Beyond

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

In exile, made
immobile while getting closer
to the flat earth’s ledge,
this life circumscribed
by the poverty of circumstance, absent

Friends or family
with whom to speak, there’s none
who know my name
who’d ascribe value, beyond
what they in their belonging bring

My thoughts empty as stones
thrown, as those who sit cramped
and small, uninvited
to the world they own, while
in this wealth of discipline

Where no one is listening, I am
allowed all the difference
in our ritual of becoming more clean
than the beauty observed
which I must always leave again

In this drowned kingdom we inhabit,
where the detritus of lives seem
to float by without reverence
or disgust, we are swimmers to the
outer planets in praise of silences between

©Dean Baker• my books – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM

https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBaker

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from Silence Louder Than A Train… ‘The Person Who Owns My Fingerprints’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

If the person who owns my fingerprints
Told me last week what he had
In store for me the past few days, I would
Most certainly have done something about it

Threatened him with a comb, or failing to buy
Enough cigarettes; maybe even an ultimatum
Saying I have had enough, I repent:
I promise I’ll do whatever can be changed

Now they have me locked up in a corner
Where I scribble notes and poems; bent
Over the desk, drinking endless cups
Of coffee: not wondering what all before this meant

As I make my escape one sunny day, the
Earth frozen this way, the snow trackless
It’s so cold, my breath escapes, giving me
Away: I’m still here, I must confess again

©Dean Baker

• my books – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM- 

https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBaker

photo is of Silence Louder Than A Train, 102 pages, $14.99

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from The Lost Canadian, Vol.2… ‘Pursuing The Dream’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

Go quickly from this page
there is
nothing you will learn here
which was not
already taken from you
and distributed
to the drunken destroyers
of the city, from whose
pillars you so calmly gazed

Beneath the tree
without understanding, you
gave time to their advance
and general retreat
with the spoils
by moving back and forth
as if you could make an exit
or entrance:
like the hanged man dreaming of heaven

©Dean Baker

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from The Lost Canadian, Vol.1, Early Poems Selected… ‘Song For Jenny’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

Mad-
ness hums in my ear,
like a fly
that’s caught there.

I can’t touch you.
This is
the new ballet.
I can’t touch you.

Stay away,
I am deaf with silences.
Splintered and shining,
I go down like a stone.

©Dean Baker

-excerpt from The Lost Canadian, Vol.1, Early Poems Selected 112 pages, $14.99….first published in Northern Light.. photo is of Guelph, Ontario railway station

• my books – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM- buy one, do yourself a service 🙂

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from a forthcoming book… ‘Green Fields’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

The outside world pours in regardless
of what my thoughts might be; for the beginning
day, or brought by stages
from the dreamscapes of the night before

while the little girls
sleep, nap time a reach beyond high noon

It’s no accident I think that the dandelions
rise through the lawn, to thrust
their white mandalas
against the horizon between earth and sky:
plucked by unreasoning squeals of delight

And childish glee, pinched by tiny fingers more used
to exploring nasal caves; or the sweet
mud of dirt and green, as they investigate each

Second without hint of time and decay, every moment
a new discovery: while I watch the trees bleed
sap, the leaves a canopy of shelter
against what the world always plans mistakenly

©Dean Baker

• my books – http://www.amazon.com/Dean-J.-Baker/e/B00IC6PGQM- buy one, do yourself a service 🙂

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from The Lost Canadian, Vol. 1 – ‘Rice Lake’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

Why
did no one tell me
about the poet-kings
and the slow collision of light

That summer went by,
like an unlocated sound
of night, spent
on other shores

I was too young
for fire or the gasoline banquet;
burned instead
in your different breath

The wound open
to visitors and praise;
like the list of names, only
secret to ourselves

© Dean Baker

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Series of Book Covers with photos of Canadian Places

A series of my #bookcovers, attesting to my origins #CanadaDay #Canada150 – photographs of #Canadianplaces #CanadianPoets #poetry

A series of my , attesting to my origins – photographs of

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©Dean Baker
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https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBakerPoetAuthorComposer/

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from Dark Earth… ‘The Herald’

Book of Hours, f.58v, (184 x 133 mm), 15th cen...

 

Nothing more than abstract ornament,
explanations and discussions
keeping us to ourselves; we were
too petty for anything else. God
and Spirit, man and God again: no
insight into the common denominators.

Stupidity categorized the crews
taking over. In Canada, one was
reduced to waiting; at best,
you sent yourself notes (not poems)
hoping they would stay closed, or
fall open revealing all upon arrival.

You are lost either way. Death
enters your life: a troubadour
strolling through the provincial town.
Each gesture of government singing
the unwanted guest to bed, who is
finishing the last bite of food.

One brought no plans for conversation,
issuing invitations in the dark
he slips from his clothes. The livery
stark amusement, leaving only the arc
of a streetlamp which constellates:
the hard vistas of distant expectation.

©Dean Baker

available in DARK EARTH, 142 pages, $15.99

https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBaker

https://www.facebook.com/DeanJBakerPoetAuthorComposer/

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

– title from my first book The Herald, poem first published in Jewish Dialog

 

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