Posts tagged ‘rain’

June 24, 2012

in the gloaming

by jhon baker

the air is not tense with rain

swelled clouds pass over

leaving only blue sky


spirited glow of sun

leveling with dying grass

casting long shadows


fireflies dance to make love


in yearning


three haiku (sort of) – Hoc Scripsi

April 25, 2012

sun and moon

by jhon baker

never write when it rains, it always ends up about the rain so I start with the rain and end it with…

I watch my wife shave her legs and remain hidden, covered by the bathroom door.

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April 27, 2011

Listening to Nick Cave and I couldn’t be happier about the rain

by jhon baker

Target shooting this morning, indoors at my favorite range – going with my favorite girl and my favorite pistol. The inspiration for Guernica was laid today in typical bloodbath inspirational fashion.

One of my favorite paintings – another one would be Van Gogh’s wheat field with crows painted shortly before his death – arguably his final painting.

This weekend there will be a family reunion of sorts in NC – memorializing the death of my very good friend and confidant – Aunt Kathryn. I’ve two siblings – A brother (an Actor of Theatre Undreground fame (yes, that is the spelling)) and a sister of Denver Co. Vet tech profession. She will be going while I am sure my brother will be home holding down the fort of my fathers business.
one and a half days there only and I wish death had better timing that we (K, Jackson and I) could spend more time.
I’ll be doing a reading of the last poem I sent to her and the last paragraph of the letter the poem was sent in. I still am unable to properly quantify the loss as I continue to write her letters that I am unable to send. They will be hand delivered to her in Heaven should I be able.

the poem to be read:

the artist dreams of nightsong and thinks of his paintings
 – For Aunt Kathryn

I wish the birds would sing
in the middle of the night
in winter,
though the windows are never open.

I wish the birds would sing in winter
though I stoop to pet a plant
inadvertently knocking over a light fixture.

I wish the birds would sing
in the middle of the night,
lights low, the party over
and missing every painting I’ve ever sold.

I wish the birds would sing
in the middle of the night
in winter,
though purple flowers want their bloom

 – Jhon Baker

I’ll later post the ending of the letter but as of now I am intertwined in memory and bereft with melancholy.

September 2, 2010


by jhon baker

Rain most of the day – I managed to escape on the motorcycle for a short bit and ride about 30 miles or so.

did I mention I have a book published? Available on Amazon and Barnes and Noble?

Anyway, my city is being cleansed and the new trees and lawn are drinking deep the nutrients from the heavens and my cat wants to be let on the porch to storm watch.
My son is dutifully sleeping away now while I drink coffee at nine thirty-seven at night.

thought about this poem this morning as  I struggled to knowingly get out of bed with my whole day in a twist with this rain.

it’s Thursday

woke up this morning and it was pouring rain, welcoming spring I slept in
late late. I had dreams that although I was married with a boy and my age,
I was naked in High School, but in dream I really didn’t care.

My older brother hit me in the head with a golf club,
while I was six, according to my mother,
broke open my skull,
according to the golf club.

Now I blame him for everything. like the instability.

–        J. 03.11.10

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July 23, 2010

Friday and the rain comes

by jhon baker

It’s raining finally. Meaning that I will not have to go out and water the lawn, the clouds and atmosphere are pulling together and putting water and nutrients into my half assed attempt at an enviable lawn. Rained all night but that didn’t come with the usual good sleep, flashes of lightening, bad dreams, and strange noises kept me awake with one hand on my .45 (the strange noises) but last nights sleep was an improvement over the night before. I had seemingly been cured of the plaguing insomnia or I had nearly been convinced that I had been cured through medication which may have helped the sleep and is now weeping out from my skin as I have suspended this particular prescription. Why? I couldn’t write and I was too medicated to be angry about it. I’ve thrashed most of what I had written while on this last attempt at stability. I realize now that I prefer walking on the fine edge of a razor blade to the life that medication offers you.
Wow, from simple rain to the complex world of anti-psychotics.

The walls may start to bleed again, disembodied eyes may watch me from the windows, the noise is coming back slowly slowly slowly and I’m getting the headaches again here and there, here and there. Still not feeling anger but able to meditate and breathe when the air isn’t suffocated from under the glass walls.
– it’s the good rain that does it, makes me nostalgic for a more unhinged period of my life.


eating dinner by
two candle power
& glasses of water like

goblets of wine
between us,
we eat slowly,

laugh heartily
and are only drowning

in concern

clean skin, made
beautiful by artificial

 – Hoc Scripsi

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