efficient Agony™

Magpie Tales 103: Hands And Legacy

2012-02-06T20:36:00.000-08:00

A grave in the Novodevichy Cemetery, Moscow

salutation

I was the last one standing
in the driveway to wave goodbye.

visitors come then leave

and it is our custom and

good manner to wave as the

visit ends. remember to

look back, look to your right,

or to the left if you turn in a

different direction, but look.

remember my face, even if

all you can see

is my arm outstretched,

my salutation,

my hand open

to fading daylight
and coming

night.

Photo courtesy Tess Kincaid

Adult Content: My Trip To The Liquor Store...Rated R

2012-02-03T17:58:00.000-08:00

A co-worker gave me a $50 gift card to a liquor store for Christmas. I didn't realize I presented myself as the kind of person who would need that much liquor, (A $5 bottle of Thunderbird and a brown bag would suffice) but I finally got around to spending it this week. I did good: Spent $50.78! I actually don't go into liquor stores, but boy did I learn a few things this week about all the different beverages. There's something for just about everyone at your local spirits retailer! Here's a sampling:

I wonder how this tastes with bran flakes?

What I know about wine is this: The

fancier the label, the better the wine.

Right?

Well, guess not. I'll stick to

something that is more suitable

for a hick from Texas:

Well I'll be! Here's a little something

for the plastic surgery ladies in

California. (Oh. I thought that

said "Botox")

For the sun worshipers: But NEVER

drink this while directly in the sun!

Ah! A politician's wine of choice:

The registered Democrat's wine of choice:

The registered Republican's wine of choice:

Yeah, I thought it tasted pretty bad, too:

Please don't ask for this drink while drunk:

OMG. It was bound to happen, right?

LOL! I'LOL THIS TASTES LIKE

OMG! ROTFLMAO!

Finally, truth in advertising:

Remember: Never drink and drive.

Keep both hands on the wheel.

Drink BEFORE you drive!

(Just kidding, folks! Just kidding!)

Aging: Youth, Your Time Shorter Than You Think.

2012-02-02T18:08:00.000-08:00

Photo: Google Images

fabric skin

imperfections covered,

clothing stylish and cut

to strike a dashing figure

til' night arrives.

in subdued lighting

I peel fabric skin

revealing years of

flesh's reality.

grateful to be,

embarrassed to be like this,

eager to cover the once taut self

with darkness and sheets:

years demand a toll paid

with youth and desirability,

the onward journey a road to

humiliation or humanity:

a difficult choice indeed.

Photo borrowed from Google Images

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 102: Between Lines And Color

2012-01-29T08:23:00.000-08:00

issues

beneath the composite
of your complications

lies the deuced canvas
of your fears.

Red Spot II, 1921, Wassily Kandinsky

Photo prompt shared by Tess Kincaid

Turning Pages: When Nothing Else Mattered

2012-01-27T19:43:00.000-08:00

reflex

expectations were unnecessary.
life's moment(s) gave all needs
reason enough to be.

days were colored black and white
of yesteryears,
sherbet hues
of summers to come. it was all
that was required.

Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker
Photo of "LilRicky" by Ina Jean Stovall Garner, circa 1960.

恭喜發財

2012-01-23T08:37:00.000-08:00

dragon's wisdom

not the

dragon to fear,

the myth of beast,

but rather

myth makers

of men,

north south

west and east.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Images borrowed from Google Images

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 101: An Artist's Pose

2012-01-22T17:25:00.000-08:00

From Boris Hoppek's Tokyo exhibit "Ever"

artiste

no one cares

why the sun rises

above your

consort bed.

all that matters

is you -

the artist's muse,

fringed in comfort,

listening for a

lover's footsteps

fading distant early

morn;

you -

posed languid

for this never-ending

sculpted ruse

of night.

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid.

Legacy And Posterity

2012-01-21T07:36:00.000-08:00

Photo: Self portrait by Walter Fisher

foreverness

lift me from

this page of

posterity and

sepia recollection;

color the

landscape of

life with my

shadow,

the outlined

essence of

foreverness

and past.

Photo: Self portrait taken by Walt Fisher in Quartzsite, Arizona, 2011.

Never Ending Quest

2012-01-18T08:44:00.000-08:00

search for
meaning

self destruction
is our religion,
our past, our
destiny,

and hope
be damned for
control over all
shadings of life
real and contrived.

we kill to preserve
and preserve self-destruction
through every collective
action, except love:

even then,
what have we
if flames light
night skies,
or smoke the
bluest of days?

but love?

Poem ©2012 R. Burnett Baker
Photo ©2012 R. Burnett Baker
Photo taken by R. Baker at Lake Buchanan, Texas, October 2011.

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 100: An Ocean Of Faith?

