates no history. I think I should take screen shots where my poems appear on this world wide web just to have the history for my self – kept in a box at the bottom of a closet.

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roadside diner,
a dollar for bitter coffee.
I want the hard rain.
I want the long rain,
HARD on my shoulders and face
with hands stuffed in pockets
clutching three dollars.
I want the drowning rain,
pooling underneath
walking feet. Running
shoes cleaned and soaking;
peregrination of two miles
in a Chicago summer,
toward a phone call, paper towels
and over-extracted coffee.
– Hoc Scripsi 

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