A companion volume to Celestial Migrations In The Empire, Of The Dominions Unleavened, published January 4, 2018.  102 pages, $12.99

At the conjunction of the secular and the spiritual,
Of The Dominions Unleavened is a companion volume to Celestial Migrations In The Empire, published Dec. 20, 2017.

A 3rd, final companion volume will be published in Spring/Summer 2018

I’m truly proud of this memorable, and mind-expanding new work: poems which truly mark a radical departure from previous work in tone, scope, and vision.

‘the best new book of poetry in ages..’

‘if any book could make you understand, love and want poetry, this is the one’

‘this book will awaken you to yourself…’ ‘OWN this book..’

‘don’t miss this book… you will love it’


©Dean J. Baker




122 pages, $14.99

These poems truly mark a radical departure from previous work in tone, scope, and vision. I’m truly proud of this work.

Being a passionate reader this book is what I’d hope to find to satisfy my need for historical depth, an answering quality to contemporary issues, and the innovative artistry to bring it all together in an immediacy which makes something new with each poem and by the breadth of the book.

Work which satisfies, answers, constantly and consistently repays each and every reading with a refreshing understanding that surpasses the words written on the page.

add the ebook for only $1.99 if you buy the print book from Amazon –

©Dean J. Baker

home site:

some great reviews of my other books –

” The most unique set of poems I have ever read.”

“Rabelais and Hieronymus Bosch look out of dark chinks in these poems…”  ”

“Dean’s books will someday be required reading for anyone who studies literature, poetry, or, human artistry.”

“Having read Dark Earth by Dean J Baker my first reaction is WOW. This was written for me.
His poetry speaks to me deep down in my soul.”

one would be hard pressed to do better than Dean J. Baker’s Silence Louder Than A Train.’”

“I believe Dean is our poet of the future generation.”

These poems leave you amazed and breathless, and hungering for more to read.”

A bold and refreshing approach to modern poetry, one that breaks the rules when necessary and yet conforms when it suits. Highly recommended…”

Required reading for anyone wanting to learn about wit, wordplay, and good, gritty writing in general.”

Nothing I Know

John Newlove








An insult to the brain;
sun’s injury, this waking
before noon,
beneath the browed indifference
of Time, adventurer of our lives.

Who can tell that will? Each
whore and man
must dine amid swill and swallow
all: drown until
one rises where another fell.

Run, dark horse,
follow the body’s teachings:
how children have accomplished this,
turned back once, and turned into us:
nothing matters, now but results.

Dean J. Baker

-excerpt from The Lost Canadian, Vol.1, 112 pages, $14.99


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for John Newlove








You don’t like marriage,
but you like the company.

We’ve bent our elbows
so long on the same drink:
one of us must be a mirage.

Do you think that this
is how it ends – a little
blood spilled, sinking?

That’s not the moon; white
and propitiated,
sweeping cobwebs off your shoulder.

You tell me to listen:
as if belief may do more
than conjure truth, again.

Dean J. Baker

-excerpt from The Lost Canadian, Vol.1, 112 pages, $14.99


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Is it true that Toronto – and thus as a representative city, Canada – has turned into poo? or, Why Has Society Turned Into A Bunch Of Spastics On Fire

Are You A Citizen? Do You Feel You’re An Artist? Could You Possibly Be A Writer Of Poo-etry? –
Read this, or Remain A Tool










1) Well, it’s true you need a shitload of money if you are going to live in Toronto.
2) You also need not mind the aggressive behavior of self-entitled screaming morons who mimic other morons elsewhere in the world protesting this, protesting that – everything except what needs protesting: the protesters, aka whiners.
3) You also have to not mind being assaulted, maybe beaten and robbed, because hey, the cops will do what they can about it: nothing. You’ve been beaten and assaulted… the cops only look after the fact, after the facts: got to keep their jobs, you know.