2012-01-15T19:47:00.000-08:00

beatitude

religion I've discarded,
the comprehension of which
drowns my spirit.

voices of supplication
to an unseen all-knowing
require suspension of doubt:

I cannot live in repressed fear
of the unknown, having heard
the clarion call of life
and pleasure.

for now, my prayers
are answered.

Poem © 2012 R. Burnett Baker
Photo: sculpture: Jason deCaires Taylor
Courtesy of Tess Kincaid

Believe In Only What You Know

2012-01-14T09:41:00.000-08:00

Photo from Biome.com.au

news

when media create the news

they, too, tell a story.

listen.

carefully.

Magpie Tales 99: Of Kings And Empires

2012-01-08T13:13:00.000-08:00

Photo by Lee Friedlander, courtesy of Tess Kincaid

Click image to embiggen

Kings and Empires

As the banner unfurled, the

image was of no consequence

to Father Duffy.

"TOTAL ENCHANTMENT"

for him was reflected in the title.

Iowa And The GOP: Children Of The Corn. (Be Afraid. VERY Afraid)

2012-01-05T17:10:00.000-08:00

Another quick break from poetry:

Now that Rick Santorum has had a strong showing in Iowa, I'm re-posting an opinion piece I wrote last June on my other blog, BakersTake™. I still believe that this man is crazier than a s**thouse rat.

Click on the title:

Santorum Or The Sanitarium?

Where have all the leaders gone??

RB
1-5-12

Magpie Tales 98: Imagined

2012-01-02T07:09:00.000-08:00

River, Marina Moevs, 2005

Shared by Tess Kincaid

river you

I imagined you

a mirrored path,

distant past,

and refused

to ripple

that facade,

that glacial

face.

still,

walls wait

to rise,

to be

raised,

to shelter

idyllic

that which

exists only

in imagination.

Waiting For An Open Door...

2011-12-29T13:11:00.000-08:00

This photo was taken today by Tess Kincaid and posted on her Facebook page. I couldn't help but write a quick poem, and with her permission I'm posting it here. Poor little bird flew into her French doors, she said. I've had that happen here, but my doors weren't French, and the sparrow who gonged himself managed to "flutter" it off and fly away. Many thanks, Tess!

portal

before my

eyes glaze,

warmth cools,

colors pale;

before we

finish dinner

swallow wine,

spin fables;

dust the crumbs

from my chin,

tidy my tie,

hold the mirror

of dignity

close to

my face

for

one

last

glance.

In Search Of Bodhisattva

2011-12-28T20:31:00.000-08:00

in search of bodhisattva:
(in)significance of one

for it is the nature
of this species
to shed singular parts,
protect the mass of living,
sustain continuity
beyond the faded,
fading one;

in this peeling away
of individual beings
we shed personal beliefs,
lies we tell ourselves
to ensure survival;

we narrate gods
of expectations,
guilt being the
measure of commitment
to a greater good,
while praying for
a glorified redemption
of each
soul;

there's irony
in being alone
and crying for the moon
of solitary strength
to which we cling:

clinging is futile.
but necessary.

damningly so.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker

Magpie Tales 97: Catch A Falling Star...

2011-12-26T07:27:00.000-08:00

Photo by Bert Stern, shared by Tess Kincaid

player

it's all

laughter and fun,

an upward twist of

tinseltown mouths,

smiling words,

lines drawn for

anyone coy enough

to pretend to

be someone else...

is pretense an excuse

for love?

can WE pretend?

can we pretend

before you vanish

into a night of

early morn?

Merry Christmas To All My Blogger Friends!

2011-12-24T17:19:00.000-08:00

Merry Christmas To You All!
And Happy Hanukkah!

Wishing everyone peace and

kindness this day and all the

days ahead!

Rick

My Christmas Post for Junk Shop Quickies

2011-12-22T18:02:00.000-08:00

Last week I was shopping in one of my local junk shops and guess who I saw in person!! Marsha Brady from the Brady Bunch! Yessir, right here in Rochester. So I took her photo and posted it on Junk Shop Quickies ™. She was radiant in her Christmas dress. She had that psycho Marsha look on her face, just like in the movie, and there was something else that wasn't quite right..... Oh yeah, baby, have a holly jolly Christmas. And you, too, Marsha!
Junk Shop Quickies™.

December 22, 2011

Pingpong Diplomacy And Playboy™

2011-12-19T18:43:00.000-08:00

Untitled by Chen Yu

Pingpong Diplomacy And Playboy™

Chairman Mao had only been dead four years.

And there I was: In what was touted at the time as the largest city in the world , with a population between 12 and 14 million souls. Communist souls.

The city was brown. Buildings, streets, the air: All brown. Especially the air. Remembering that year, it seems that everything was brown except for the clothes everyone, I mean everyone wore: Drab, baggy, dull blue, green or gray Chairman Mao suits. That's what we called them. Oh, and those Mao caps with the red star on them. I have one. It was given to me by the young man who's the subject of this story.

