A New Junk Shop Quickie!

On one of my other blogs:  Junk Shop Quickies™

Back Yard, December 1, 2011

When I sprinkled the seeds of wildflowers from a bag in spring, I expected flowers all summer.  It took all summer and into fall for them to sprout and finally bloom.   I'm pleased to enjoy this color in December!  Such a green thumb I (don't) have!   

Photos ©2011 R. Burnett Baker

Suicide Is (not) Painless.

"The game of life is hard to play
I'm gonna lose it anyway
The losing card I'll someday lay
so this is all I have to say.
suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please."

-Theme from M*A*S*H, lyrics by Mike Altman, 1970.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Voice, mannerisms, face, speech peculiarities, personality traits perfected, at least to be a benchmark of recognition;  to some simply as reference for association - to others, points of affection and love. 

These cannot be restored on that one indeterminable choice.  Those of us remaining restore the sounds or images in memory only, yet memory, sometimes of our final view of a face, too, becomes indeterminable:  That one tragic choice becomes the bane of us all.  

How can we not question what we second guess? 

RB.

11-30-11

©2011 R. Burnett Baker

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We learned today that a co-worker, who had had numerous personal troubles, has taken his own life.  It was a jarring revelation, but not totally unexpected.  That we sensed the possibility of such a choice by him is most troubling.  Among other personal problems he was facing, his employment with the company was terminated about two months ago.  

I happened to be at work when it happened.  He rode his bike to work each day, and that afternoon I stood near the window at the front of the store and watched him outside as he prepared to ride home on his bike.  The expression on his face was one of absolute nothingness.  I felt such sadness for him, especially knowing the other trials and tribulations he was facing in his personal life. 

It fleetingly crossed my mind then that perhaps it was the last time I would see him alive.  I wondered if I should maybe call him in a day or two and at least offer moral support. 

I never did that. 

That, too, troubles me. 

Tonight, on the way home, I wanted to offer a prayer for him,  but I didn't know how to do that.  I can only pray that God will grant his spirit reprieve and healing in light of this terrible choice he felt he had to make.  It's all I can think to say.  

Suicide is not painless.  It cannot be taken, or left, as the song suggests, as anyone pleases.   

Getting Skunk-Ready For Winter

deténte

had there 

been reasons 

to look through

night windows,

back yard 

lit judiciously, I 

would have 

anticipated the 

polecat edging 

the grass into 

darkened, shaded 

recesses of 

midnight.

what strikes fear 

brought a smile 

to my cornered 

mouth; a sense 

of contentment 

that I 

and fear 

can live in

unusually 

normal 

harmony. 

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker 

Painting by Melissa Barton 

(Image of original painting has been digitally altered)

Magpie Tales 93: Occupy Perspective

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

Occupy Ruby Slippers: 

There's No Place Like Home 

Maybe now I can get some peace and quiet. 

Cops finally ran those assholes outta my home. 

Idiots had no dignity, pissin and crappin all over,

smellin up the neighborhood and I couldn't get no 

fuckin sleep.  Don't know and frankly don't give 

a shit what their bitchin was all about.  I just want 

some goddamn respect.  And quiet.  Jesus freakin 

Christ, at least the rich bastards they're pissed at 

will toss me a buck or two once in a while, but 

these little shits - nooo -  they just sat on my sofa 

for weeks and fingered those blackberry 

somethingorothers and wouldn't leave me the hell alone. 

Mad cause they gotta pay for school or some such 

crap.  Yep, everybody's got somethin to bitch about. 

Some assholes have an axe to grind and some have 

their crosses to bear.  I just wanna have a drink and 

lay down for a while.  Finally.  Shit, finally I can 

stretch out on the sofa and have some peace and 

quiet. 

               ©Dumitru Burlacu, Child of the streets, Bucharest, Romania, 2003

                                © Barry Lewis/In Pictures/Corbis

©2011 R. Burnett Baker 

To Occupiers Of Wall Street: Black Friday, Poetic Justice?

Poetic Justice?

Occupy Wall Street, How Do You 

Like Your 99%er's Now?  

Some of you have read my previous rants about Black Friday.  And to any of you readers who may actually participate in this travesty of consumer greed and selfishness, shame again on you!  

After Thanksgiving lunch today, the sun was out and the weather quite nice.  While on a short errand to pick up dessert for work tomorrow, I passed a nearby shopping center.  Sure enough, there were a number of the recently designated 99%er's lined up, waiting for the stores to open at midnight.  This was at 2:45 in the afternoon, mind you.  

These folks had tents set up, a pick-up truck with a generator with heavy duty extension cords that powered industrial heaters aimed at the tents and others in the line.  This must mean that these mindless s**theads had been there at least since Wednesday night after the store closed.  

It occurred to me that these people were Occupiers of a different sort.  They must represent that mythical 99% of the population that has been oppressed, according to the OWS crowd, by these evil, bloodsucking corporations.  Yet, there they are, sleeping in tents, cold and inconvenienced BY CHOICE, in front of one of Wall Street's darlings, waiting to trample each other for Samsung flatscreen TV's, Dyson Animal vacuum cleaners, Kodak cameras,  and Sony DVD's.  

The stores that these Black Friday insainiacs are occupying- Walmart, Target, Kohls, Macy's, and Sears, just to name a few, collectively employ some 2.86 million 99%er's.  And I didn't even bother to research the number of employees on the payrolls of the companies that manufacture all the gidgets, gadgets, and iWads that these idiots are waiting to snag.  

Point is, there are corrupt corporations, to be sure, but the livelihoods of all of us who are gainfully employed depend on corporations.  While I heatedly disagree with the concept of Black Friday, it is a free country. Of sorts.  But these ragtag hippymuffin wannabe's who are creating numerous stinks (literally) in parks that are privately owned, or tax payer funded need to put up or shut up.  State your case cogently and pointedly.  Then clean up your messes, go home, take a shower, and get jobs to pay off your damned student loans, or upgrade to a faster smartphone ( made by these scum-sucking companies you're protesting) that will keep you all connected for your next gathering.  

Better still, just go away.  The tax paying 99% (I would love to know how that number was calculated) are tired of paying for your slovenly camping trips that really only inconvenience everyone, and NOT BY CHOICE. 

When I become king, Thanksgiving will be a four day holiday.  No stores.  No idiotic shopping.  No trampling people to death for stuff.  No door busters.  No madness.  Just a time for, well, Thanks Giving. 

For that, I would be thankful. 

Rick Baker 

November 24, 2011 

Rochester, NY  

Suggested previous essays on Black Friday: 

http://bakerstake.blogspot.com/2008/11/black-friday-blood-red.html

http://bakerstake.blogspot.com/2009/11/single-file-please-or-you-will-be-shot.html

Magpie Tales 92: The Match

on the mat




there's 
a flipside 
perspective to
how hands 
caress the mind,


how fingers 
control the 
other: 


we are but 
fetal brevity
as lover 
and 
loved.


Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker 
Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid