In The Land Of The Blind, You Must Exorcise Daily


There are those women and men whose observation
consists in an exaggeration, a statement made
by which they stand and proclaim that any logic,
any slight chance of disagreement betrays:
no affinity between you and I, none now or again

You have challenged my throne, knave or fool
you must begin to earn the abasement which I
endured, for ages even though
on the way you’re ex deus machina, and such
certainty invites the hallucination I dare not

Speak nor entertain, thus remaining yours alone –
shadow puppet to a fate abandoned long ago, phantom
noises echoing endlessly down those empty corridors

From which you strive to stray, limning the pain
the chalk efflorescence tainted now marking
the crime for which you stand in, whose safety
in abandonment eventually
you make haste to escape before it becomes memory

©Dean Baker

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

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deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

I’m Your Poet

I had no investment in failure

Even now as I am surrounded
drowned out
eclipsed by lesser minds of the
compromised
those contrived by contumacious
diplomacy

whose only requirement is for
their names to be added
to the roles of individuals
called as typical of the times

the committee
of the designated in this century
admired and feted
for what they supposedly suggest

I did not cave in
under the subtle torment of fresh
anonymity

or the fact that I’d be rescued
if only I could be blessed
by those who confess to nothing

absent ideas
somehow satisfied to betray
everything they do not represent

©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved

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© deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

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

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SHADOW BOXING THE INFINITE

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PHANTOMS OF THE NORTHERN FORESTS

Priced Out of Existence

This used to be my city that had
not become a Third World country
where I’d fail to classify immigrants
by their methods or prospects
for wielding murder amid damages

I would walk past midnight, unarmed
except for poetry and my guitar,
mobile from Bloor St. to Queen
past 2 am for the streetcar, no thoughts
given to congregations of assholes

Offers of women, drugs and other lies
laid out within the singular subway,
the medium for contrary ways of
contained assault: the coward commuters,
guilty bystanders crouched in conquest

Bridges leading nowhere, streets desolate
within the borrowed dark of my clothes,
democracy reduced to ashes grown cold, now
crowded into holes, not given the prearranged
barbed-wire of overthrow, we don’t speak

Beyond whispers of utility, of anarchy
and assassinations that amount to nothing
but statistics of ghosts where none yet tell
amid the lifting winds stirring well,
welcome now to my neighbors in this hell

Soon, soon you will know the ringing
of the bell

©Dean Baker

‘Poetry that is classic and timeless.’

Petty Gods Of Apparent Decline ebook

‘Vital, intense and uncompromising – singular in clarity, artistry, and authenticity.’

‘Work which illuminates as it informs – a reviving sense of discovery and perspective.

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

©All Rights Reserved

© deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com