You also have to not mind that you don’t matter. High taxes, high prices, house prices fit for millionaires, no ability to defend yourself (it is actually against the Law, the law working out to: don’t hurt the criminal, they might charge you), common sense over-ruled by the numbers of multi-ethnicity guaranteeing that catering Liberals and their high-minded, low ethic standard will eclipse actual real life benefits to the most people.
As to #1:
1) Fuck the poor, those lazy bastards. This is governmental reasoning. ‘We work, and slave, and attempt for years to bump up their quality of life, and all they do is complain.’
2) Let us not understand that such attempts are inadequate due to the nature of bureaucracy being slow and behind the times (the necessities which they pretend to address) and thus have a built-in failure: guaranteeing further governmental bureaucracy and consistently disappointed poor.
3) The benefits: politicians. They have a lifelong job of establishing themselves as necessary without ever establishing a system that fixes what they pretend to fix, but instead simply maintain thus ensuring system of nameless victims and a roster of valiant attempts and heraldic icons of authentic politicians. Not only are their pensions mandated but thus so are the problems.
4) $15 an hour? A full time slave working 40 hrs per week might be able to accomplish a hobo’s hideout of an apartment if they pay everything for rent. Houses costing over $1 million, which were under $400k less than a decade ago? – thank you government of the rich for the unregulated rich. Rents equaling a portion of housing values: thank you government… Government bitching about a behind-the times-wage hike? You noticed? You didn’t drink the kool-aid.
5) Result: poo.

As to #2:
1) Protesters are important. More so than you. You are a wrench in their machinery if you question their integrity, sources, and sources of funds while they demand openness from everyone else.
2) If you are not wildly supportive, you are perceived as traitorous and thus open for the many varieties of indignities which they mistakenly term free expression…. unless it is done to them to express a sense of outrage that bellowing belligerents constitute anything more than an insult to intelligence, fact gathering, and a mature understanding.
3) Liberals, i.e. politicians, believe protesters have a valid right to protest. Each confuses this with enshrining the lowest common denominator as a measure of valid and balanced civil disobedience, with the politicians licensing the protesters who make the news which outrages people who complain to the politicians who promise change.[see #3 above for results]
4) Result: poo.

Now imagine this broken system replicating itself throughout everyday life and attitudes engendered by the turd chewing media feeding the herd.
Think of it spreading through academia, university campuses, the arts, music, the practitioners of poetry, grocery clerk geniuses, neuro-linguistically challenged moms {the last three categories being practically inseparable}, spastics on fire who insist they deserve Canada Council and Ontario Arts’ grants for interpretative dance.
Along with venal attempts by the same people to guarantee their jobs by granting money and thus legitimacy to publishing houses of craven wankers too cowardly who with subtlety and nuance establish a tradition of greater and suspect quality by their support for original and independent artists (i.e. schizophrenics without a trade except academia) or as they are known in the vernacular of The League For Flatulents: Tools For Schools.

i.e. Young Werther wishes to become a poet. He/She is told ‘see them? that’s how.’ Werther is your ordinary candidate for the ‘Special Arts.’ She/He imitates and achieves the distinction of being recognized by the Canada Council as One Who Writes Poetry Which No One Else Does Unless We Say So. He/She is thus a Poo-et. This is known as the Ren-And-Stimpy effect, aka The Beavis-And-Butthead College Of Non-Existent Truths: other Poo-ets say so.

As to #3:
You can no longer either walk anywhere or drive with impunity at any time of the day or night. There will always be some Paleolithic non-entity objecting to your existence, as if they owned the streets and the times.
1) Consider that you won’t be assaulted by dignified, mature people who have an understanding of the Golden Rule before its perversion into Piss On You. You will be spit on, kicked, punched, stabbed, shot, etc., by the Liberals’ Golems: those wandering sawdust filled Chuckies who ensure a need for law and order, and thus the politicians to fulfill the details.
2) Should you attempt to defend yourself by disabling the attackers (like political cowards and protesters they come in crowds), the cops can charge you. With what? With being at liberty, having self-respect, deciding to keep your integrity as a person, etc. (p.s. Make sure your taxes are paid up)
3) Result: poo.

This wasn’t written by me. It was dictated by a spirit entity known as ……… (words are inadequate to make such a distinction). I plead innocent as the transcriber in this instance of literary poolitics.




© Dean J. Baker

poems are posted to share, be shared, and entice those who love the work to owning the books from which they are excerpts –

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Patrick Lane, a great Canadian poet – and his poem, Legacies










Patrick Lane, a great Canadian poet. In the tradition of Al Purdy, and Charles Bukowski for those who are unfamiliar with great Poetry. The designation I use – the Canadian part, anyway – to specify country of origin.

