Posts tagged ‘the horrible side of being human’

August 30, 2015

slowly

by jhon baker

slowly slowly

 

everything is working out

but slowly

I’m a big man getting smaller

but I’ll never be small

I was built for comfort

and post-coital embrace

 

but I corner well

 

 

 

 

September 6, 2011

my own private Elgin, Illinois

by jhon baker

 

the sun is setting now and the leaves aren’t still but luminous, vivid greens and some reds.

verdant splendor of intense color shaded by a myriad of others and backed by intense whites and pinks of gravel driveway.

All images blur and skip frame to frame like an old 8mm.

 

2. (and then again)

all the colors become brilliant and to know what it means.

I gave god the better odds on this one.

loaded a single cartridge into a six-wheel and spun.

my own private Elgin, Illinois,

images blur and frame skip to slow

an old 8mm film

alighting the spirits of

Jack Daniels and Johnnie Walker

an unfinished life

and the poetry of John Berryman.

 

– Hoc Scripsi

September 5, 2011

215643 –

by jhon baker

Trying my hardest today to not bellow and shout, scream at everyone who breathes in my presence. The fault is entirely mine, or at least it is the fault of an unknown source fucking up my tolerance level for people, things, coffee and apt consideration.

Last night – or rather this morning between six and nine thirty I slept. The first real sleep in days not driven by highly charged emotional states and nightmares. and at the moment my wrist is bleeding.

I didn’t harm myself if that is the conclusion the reader has leapt to.

a stab into the wrist from a light construction project in the destruction phase. Well, it is meant to be a light construction/room rehab project but the further I am getting into it the more I am realizing that it is going to need and today I am not up to the task of contemplating how best to accomplish the goal.

what I need is a four in the afternoon nap, some heavy sedation and a beer or bottle of Yukon Jack.

my problems are petty and the coffee is warm.

I can’t write a poem in this mood, flashing downward in a silent movie circa 1928 train wreck and bugs bunny taunting the shotgun in manic high.

squirrels wear a fur coat made of raccoon hide.

June 17, 2011

a little on the self

by jhon baker

Last night, after making love, outside smoking and the coyotes were getting close, I had my 1911 but after midnight it is too loud – we went inside. Listened to them get ever closer as we fell to sleep.
Now I am looking for a good varmint rifle – something in a .223 as I refuse to be eaten by an animal.

I don’t think of myself as a contradiction but as myself – unique as all people should be and alike as all humans are.
a Poet, Buddhist, gun lover, biker, romantic, cripple – these are not contradictions and I practice non-violence in balance to the gun I carry on my side.

Yesterday I got read a smallish version of the riot act by a very good friend for referring to myself as a cripple. He said he winces a bit every time I say it and that I need to find a better descriptor. Maybe he is right – certainly he is honest, intelligent and an excellent friend. It is that I feel crippled, I feel like a Quasimodo hanging from the bell tower yelling “Sanctuary! Sanctuary!” – but I know that I am not a cripple but have been crippled – therein lies a a major difference. In terms of strength and size I am capable of being a monster, frightening to some who don’t know me and gentle and kind to those who do. The leg has been shortened and crippled, it has been cut and lives on in pain but when need be I still pick up and hold my seven year old to calm his fears, his tears and his to remind him that no matter how he grows – he is loved deeply and completely. I am not a cripple and as was pointed out by my friend – I would bust the chops of anyone who said so to my face – I have been disabled, but not defeated.

February 15, 2011

have the mother effin flu tuesday

by jhon baker

Charlie Chaplin died on my first birthday. I don’t remember if there was  a pall over the celebration or for that matter, if there was a celebration of any measure besides the obvious, Christmas.

I’ve been getting sick for the past few days and today am full blown – too headachey and tired to write worth a damn, mainly posting to let the people I owe letters to that I haven’t forgotten them. I will write soon, this week in fact – just not today.

February 15
and I sober from
valentines day, sober from
cards revealing love
and whatnot
sober from peanuts specials
sober from cupcakes
sober from closeness
sober from rich dinners
prepared and consumed
with bread

 – unfinished, Hoc Scripsi

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