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THE FARTHERMOST VIEW

Selected Podpieces

Poetry Sunday, WCAI

 

 

ABOVE WRIGHT'S FIELD, IN WINTER

 

Two red-tails fly together in the broken light
that strikes the white oaks gold this wind-scoured winter day.
It is the dive toward earth that drives their joyous flight.

 

As afternoon sinks swiftly toward the ragged night
and sharper, meaner winds begin to mock the way
the red-tails fly together in the broken light,

 

a raven rasps above the pallid field where Wright's
three cows trudge single-minded toward a yellow spill of hay.
It is the dive toward earth that drives their joyous flight.

 

They cruise in synchrony, then crack their wings back tight
and plummet toward the indifferent cows; but always
kite at last, to fly together in the broken light.

 

Above the western hogback, lofting clouds ignite
with shards of sun that drape the fading hills in gray.
It is the dive toward earth that drives joy into flight.

 

To plunge, then suddenly erupt, must be the height
of rapture when passion is the prey.
Two red-tails fly together in the broken light.
It is the dive toward earth that drives their joyous flight.

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THE CHIMNEY SWEEP

As I lay awake last night at three in the morning, casting around for something to think about other than my failures, mistakes, and sins, in the back, or at least the side, of my mind I was silently reciting Blake's “The Chimney Sweep,” which I had memorized many years ago because I had a recording of Gregg Brown singing Blake's Songs of Innocence and Experience, and since I loved his voice I listened to it over and over again, until smaller players and tinnier recordings replaced my little stereo and my vinyl records, and I never got around to replacing them.  Read More 
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DYING IN MASSACHUSETTS

My father, Donald W. Baker, was a poet. I was looking through some of his poems the other day, both published and unpublished, and here's one I particularly like.

Dying In Massachusetts

I think I should like to die in Massachusetts,
wading Parker's River in sneakers at slack water,
my wire basket a quarter full of blue crabs,
and I easing my long-handled net towards a big one. Read More 
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VCCA Haiku & Advice for A New Reader

Leaving VCCA
In March, 2009, I spent three weeks in Sweet Briar, Virginia, as a writing Fellow at the Virginia Center for the Creative Arts (a.k.a. VCCA). I started each day by writing a haiku, or some facsimile, to focus the mind on pen and page. Here are some results.

The silence changes
Fields and drowsy cows inhale –
Train is imminent
 Read More 
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