http://slow.writerscafe.org/JMBaker The original writings of author Jeremy Baker en-us Copyright 2026 WritersCafe.org 1775986656 WritersCafe.org RSS Generator 15 Glimpsing God behindthe cuspof a technicolourrainbow,the colours left overfromour conversation, aone-sidedexchange which drew notbloodbut disbelieving hope.My red, dangerousdesires,my yellow fears,burnt orange anger,fresh green dreams and deep, purple-bluetear.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1393589/ A spark of darkness, burst into the light. A whisper in the monstrous quiet.My beautiful child is holding me and won't let go. Daddy, I cleaned up the mess I made. Don't be angry. Summertime fog in the sinking heat, drowning in the open air, obscuring vision.Echoes of ancient bellows, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1303752/ Fear is unknown to me,a foreign language which Iwill not master. Back straight, eyes clearalthough tears have often stained my tunic. Forward into the well worn valleywithout flinching or faltering. I have fought the good fight.Or, at any rate, a fight of sorts, which cannot be w.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1291030/ Do not trust the moonlightfor it steals about and conceals,taking pleasure, security and certainty. Fear remains, the chilled shiver,the furtive look over one's shoulder.The dread coldness where onceyour blood flowed. Death lives here. The stars, should t.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1282785/ Reality continues to erode my fantasy grip on life,itself a novel explanation for that which may embody my existence. Rifle through the rivers of restitution, restore and put right, cultivating with light mytrendy icons of id and ego. Shall I continue to cultivate plebeian ideasof.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1143631/ I’ve killed millionsof pixels, destroyed worlds, armiesand yet somehowalways managed to survive. No sounds, no stains to show where oncestood a soul. No PTSD for me, no nightmaresexcept THE ONE:that my connection might lag,drop out, or die. What is de.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/1140211/ If I should glimpse heaven before you,know that I am not more worthynor more sinless,just more weary and more glad. Know this too: I lived, loved and was loved,and that has been enough.In your memories, in photos,in quiet whispered words,I shall live on: eternally now. .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/974172/ The Spirit of our Earth is weeping, sleeping, comatose, non mentos compos.  A sinuous, sensuous, tenuous grasp is all that remains; fabricated mankind, vapourific spirituality, flabbergasted at the amusing notion that some things exist that can be neither bought nor sold.  .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/945199/ The Craven, settled in the west, must sleep always with one eye openlest any lingering morality catch him unawares. No comfort found from within his habitat, no healing for his bruised knuckles and knees. Eyes hollow, heart locked, he follows a threadbare path. His song has no words, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/927602/ Peace must die, a sacrificial lamb.  Our way of life is worth too much, in profit terms, to allow for peace to reign. Unused weapons are useless weapons - their cost too great to display in some museum, to become just a memory.  They killed Christ, they killed Ghandi, and all we ca.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/889741/ जय�-ुरुदेव ॐJai guru deva, ohmmm ... And so my tuneless chant rambles and drones to a one-time iconoclast and idealist, now just an imaginary image, fading fast and falling out of sight.  Jai guru deva,.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/845987/ Are you going to Scarborough Fair?Time to move on, methinks, merrily and without melancholy. The memories that remain, you can keep. So much gospel truth now turns and tearsapart the origins of my life. Parsely, sage, rosemary & thymeIf there were a remedy, antidote or tre.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/826672/ Men don’t cry very often.Not for lack of tears, nor forlack of opportunity;the tougher the target, thegreater the incentive to do it damage. Real men cry, even if they don’t know why;they just don’t do it very often. Men cry, not ou.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/814632/ Trenches remain long after the fighting finishes -they change sides, get enlarged or filled in,yet still they remain, ever ready, ever alert,enamoured of human flesh and blood.No procreative force can keep pace with their bloodlust and appetite. Go ahead, try to immerse the.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/804357/ Tis an anomaly to me, that when looking in the mirror, I am transparent, without soul,nor any affirmation that life exists within.I am less than a shadow, a sinister spectre,but the deception is not mine.What would this world have me be?A hollow abode, a habitat for the vacantto ha.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/802358/ Death is a flamboyant raconteur, isn’t he?With an arsenal of anecdotes, told with panache,glorified in the telling, yet the parable is still perhaps just a contaminated, transitory memory. It must take considerable acumen to recountsuch epic tales, parables of zeitgeist, .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/796771/ As my self-concept begins to nebulise,each atom of consciousnessflung to the hidden unknown,the maniacal revelry of my masters,from whence all semblance of serenitysimpers and smirks,devolves into devilish debauchery.  Nefarious fires billow satanic smoke.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/793054/ Are you my talisman, dear Loki, orjust a chimera that dominates my ether? No nirvana for me, no celestial deity to divinemy path to righteousness.  To theextent thatI propagate and disseminate that which is dissembling,puerile and pedantic antics bring the cosmoson.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/788741/ I close my eyes each night with an impressionof you imprinted in my eyes, and the obscure reflection of me in yours.Ravishing softness is subservientto shadows which eclipse and slaughter the soul’s submissive sounds. Annihilate fears, decimate doubt with voraci.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/787245/ It starts with a kiss,lips brushing together, softly touchingthen pushing harder, findingtheir perfect fit.Tongues pursue each othercarefully; hands leave their imprint on each other’s skin.Clothes contrive to concealvoluptuous perfection andlean, tense muscle.Cheeks carefu.