from Blood Upon The Moon… ‘Bloom’

Dean J. Baker - Poetry, and prose poems

Listening to an argument
between the sheets and lawn-trimmers’ noise,
the women cleaning rooms
the overly damp mildew of a submerged
Kentucky bleeding colors

Beneath the flatness of a cast-iron sky
shedding relief between indifferent lives,
the levees neither gap, nor bridge
but parentheses
describing the inarticulate tide held back

Where this is thorn-stuck amid Bible
and belt, unholy pride an
anticipation: the cross-stitched quilt
on which the animals come alive,
triumphing a riot of signs they survive

Pure semaphore on a Teutonic scale,
as maidens sing thee to thy doom, and war
breaks out; a family reunion
gone astray amid rivalries, and feuds:
unacknowledged truths in this most modern of ages

©Dean Baker





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Let’s Just Call Those the X-Days


What I really need is a do-over. At the start of the summer, all those sunny weeks and lazy days ago, I had visions of happy kids and chore charts and nutritious picnics, followed by well-sunscreened adventures to swimmin’ holes, bike trails, or the ballpark. During the long, relaxed evenings, we were going to harvest the latest offerings from our garden and work together to prepare a nice meal followed up by a pie we made with the abundant fruit we picked at the local orchards.  Of course, even in my fantasy my children wouldn’t eat said pie because fruit is NOT dessert. Sigh.

But you get the idea. This was supposed to be a highly organized, smooth running summer to remember. And it was all to start with that Day 1, when the biggest thing on our agenda, before all the fun could officially begin, was the organizing…

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