June 24, 2012
in the gloaming
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
already
in yearning
——–
three haiku (sort of) – Hoc Scripsi
April 25, 2012
sun and moon
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.
April 27, 2011
Listening to Nick Cave and I couldn’t be happier about the rain
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
Rain
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
the platitudes of willful resemblance 