"You good lookin' thang,
don't you ever die!!!"
1 day ago
Friday, December 9, 2011
Thursday, December 8, 2011
Another Thought Before Sleeping: Next Night
from all that came before
I've felt your vision rise into my throat
and doused the flame of memory tenfold.
in forests brown and green I've fragranced rotting leaves
touched velvet moss and known creature-stirrings
that startle silence.
I've walked alone, I've walked with others,
but never have I stood beneath the shadow
of the tallest tree or softest fern
without songs of nature's movements
serenading me with canopy leaves
and solitude's whisper.
I've watched your vision
rise into my throat, rain-stung eyes
searching,
searching the forest
tenfold.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
I've felt your vision rise into my throat
and doused the flame of memory tenfold.
in forests brown and green I've fragranced rotting leaves
touched velvet moss and known creature-stirrings
that startle silence.
I've walked alone, I've walked with others,
but never have I stood beneath the shadow
of the tallest tree or softest fern
without songs of nature's movements
serenading me with canopy leaves
and solitude's whisper.
I've watched your vision
rise into my throat, rain-stung eyes
searching,
searching the forest
tenfold.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Wednesday, December 7, 2011
A Thought Before Sleeping
no time for youth
it was time, I suppose, to shed endearments
and favored names,
the renderings of which are lost
to engagements of living;
it was time, but I can't remember why,
and doubtful you recall at all.
aging requires shedding not just childhood,
but child-nature, hence the berm ridges
in forehead texture.
those valleys represent growth, it's said,
presaging death,
a serious matter we must ordain, but
it is time, I suppose for growing serious and old,
while my child-nature searches its womb,
waiting to be born again before
that one, final engagement
in life.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
it was time, I suppose, to shed endearments
and favored names,
the renderings of which are lost
to engagements of living;
it was time, but I can't remember why,
and doubtful you recall at all.
aging requires shedding not just childhood,
but child-nature, hence the berm ridges
in forehead texture.
those valleys represent growth, it's said,
presaging death,
a serious matter we must ordain, but
it is time, I suppose for growing serious and old,
while my child-nature searches its womb,
waiting to be born again before
that one, final engagement
in life.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Monday, December 5, 2011
Greek Drama, Modern Mythology
Monoprint "3 Figures" by Ina Jean Garner, 1994
11 3/4" x 4", one of a series of four.
Collection of R. Baker
Brisēís and you
there was talk
of two and how
they met;
how between piercing
each other's eyes
they pilfered glances
at peripheral others.
how exciting and
perfectly adulterous
the notion that others
could command
attention.
but lust is how it begins:
fevered breathing
and sweat, well, sometimes.
but always with rhythm
of the notion that
future possibilities
lie just beyond the
mythical, battled
bed.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Magpie Tales 94: Lunchroom Marxism
Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art
Photo provided by Tess Kincaid
commodities
there are tightropes we
all walk, every soul
balancing identical needs -
a proletariat kind of
common bond.
Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Post Script: No, I'm not a Marxist. Neither, really, was he.
Saturday, December 3, 2011
Thursday, December 1, 2011
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
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