On My Mind

Where angels fall the crazed moors rise,
here in this place, the backwaters’ find,
a river runs through the means to reach a tide.
All in sentient here in the Great Divide.
In a moment, a change in the breeze
I’ll find where amongst it you’ll be
in the barrens when a spark comes along
to stop the storm and prove the poet wrong.

I’ve spent long days searching, longer climbing
to be stood there on that day with life alive
maybe it’s a dream and you’re on my mind.
My tears flow like a mountain river goes
but I’m at the top where just wind blows
and I like to stay there from time to time
holding your hand over splendid skies.
Maybe I’m awake and you’re on my mind.

Jordan Baker
January 2015

It’s hard to find the right words to describe something amazing, but it turns out I had them all along.

What Death Becomes

Long have we all wondered what happens after death and maybe if we did know we would take comfort in the rest of our lives. Some of us have perhaps been closer to death then others and know some of the answers and yet may have even more questions than others. It’s taken me a long time to figure out the questions and list them. Yet still I wonder if we want to know the answers. Many of them I don’t wish to, but need to know if I want to live normally, which would only be possible if the answers are the wrong ones. Internal struggles can drive us insane, thank God for poetry so at least we can confuse others with our confusion!!

If only to know what death becomes
perhaps then folly would cease to feign
perhaps then wars would find repose
wars afar and wars within
and my mouldered skin could feel the rain.
If only to know what death becomes
perhaps then light would stick to day
perhaps no more would I stumble and wake,
awoken by dream and awoken by bane,
awoken by blight and fallen by vice
and the sundown shadows would start to fade.
Would you teach me to pray
and would I know if my words are right and heard?
Would you keep my desires free from malign
and let Heaven’s whispers lend me a week
so I may share in the last and refine?
If only to know what death becomes
perhaps I would not wonder over faith and fate
just accept what is too rich and too late.
Perhaps then I might find some words
and maybe just then see all through grace.

Jordan Baker
2014