Capital

The capital of Mexico
as everyone knows is Los Angeles

In your penury you recognize
nothing of poetry or music

Believing it comes free
for you anything will do

You see you’ll pay nothing,
stuffed with substitutes

Wealthier than you though broke,
I’m more than you could hope

Looking for blood and guts
your media rules apply to ghosts

You are destitute
a slip of attitude standing for

The amusement of those of us
abused in exile, alone in truth

©Dean Baker

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©Dean Baker

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Reap The Whirlwind

It’s coming, make no mistake.
You cannot guess at the elephant,
feel the ground shake and say: I don’t
see any animal, that’s an earthquake;
or maybe it’s my bowels, yes
this must be my mistake: happiness

In the great refusal a blessed fake
where logic’s undeniable, you won’t
get stuck with the loser or abuser,
nothing but fear you choose so
abandoned only to yourself again:
when you wake years from then, wondering

©Dean Baker

click photo for Ebook link Silence Louder Than A Train ebook   $6.99 – buy the book and discover other poems inside…

”If all the reader is looking for in a poetry anthology are the poetic ramblings of someone trying to impress with their command of language or a gently rolling stream of consciousness then this probably isn’t it; but for poignant and thought provoking insight and new ideas, one would be hard pressed to do better than Dean Baker’s ‘Silence Louder Than A Train.”

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paperback: – Silence Louder Than A Train 

“”A bold and refreshing approach to modern poetry, one that breaks the rules when necessary and yet conforms when it suites. Highly recommended…”

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The Herald

Nothing more than abstract ornament,
explanations and discussions
keeping us to ourselves; we were
too petty for anything else. God
and Spirit, man and God again: no
insight into the common denominators.

Stupidity categorized the crews
taking over. In Canada, one was
reduced to waiting; at best,
you sent yourself notes (not poems)
hoping they would stay closed, or
fall open revealing all upon arrival.

You are lost either way. Death
enters your life: a troubadour
strolling through the provincial town.
Each gesture of government singing
the unwanted guest to bed, who is
finishing the last bite of food.

One brought no plans for conversation,
issuing invitations in the dark
he slips from his clothes. The livery
stark amusement, leaving only the arc
of a streetlamp which constellates:
the hard vistas of distant expectation.

 

©Dean Baker

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©Dean Baker

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Social Network

I am not older, I merely
grew tired of the appearance
of endless beauty

I work under the conceit
of sore knees,
wrinkled youth and duty

You believe these apply to others
certainly not you
your hesitation certain doom

Come to me when truth can
refuse your particular disability
while you are discovering

Death has no separate rooms,
only the inevitability you ignore
or later tell yourself you choose

©Dean Baker

click photo for Ebook link All These Being Hinterlands

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paperback: – All These Being Hinterlands

Bathurst Yards

cover photo of Toronto, Ontario

Sprawled in this boxcar apartment,
no one’s serious
the disturbance temporary

The end of the line,
the lock breaks –
the cargo falls out over-ripe

We shall never get there;
blueprints and maps
do not provide an idea of progress

Which does not matter,
stepping from the rails
to meet familiar ground

Watching how the sun I own
goes down through these trees:
our wings, folded like those leaves

©Dean Baker

Dark Earth ebook 

102 pages Dark Earth paperback  – 

first published in DESCANT, alongside Lawrence Durrell, who wrote The Alexandria Quartet among other books

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Chronologically

Of course there’s no such thing, speaking
chronologically. There’s interruption, the stopped
clock phenomenon where you see differently
than what is actually going on: saccading to
history, for instance.
This would explain all those
instances sweet and good where in a rage they
call for annihilation in order to self-sustain the mechanism
of what only you are allowed to know as true.

The idiocy of fascism, the great crowd determining the realistic.
The martyrs and the saints. But then religion itself
does not claim to envision anything like time foregone.

The event is happening now. Much the same way my cat sits
on my desk studying forever by lamplight, for the
enlightenment: so much for fun and entertainment.

Thus determineth the sacred and the vows. Meow, says
Buddha. Ow, says Christ. Hello, I say to you in celebration
of speech therapy also known as poetry in these ancient days.

©Dean Baker

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paperback: – Provenances And Paroles paperback

 

As If, or Your Teacup Philosophy

Jesus lived 3 years as himself, got dead.
Said Church was within you, but drink this.

Eat that, become cannibals. I’m coming
back, but I’m not telling when: spend some time
guessing. And
in the meantime, live. That’s all. Get
over yourself, or I will. Here it comes. I
don’t want to spend eternity all hung up on things.

Outside the crows and ravens
peck my eyes, the wind blows and I cannot
tell time. In the far
distance I hear something approaching, alive.
Pardon me if I dust my broom and ride.

What?
Never mind. You know I would not, could not, lie.

(©)Dean Baker

paperback – © Celestial Migrations In The Empire paperback   $5.99

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https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B08ZJLWZ13 The New Poetry Hotel

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