The Blue Girl


My uncle Walter still cannot believe he’s dead.
In those times he requires companionship, sitting
by the tilted world comprised of a pastiche, of lives.

The prairie near Winnipeg, howling hollows of
Buffalo; open coal pits above which my father abides
among train carriages at the ready: preparing

to watch the small television propped in the sky
canvas, against the backdrop of a playground,
laundry hung like kites across the horizon stop sign.

A little bit of home goes a long way in this hell,
or purgatory you must alter to the habitable says
the beautiful blue girl: her body abandoning
the battleground, the
absent atmosphere for which oxygen is a bribe.

©Dean Baker

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  • from forthcoming Phantoms Of The Northern Forests

my books on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

© deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

“An inspired set of poems. Dean gets to the essence of a subject.”

IF YOU CAN, IT WOULD BE APPRECIATED

  NEW BOOKS COMING SOON

 

SHADOW BOXING THE INFINITE

THE NEW POETRY HOTEL

STEEL BUTTERFLIES

and

PHANTOMS OF THE NORTHERN FORESTS

The Path Rises Up To Meet Us

for C.L.B.

Long ago you spoke of how we walked
along this road, somewhere in the country
talking of books, huddled in quiet surroundings
without any need for eyes on depth, nor
any deed misplaced: no errors stayed if they
even took place where we tread a measured pace

Listening I thought, always listening to the sky
for instance talking above us without intrusion
we carried it on our backs until it could not
be told where the presence arose: we
sheltered in the spaces between words, memory
made from the path unfolding from our steps

I like to think in that dimension we still move
there; shorn of memory, and absent bitterness,
the ache of circumstances flea-biting at our necks,
not ghost-like those of whom I spoke, but these
times conquered: altered by an alchemy we cannot
pretend to understand but rise to meet again

©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved

my books on Amazon https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

© deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

IF YOU CAN, IT WOULD BE APPRECIATED

  NEW BOOKS COMING SOON

 

SHADOW BOXING THE INFINITE

THE NEW POETRY HOTEL

STEEL BUTTERFLIES

and

PHANTOMS OF THE NORTHERN FORESTS

Abandonment


The past is longer than the future can be. Winters
are now limited, as are the beautiful mild and temperate
days of May.
My personal calendar has switched from notching months or weeks.
Years now represent decades. All the holidays fade toward permanent vacation.
Nothing of bad measure becomes an unexpected surprise.

Wild women or forward men are no longer even incidents
that did not happen to another. Society itself has become
an idiot child, pablumed and cooing, diaper full.
Money a wish for more than less, waning with it the
benefits of better health and food, less stress, even friends.

You know who’s speaking, should you so choose.
Under that snow, poised for flight; that pile of clothes, the vanished
take refuge in plain sight among the fiercely knowledgeable.

Look closely. They leave nothing whether they remain, or go.

©Dean Baker

  https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

Limbo: Stasis


Limbo now is not a dance
the dangling participle no entrance
suggestive of sex or science

or language masticated by the toothless
but too much exile
waiting for the light of the world

to atom blast your face
against the concrete realities
overwhelming everything by

the Babel feast of lost stories of innocence
as if that were a gift, a credit at
the merchant store of false narratives

of success over the one slice
dimensional forces
spewing forth a dialogue

in a broken tongue neither you nor I
anymore wish to speak or learn
or eat

or kiss anyone with such a device
good only for swallowing tripe
so that we could endlessly

repeat again
lives led in slaughter and denial
our white hats smothering

what occurs
while we tightrope walk across the abyss
to a music made by monsters

©Dean Baker

  https://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM/

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

Anywhere

You can be murdered anywhere, but
you’ll always die in Congress or in Parliament.

From a lack of care or indifference
to what’s said and done by everyone expecting
salvation be a ladder to Paradise, until
the stairs to another life declining repair
prove they lead nowhere but upside down.

Change will come eventually you think,
forgetting the war ongoing in everything
where slaughter is observed religiously,
statistics carved in counterfeit
register complaint surreptitiously proud.

To serve the perverted ego’s lazy appetite
for the curve of constancy, no matter what
it takes to frame familiar certainty:
mistaken for the truth still boasting loudly
for release from the cage of incessant proof.

In our recalcitrant lives something despairs,
training us for extinction as the prize.

©Dean Baker

© deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

*all the books have been re-done – *****posts are meant for inspiration to own***** books: Dean Baker’s books on Amazon

©All Rights Reserved