Of course as to great and to a degree greatly unremarked poets except or even including within the country of their origins I would have to also mention Kenneth Patchen, whose book The Journal Of Albion Moonlight is not strictly poetry yet is poetry at the core. Something along the lines of Louis Ferdinand Celine‘s Journey To The End Of The Night, or his great Death On The Installment Plan. A few books, along with Djuna Barne‘s Nightwood and a few of Anais Nin‘s, with Blaise Cendrar’s ought to be de rigeur reading ( especially so his Moravagine).

Now of course these have nothing directly to do with Patrick Lane, but they are indicative of what greatness inspires in the fact of a joyful association and the discoveries made along the way.

One of his poems from The Collected Poems of Patrick Lane


I’m smoking one of his cigars tonight
after this one
there’s only one left
a pack of cigars
Remington shaver
swagger-stick from the First War
and nothing else
legacies from the old man.

Once in all his eighty years
I saw him – father of my father,
passing my father to me
in one sudden moment
of a prairie night

and I sit here and smoke his cigar tonight
while I clean his earthly hairs
from the razor
sit and smoked
sit and consume legacies

© Patrick Lane

  • and that is just the first page…

Aslo, you might take note of his memoir – What The Stones Remember: A Life Rediscovered of which a few comments are:

“To read this book is to enter a state of enchantment.”—Alice Munro

“Patrick Lane has written a memoir of heartbreaking struggle that manages to be beautiful and encouraging, finding anchorage in what was once called Creation, the natural world and its unstinting promise of renewal.”—Thomas McGuane

“A tough, lovely book.”—Margaret Atwood

So do look for his work, and enjoy a great Canadian poet. Patrick Lane. Take note that there is even a book where 55 poets celebrate his work:

©Dean J. Baker

Past Tobermory… from BLOOD UPON THE MOON










Past Tobermory, away from the eels laid out
on the cement canal surfaces of Bobcaygeon,
the road rose higher towards Huntsville, beyond
rows of vacationers almost awake to new days
of the different taste of Pure Spring Ginger Ale,
my uncle driving towards Moon River, fishing rods
packed in the back of the Volkswagen Beetle

A Saturday morning escape from the street of
the Newfies next door and their evening fights
between a stump of husband and wife, sad Godwins –
the week before we, the neighborhood kids watched
a kitten sit behind a car’s wheel, looked away
then saw Harvey G. crying to his father, who replied
what do you want me to do now, throw it away,

Snickering at his predicament, past tears that he was
that kitten, squashed flat and bloodless; his beer-
bellied father the brute car and forces beyond any
dominion where we had no ideas, mere observers
grateful my dog had chased a car, run under it, come
out the other side, barking and laughing at any concern
over the illusion of empty costumes requiring air

Like the party of about-to-be adults staring from
the front steps, unaware of what they’d generate;
cousin Jane in California, little Timmy stuck in an attic
staring down Dawes Road, his caretakers genteel as his
lightning white hair might speak, and Dougie, white
under his feet but that’s all, hiding from the occasional
thunderings of a mother entertaining guests with broken

Hilarity degenerating into shouts, while next to Godwins,
the superior Hunts took Protestant guilt and apply it
to all in their own idea of exemption, finally stuck in
their iceberg of retreat and doubt; unable to see any fish
caught on any line beyond the spider web, merely flies
surfacing on garbage and incipient gout striking soon
in the small shanty of their museum living room, without

Me now stepping across the plained rocks of a thousand
year collapse above Moon River, a sudden rattle and hush
coming from a bush, velvet crust of snake and other warnings
as the Northern Pike with their knives out like teeth, risking
a bite or more, loss of small limb to gather in
the superior taste of fresh caught fish gone stiff, such
a club we might whiff against a bully’s skin and head

As off side my uncle fished, and I caught the sight of landscape
no longer soft as a picture, but harsh and hard as rock
or bite, requiring worm and string, kite of human survey
looking down and in upon the same visions holding sway
within those pioneers eyes and existing still, needing no ideas
of forgiveness nor of being tamed: the jigsaw sky of clouds
and blue atmosphere ready to claim its people if they consent

©Dean J. Baker

-excerpt from BLOOD UPON THE MOON, 132 pages, $15.99


Review of DARK EARTH