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

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

My Heart A Fist


All around was destruction and futility,
my heart become a stone centering this, now
target of opportunity knowing I must
escape the closed fist clenched against
what had already crept in unannounced

except by sleeplessness amid alien shifts
of those who would not welcome anything
but all must prove obedient and adrift
while a longing for what had been pleasant,
uncomplicated and feeling missed

remained signals of the slow collapse of all
absences compressed into the mist, the
invisibility, a loss too pronounced
to be defined by sentiment capturing it
into anything else but representatives

of the good and true and beautiful
not masquerading as anything but themselves
free above the landscapes looked upon,
subject not to the evil minions of trivialities
raised up and worshipped senselessly

in an obsession with decay and cowardice
captives of all that’s ancient and untrue, yet
aware that flight is song and life not death-in-waiting
nor the traditional suicide of massed conformity
of minds closed and refusing the abyss

©Dean Baker

©All Rights Reserved

  • from a forthcoming book, 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

Be Yourself

Be yourself they say, and every asshole
celebrates their swiss-cheese personalities
of family dysfunction, bullying
sociopathic disease and invert tendencies.

Those involved in ersatz philosophy
and the imitations of thought jump for joy
but not far enough at the simplicity
granted to save them from further savagery.

Be of good cheer each hopes to hear
while desiring to punch the listening ear,
the open mouth chewing cud noisily,
the lack of manners and sick breeding.

Love me for who I am each proclaims,
I have your back the better to slip
the knife between ribs, with Novocain since
this will hurt me more than you I say gloriously.

The dead in the audience have not heard,
yet applaud entertainment removing
them from the arms of reality
where they cannot breathe and worship murder

oh so religiously.

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

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

NEW BOOKS COMING SOON

 

SHADOW BOXING THE INFINITE

THE NEW POETRY HOTEL

STEEL BUTTERFLIES

and

PHANTOMS OF THE NORTHERN FORESTS

 

©Dean Baker

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

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.comV

In The Garden


Your scent on me lingers,
so sweetly I imagine,
it’s changing my fingerprints,
transforming my identity

Leaving me with another aura,
than the one I had
when we first met, and
confessed to making love

Until there’s no resemblance
to the man I was –
the person I now am,
the one who wishes, again

To enter you, and drink
from this fountain of youth,
while you taste
of the hidden knowledge

forbidden fruit, paradisiacal bliss

©Dean Baker

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

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

‘Oxymorons’


Your place
to be with me

And mine
to be where you are

You, nor I
can share:
our destiny between the wars

So alone again:
amid
the crowds of friends

©Dean Baker

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

©All Rights Reserved
deanbakerpoetryandsongs.com

‘The Charade Known As Karma’… from In Riparian Fields


Before dust, which lightning struck
the gravitational pull of tide,
a sway you did not trust you would deny

Anything your soul betrayed, a
solemn exchange for illusions, the
comfort you realize more has been uniformed

Surrendered now, the whimper smothered
in an idolatry of things
with which you congratulate your bravery

The luck there was no other necessity required
you would use to convince yourself exactly
whose sacrifice has been greater than the day

You and others equally could mislead, which
might manipulate to serve a quest
then proclaimed holy, and a sacred mess

For what you knew in your charade
you have traded for, those
endless inquiries into what it is to be made

Contrived of that thing lost in methods, even
you do not suspect are true
as long as you can continue in a cold certainty

Of the conjured exotic: how heaven
and earth seem unmeasured now,
by either value or the cherished worth described

©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