Posts tagged ‘SASE’

August 21, 2014

writing lyrics is harder than I remember.

by jhon baker

So, I’ve been mostly talked into getting a band I was in back together for the purpose of recording some of the stuff we never got a chance to record. This means that I am writing new lyrics to old songs that I like the tunes of but having outgrown the lyrics. Writing lyrics at my age is harder than it was when I was a tenor. It must be because I am out of practice.

I’m a slow writer – always have been. I take no issue with this as Leonard Cohen takes no issue with it.

and now – a poem that has nothing to do with anything.

 

 

some poems

 

some poems take years to write

some only minutes

every other poem is in-between

and none so far has taken more.

 

like Bukowski, Williams, O’Hara

I am a writer of poems

short poems

long poems

most a few in-between

like all creatives I am

disgracefully unreliable in action

chasing down the inspirations

with a stick in one hand

a pen in the other

months of missing my prey

and weeks of eating well

and growing fat

 

but I write on this IBM Selectric III

and drink coffee like it was religion

no longer getting drunk or drugging

my days away

and slipping into the nightgown of poetry.

now they all come fully dressed

with ten fingers typing

furiously in fits and starts

mostly done during the day.

 

I am nostalgia interrupted

a willful resemblance of another time

before my iMac and laptop dominated

my final drafts and submissions

email rejections or acceptances

 

I haven’t stamped an SASE in years

or walked to the mailbox hopeful or dreadful

waiting to throw away another poem

such as this.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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December 3, 2013

some poems

by jhon baker

some poems take years to write

some only minutes

every other poem is in-between

and none so far has taken more.

 

like Bukowski, Williams, O’Hara

I am a writer of poems

short poems

long poems

most a few in-between

like all creatives I am

disgracefully unreliable in action

chasing down the inspirations

with a stick in one hand

a pen in the other

months of missing my prey

and weeks of eating well

and growing fat

 

but I write on this IBM Selectric III

and drink coffee like it was religion

no longer getting drunk or drugging

my days away

and slipping into the nightgown of poetry.

now they all come fully dressed

with ten fingers typing

furiously in fits and starts

mostly done during the day.

 

I am nostalgia interrupted

a willful resemblance of another time

before my iMac and laptop dominated

my final drafts and submissions

email rejections or acceptances

 

I haven’t stamped an SASE in years

or walked to the mailbox hopeful or dreadful

waiting to throw away another poem

such as this.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

February 11, 2013

mundane details of a life – part two

by jhon baker

I have to mail out a few letters

in the morning –

one to a banker that

I forgot to mail this morning,

one to a friend who doesn’t write back often

and some submissions with SASE all ready for

rejection.

 

all this makes me think

of how I miss adjusting the carburetor

in the driveway nearly everyday

so the car would run well enough

to get me to and from work waiting tables

at some chain restaurant on the verge of going bankrupt

where they didn’t care if you shaved that day or not

and most days I didn’t shave and smelled like gasoline

and used oil.

 

I eventually grew a beard so I wouldn’t have to shave at all

and quit the restaurant for less demeaning work

elsewhere but never found any

just more jobs and surviving

just over broke

renting rooms or couches

or spending late nights at doughnut shops

so I wouldn’t have to go anywhere

and those places never close

even though they had locks on all the doors.

 

but today I have to make sure that I mail

out these letters and that one to the banker

about bond funds and such

these are things I don’t really pay attention to

–       at least not yet

and my car is fuel injected and almost new

and my son asks me

if I regret anything in life – he’s nine –

and I don’t know what to tell him.

 

 

 

– Hoc Scripsi

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