I love the moon at 3 pm
on a regardless Saturday
at the end of the month.
sun still warming my upturned face.
– Hoc Scripsi
December 31, 2011
the great idiot of us all
When I was growing up I was sure of two things. 1. I was retarded and 2. that I was adopted. – eventually I learned that 1. no and 2. no.
however, there is lingering doubt remaining about both only because my nature is different and odd and my nurture is fantastically imprinted.
I was also told that I couldn’t carry a tune and was in speech therapy because I was monotone and thought to be tone deaf – both of these ended life being not true as I have become an accomplished musician and a pretty good singer.
If I was so motivated – this would be the start of my autobiography – or my memoirs as they call them.
what follows is probably terrible or terrific…
the great idiot of us all
the rain sleeps;
passed the nickel
through gates of wrath
after
observedly pounded on
windows and
doors and windows
doors and windows.
slept under lit porticoes
and flooded swails.
– last night I wrote this but may take it back
September 30, 2011
A good day for a few links
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
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!
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.
September 14, 2011
no cause for alarm
Empty house
filling it up with notes,
beats,
and outspoken poems.
– Written by my Nephew, Christian Allen Baker, poeticized by yours truly.
the platitudes of willful resemblance 