..................................................................................................
The Poetry Of...
Nathan A. Baker..........................................
Spring Rush
A man can't eat a poem
So he took the day to prepare
A small spring garden
Soil tilled, he raked the rocks
Lots of rocks in cherty soil
Thirty-seven years
Working the same space
His mini forty acres cleared
Stubborn the mule
And he mule-headed, nowadays,
Least that's what she says
And she'd know
She's worked the soil
Of love's garden longer
Lots of briers in thorny places...
Strained through fine mesh wire
She's kneaded the found clay
Fashioning bowls, painted
With bright and bold glazes,
Fine porcelain shaped from earth
Hardened by fire.
The radishes should be up in five days,
The lettuce and mustard greens in seven
Bits and Pieces
There was a fig tree in her back yard
Summer found sweetness
Beneath shaded limbs
And now in the coolness of memory
I taste again childhood's ripe fruit
Succulence exploding atop tongue
Seed crunch and sweetness
Filling me I stand remembering
How quickly those summers, filled
Like Mason jars brimming
With fig jam and anticipation,
Passed... leaving with no good-byes
Only the fragments of memory fashioned
By love into a patchwork quilt of elegance
A Lullaby for Papa
Mary often calls me
And bids me to come and play,
To run and frolic in the meadows
In the valley by the bay,
Lips by my ear whisper
And I shiver and turn her way
Warmth from her breath caresses
Like the sun's golden rays
Mary's voice is liquid
Smooth, sweet and wild
With the sound of roses pouring
Over trellis of inner child
Mary loves the boy who wandered
Through the Carolina pines;
Joy comes in the morning
Go to sleep my southern child.
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