1906

1906

Gleams fall through the window
dwindling, they come.
Summer nights are longer
but the times have gone.
Is there a difference between
sun rise and set?
The darker days could write chapters
living in the shadows of nominal
we forget.
But my eyes are wide
they’re open and deep.
In an arms race for power
the future sleeps.
Until reparations are paid
pull me down.
Through all the ephemeral
elations we made
it pulls us down.
As the gleams fade out
I won’t speak aloud.
Lost somewhere amongst
the stars I drift
tumbling in silence in some sort
of direction I list.
It pulls me down.
Onto the cobbled pavement
where once I shared a kiss
pull me down.

Jordan Baker
2014

Into The Red

Where has the time gone?
Once we had many hours ahead
down by the quay, where the river
meets the sea, its present morning
blue has faded into the red.
How will the people speak
should technology fail?
Would it be like a reflection
without a mirror should present
words be said?
It is moving with the seasons-
where once we walked through
guards of green has now
faded into the red.
Quickly it has come, and finely,
subtly just as needle swallows thread.
Beyond your eyes we have wandered,
followed, aged and fled.
Slowly we are moving,
fading into the red.

Jordan Baker
Nov 14.

Drafting Thoughts

Sometimes I dream aloud and fall awake
and as the world revolves won’t always feel it turn.
Sometimes I un-write words and comfort pain,
afraid of flames but destined to burn.
Go ask your God what he’s doing today
whilst he watches the un and reality of life.
Try to feign interest in words he says
and let me know if Heaven’s always bright.
Go ask your God what he’s thinking today
whilst he listens through the urban vaults.
Try to understand why He feels His way
and let me know when Contrition starts.
Ask if when blissful memories are tainted,
discarded into surplus on papered streets
shall we gather by oceans with sinners and quitters
and throw our ghosts into the sea?
Would this achieve release should we repave
over the world’s dysfunctions as it circles
around the all-lasting and sought-after place,
away from that of haunted and hellions?
Until we know we shall do as before,
discarding all virtue like our papered streets
as the tides of our lives tear into the shores
and we throw our ghosts in the sea.

Jordan Baker 2014
Blueprints by the Sea

The Storm: Epicinium

And the rain begins to fall.
Tidal rays and violet veil,
comes forth an inland call
and a semblance on the blue.
A pattered baptism as the dark builds
over lanterns of pallid hues
forming at my footsteps where
hardships and repose thrive.
I speak to the night in broken verse
until there is nothing left to say
and we’ve unwritten the words.
Howling with the haunters,
regaling with the haunted souls
flickering into substance
and drifting through the grave yard stones.

Blueprints: Sketches by the Sea

blueprintsposterone

I’d say that, although there is so much writing to be done, the ‘blueprints’ of Blueprints by the Sea are formulating nicely with chapters, titles and piece direction coming together and promises of a successful campaign on the horizon.

I’ll make it my goal to post as many extracts and info as I can on here, but in the mean time good evening and God bless, all.  

‘On Paper’

Isn’t it fantastic when the words just flow onto a page? I’ve been attempting to get myself full of busy recently as my plans for book #3 come together and that of course means a fuck load of writing!!

I find myself wondering around the world with ideas flowing in my brain that I just can’t wait to get down onto a page. It always bugs me when I transfer that idea or few lines onto a page and then pause and think ‘awesome.. now what?’. I must have the capacity for 50 pieces of poetry at the moment, and around 3 lines for most of them. The question then, is how on earth do I turn 3 lines into 20 at the click of my fingers? Let’s face it, it’s hard to write on cue (or at least I find that hard to do anyway) and it’s hard to create a masterpiece out of nothing. I have certain pieces in the making for Blueprints that I’m really excited about as well as re-writes which ‘on paper’ seem an easy thing to do.. although once on paper it turns out it’s not. I love irony, I believe I’ve mentioned that before. I genuinely believe I have some notes here that can transform into an epic poem or two, and yes, it is frustrating that I’ve sat for a couple of hours and made no progress on them but I know not to worry.

Weirdly enough, every now and then I sit down and start writing something completely new and within one draft and 15 minutes I’ve got myself a decent little piece of writing. I look at that as a good thing though, as those little tit bits of poetry are going to form the meat on the bones of my book and they can come from nowhere. If I did that every day I’d have a lot of my book done in a few weeks, no problem. 

Just remember, when you’re struggling, anything is better than nothing. If you get three lines of your project done today you’re 3 lines closer to completion, take it easy and write what comes naturally to you- not what you think you have to write as you won’t be happy with it. Even a few notes in a note book could be enough work for one day. The rest will come, trust me- I’ve always gotten away with it. One day those few scribbles will turn into something amazing. 

Masque

Her hands were built to take dominion over all
to hide eyes glazed in the fiery depths she saw.
With masks held on in clever ways they’re made
spilling over, the guests of the claret masquerade.

Behind her mask she’ll take dominion over all
in a new religion born out of withering souls.
A dance of departed from the visitors she slays
enraptured forces in a claret masquerade.

In her honour they’ll take dominion over all
dancing and haunting at their prophet’s call.
With fractured faces and masks of sanguine shade
they’ll take your substance to the claret masquerade.

Jordan Baker
July 2014

Your Heart as My Script (Falling Awake)

I’ll take my finger to the grains
and draw blueprints by the sea.
It may take months but I’ll build
us our mansion out of silt.
It may be cold in the winter
but I’ll hold you tautly all night
with my chest as your pillow
and your heart as my script
I’ll write you poems about angels
with words about love.

And if the world floods over
you’re the break in my waves.
And if once more abating
I’ll land on your shoulder.
As time transpires I’m falling awake.

June

My mind has been awash with wondering about where my writing career is over the past few months. More so, where do I leave it and where do I pick it back up? What do I do next and am I ready to take the next steps? I believe an artist’s mind never shuts itself off; no matter what else is going on in there it will continuously provide inspiration and insight necessary to be written on a piece of paper (or in my case a memo in my phone). 

It would appear, and in truth I accepted it as true on occasion, that for now at least I was stepping back from this aspect of my life. I have been less active in all senses of writing, including my blog. But the next steps have continued to be put in place; when they will formulate I don’t yet know and I will take my time in putting the pieces together. Perhaps over the last couple of years I have exhausted my brain with the desire to succeed, even if to a large extent I did succeed. 

The plans I made following TFA’s release are still on my agenda. I have some fantastic ideas for pieces of writing and have continued to work as I have felt the need, even when their creation’s reasons seemed unclear. When it will be completed I do not yet know or worry about, but my next collection of poetry will be called ‘Blueprints by the Sea’ and in large it will be a ‘resurfacing’ of These Waters as I’ve discussed. I will hopefully continue to update my blog with news and extracts as I go. 

All my best to everyone,

Jordan. 

When You Lay With Me

I stand overlooking under a gaze of Heaven’s own.
Its showers are clichéd of the episodic loss of faith
drifting down just as Neptune’s cold blue kiss
through the systems like crystals on my wrist.
But when you lay with me the silks of summer
and afire breath of life slip through my compact crypt
carrying me through the underpass of lives once seen
and bear my bestirred body into this age of Holocene.

-Jordan Baker
June 2014

Blueprints by the Sea

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