Magpie Tales 95: I Can Quit Any Time I Want...

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

free will

though I can 

always leave 

when I want,  

I'm resigned

to the taste 

and habit 

of you -  

bound to our 

construct love,

yet ready 

to walk

on a moment's 

notice - 

think I'll  

indulge the 

tide of

your needs 

before I 

go. 

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker 

Note:  After a few edits,  I realized this now sounds like a no smoking ad.  That wasn't my intent, but I suppose sometimes love and smoking can be equally satisfying.  I don't know, though:  I've never smoked!!  :) 


Here's an older poem from 2007 that I'll offer as an alternative: 


ride the crest 

waves never stop 

rolling onto beach sands 

even when we 

journey miles inland 

even when we

sleep 

even after death 

calls oceans of souls 

to 

ride the crest 

to shore.      

Poem © 2007 by R. Burnett Baker

Hope For The Rest Of Us?

"Pot Shot" by Ashley Brilliant

Here's a link to an online article I read this morning about digital publishing.  I suppose it isn't for everyone, but then neither is the old fashion way.  Interesting approach, nevertheless.

http://finance.yahoo.com/news/how-i-became-a-best-selling-author-.html

RB

12-10-11

Nonsense

"You good lookin' thang, 

don't you ever die!!!"

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 

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 

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

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.