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/782504/ My lustful love for you, beguiling all,Tarpeia, the Queen of contradiction.Tarnish desire, to bring about my fall:and prove again pure love is pure fiction.A glass, a vat, of wine to toast your crown,you love your lies, your truth is so abstruse.A virgin queen you shall remain alo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/778603/ I watch the coffee percolate, then drink it like a deluge in the desert.Phantasm of equilibrium squints back through the mirror of opprobrium,to offer more misanthropic musingsfrom within a myopic miasma of misery. Burnt coffee serves only to inumbratemy outlook, like the dreg.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/772815/ The air unites us all.Breath from my lungs will circulatethe globe; you breathe me in, as Ibreathe you out.We breathe our life into each other, as we waft our way around the world in which we live, and hope, and share.What is this if not an atmosphere of love? Where now are th.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/770762/ Assumptions that virtue is its own reward werebased upon a complete lack of cognisance;else why are the virtuous so oft maltreated?Power, ultimate aphrodisiac, unable to discernany coherent rationale to bestow benevolence to the masses.  Acuity absent, whilst we .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/769237/ My euphoria will be short lived as I skirmish to maintain impetus to eclipse the reasons I once possessed to persist with living. No longer can I galvanise justification with extravagant claims of innocence or cause.Pretexts for life may just mimicDeepak Chop.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/766268/ My bed is empty.Empty like my heart, like the pockets in my coat, the ones with holes in them.My house is empty, too.There is no noise, just the calcifying veins that carry hollow ice cubes aroundmy empty body.My head is empty.I can not keep a thought ther.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/763749/ Memories, of happier times, of love and warmth and tendernessturn rancid and decompose;a hallucination at best; a nightmare: what is love, after all, but an untamed incubus? When falling in love, or for love, take carethat in falling you do not step in it.No matter h.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/762105/ Leonard says the cracks exist so the light can get in; where my stillborn potential distends towards entropy.But radiance has no release, though it wash away my sin:my enchantment with ennui, disguised as empathy,makes unequivocal the devotion that determines my hollow, empty days. Bedlam .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/759692/ Tell us your story. Urgently, immediately, I ran away from the carnage, the scene replayingin my mind’s eye. The grotesquely graceful pasde deux of the bodies of those I most loved as they died. Their facessmiling, then questioning, but ultimately peaceful, accepting the lov.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/758720/ Welcome to Terra Pro Zac, land of my ancestors and countrymen!A big land, for big men (not to mention, big pharmaceuticals!)We have pills galore, for every ailment, from the common to the rareand we even cater for those that don’t exist; not yet, anyway.We specialise in the alleviation.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/756032/ I can see my little boy from the window, playing outside.It’s not just him; when he turns his face to me and smilesI can see my beloved, her parents, my mother and father, a grin, a frown, a curious look and unbridled joy,a direct lineage of love within his features. He wave.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/754282/ The spilling of blood signalled the advent of my life,from the time an incision fashioned my navel.My perilous journey began from under that red cloud;I must always make atonement for that mistake. My raspy cries of penitence for odious life excoriate bothsoul and sk.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/753791/ Lachrymal fluid seals my face, a maskshrouding my soul more whollythan any holy ghost or ghoul. No more may I intercede for my salvation, no more shall I seek the Answer from within.There is no god there. Closer inspection revealsonly obscurity; shadows darker than hate.Bleak b*****d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/752030/ To cognate or disambiguate: the question arisesfrom the inferno of the funeral fire,indicating the final refining is at an end,and the interrogation of a life may begin. Burst bubbles of expedience demand no lessthan pretentious pronouncements which camouflage co.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/750792/ The Stone of Scone seems not insurmountable when initiation beckons.Yet my endeavour to mount it terminated abruptly,my lack of traction punctuated by the pride that preceded the plummet, to the accompaniment of a soft cadence of sardonic querying of my manhood. Howls of desultory d.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/746526/ Alas, poor life! I lived once, Horatio, a lifeof infinite potential, of most excellentaffection:it has borne me to a thousand places and back;and now, how wasted in my recollection it is! My mindpukes at it. Here hang these lips that were kissedso oft -where be my wit now.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/745450/ My halcyon dreams of afterlifetaunt me now, decayed disruption to dismayed life.Like Eden beneath a carpark of soulsI am buried,trampled under your feet.This coffin is big enough for two,the pieces of my ego and I.Enriching the soil of my promised land.I have prepared for this journey -Ineffable hor.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/742348/ My friend, where have you been?You were supposed to have come for me      - by now. I think sometimes I embarrass you;      My gauche countenance,      consistent with clandestine charity. An avid fo.. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/741782/ The sky bled as the sun drowned beneath the horizon, and from the hills a coldness somersaulted down and fell upon the young boy, chasing him, stumbling as he returned home. Looking behind him, over his shoulder, his pace quickened as the light faded. The barren branches in the broken footpath bent .. http://slow.writerscafe.org/writing/JMBaker/734787/