Magpie Tales 130: Illusion

conch


you were my 
desire. 

breaking free was 
your dilemma, but
one without a spirit

of deed, like a shell
in the sand.

"hold it to your ear," 
they say, "and you'll 
hear the ocean," and 

motherofpearl I did - 
felt your breath, 
tasted sea foam and
salt, swept along a 
rip-tide of cresting

waves that whetted
paradise and 
skin, 

striking echoes of 
hollow illusion and
emptiness. 





Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 
Photo by Francesca Woodman, shared by Tess Kincaid.

City Scenes XXIV: After Hello

x

mannequin hearts


your favorite 
part of me isn't 
the part craving 
the fragrance 
of your flesh 

but, rather, the
mental screwing
of talk and 
verbal intercourse
that many wish
existed within the
fervency of their 
sanctified 
bond. 

even then, 
discourse is 
limited: 

eye stalking 
and imaginary
"ex"- ray vision
become mothers 
of invention. 




Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 
Photo © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 
Photo taken by R. Baker, University Avenue, Rochester, NY.

Magpie Tales 129: Small Talk

A Dinner Table at Night, 1884, John Singer Sargent, shared by Tess Kincaid.




               small talk 




               between slicing
               whirs of air and 
               feathered edges 
               there is restraint.


               storms, too, have 
               that characteristic, 
               a raging/abating,
               that keeps you 
               off your mark,


               reminding you 
               that control is 
               not always 
               what you do
               with your life: 


               to appreciate 
               dominion and calm,
               is to also be 
               prepared for 
               alternatives between
               cocktails and 
               the feast. 




Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 

On Life, On Afterlife

Copyright (C) 2003 Chiharu Shiota All Rights Reserved.

continuity equation 




his ashes 
were scattered 
at sea, and 


charred timbers 
of home 
          gathered 
          on the 
          jet stream - 


circled earth - his 
face a thousand
times framed on 
memory walls;  children
grow 


and become 
timbers of lives
always on 
display for 
posterity, 


always forgotten
in name, in 
time. 




Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 

In Plain Sight, Hiding

outcast(s) 

mantled 

is the conscript 

of that nature,

called into 

service, not 

without reservation,

and not with a 

conscience of 

selflessness, 

but shamed 

every waking 

moment: 

witness 

your eyes 

between splintered

pickets, never 

fence-sitting, 

but hanging 

pan-faced for 

the world to

revile. 

Photo by Michele Bressan

Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker 

Drink Your Milk. DRINK YOUR DAMN MILK!

Some Things Are Just Too Obvious

Ok.  This is supposed to be a poetry slash art blog.  I try to refrain from ranting here, rather than on my other blog, BakersTake, but sometimes I can't help myself.  

Sometimes, some things, like stupidity, are just too obvious.  This morning I read an article about how the Physicians Committee For Responsible Medicine (PCRM) has said that milk in school lunches is bad and is demanding that the USDA remove said bad milk from the National School Lunch Program. 

I won't go into details here, but you can read the blog post I read about this on oh so omnipresent Yahoo this morning.  As pointed out on the post, PCRM is a non-profit that promotes a vegan diet, and has ties to Peta (OH DO NOT GET ME STARTED ABOUT THOSE TERRORISTS), and is not without controversy itself. 

Ok.  Kiddies, DRINK YOUR DAMN MILK.  Then hit the gym with your fat little fast food-asses and do an hour of exercise like we used to have to do in school.  It was called PE.  Sheeesh! 

Now, as for poetry, and keeping on point with this being a poetry blog, here's a milk poem by Christina Rossetti, (1830 - 1894):

   

Brownie, Brownie, let down your milk,

White as swansdown and smooth as silk,

Fresh as dew and pure as snow:

For I know where the cowslips blow,

And you shall have a cowslip wreath

No sweeter scented than your breath.

 

From “Selected poems of Christina G. Rossetti” (1913) By Christina Georgina Rossetti

RB. August, 2, 2012 

Another Icon Passes

Gore Vidal 1925-2012

"Style is knowing who you are, what you want to say, and not giving a damn."

-Gore Vidal