There were no gleaming skyscrapers, no Gucci billboards, no futuristic buildings like the ones we Americans saw in Jetson cartoons. Cars? Forget it. Millions of bicycles with maddening bells ching-chinging constantly. It made one almost long for the sounds of traffic and horns honking in European or North American cities.

And there I was. Working for that evil evil oil service company Halliburton, subcontracted to the equally evil British Petroleum ( pre-Gulf spill years ). BP was drilling an exploration well in the Yellow Sea, about two hours helicopter flight from Shanghai. Aboard the semi-submersible oil rig, the Bo-Hai 8, we did our jobs.

During the down times on the rig, there was a recreation room with, what else, a pingpong table. Who would have guessed? (Nixon, of course).

One afternoon I was playing pingpong with the radio operator. He was about 22 years old, and the only one of the some 92 Chinese workers I encountered on the rig who was learning English at the time.

So there we were knocking that little white diplomatic ball back and forth when suddenly he grabbed my return volley and stopped the game.

With a mischievous grin on his face he asked me unflinchingly, " You have Prayboy magazine??" ( Yes, "PRayboy") I was stunned. I replied, "No, I don't. But Chairman Mao would not approve of that!!"

Not missing a beat, he screwed up his face in mock anger like the one character in this Chen Yu painting and said, "Chairman Mao is DEAD!! Chairman Mao NOT SEE!! I want PRayboy magazine!!"

I laughed and was utterly amazed. Amazed at how, despite waving Mao's Little Red Book every evening at propaganda meetings aboard the rig, despite the red stars on their caps, despite the decades of ideological brainwashing, despite our diplomatic tiptoeing around certain subject matters at that time, the Communist Party's proletariat workers really wanted Prayboy magazine.

I always brought the latest issue of Architectural Digest with me, and the Chinese workers would look at it and dismiss it as "buhaio", or, loosely transliterated, "no good". Too bourgeois, I suppose. But "Prayboy?"

Well, after all, Chairman Mao was dead.

And he still is!

Rick Baker

Rochester, NY

December 19, 2011

Magpie Tales 96: Your Sleeping Heart

2011-12-18T07:12:00.000-08:00

Image: Lee Friedlander, 1966

Courtesy of Tess Kincaid

shadows of you; of me

do you hear

your name

ride the wind,

or see rain pelt

each letter;

have you

sung the song

of waking moments,

morning startled

by opened eyes;

do you know

the blessing of pain

when it's gone,

and heard the

blue-glow serenity

of shallow breathing;

have you

felt the wind

become a breeze

before feathered

clouds on

autumn's end;

listen

as I whisper

memories of you

across your

sleeping heart's

ear...

I Know: This Is SUPPOSE To Be A Poetry Blog

2011-12-17T16:35:00.000-08:00

I just can't help myself this week. My visit to a couple of junk shops last weekend was productive. Well, I suppose that's a matter of opinion. But anyway, here's another. You know what they say about big hands, and big feet and such. Well, what about a big trunk? What about the junk in the trunk? Maybe we should just ask JLo. Or is it Mariah? I hear that one of them has a big trunk. Maybe it's Oprah?

Whatever. Another silly one for Junk Shop Quickies™.

Rick

I, LIKE, LOVE THE LIKE, STUFF IN THE, LIKE, JUNK SHOPS!

2011-12-14T19:20:00.000-08:00

Here's another cheap plug for my other

blog, Junk Shop Quickies™. Two

posts this week are from my latest trip

to my local second hand store. There

will be a couple more in the days to come!

Like, Cheers!

Rick

Lover's Lament

2011-12-13T08:32:00.000-08:00

Photo by R. Baker

strings

can you hear

strings across water

along rivers of hearts

and not wonder

how we wandered

so far from

beauty?

Magpie Tales 95: I Can Quit Any Time I Want...

2011-12-11T15:49:00.000-08:00

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

free will

though I can

always leave

when I want,

I'm resigned

to the taste

and habit

of you -

bound to our

construct love,

yet ready

to walk

on a moment's

notice -

think I'll

indulge the

tide of

your needs

before I

go.

Note: After a few edits, I realized this now sounds like a no smoking ad. That wasn't my intent, but I suppose sometimes love and smoking can be equally satisfying. I don't know, though: I've never smoked!! :)

Here's an older poem from 2007 that I'll offer as an alternative:

ride the crest

waves never stop

rolling onto beach sands

even when we

journey miles inland

even when we

sleep

even after death

calls oceans of souls

ride the crest

to shore.

Hope For The Rest Of Us?

2011-12-10T06:56:00.000-08:00

"Pot Shot" by Ashley Brilliant

Here's a link to an online article I read this morning about digital publishing. I suppose it isn't for everyone, but then neither is the old fashion way. Interesting approach, nevertheless.

http://finance.yahoo.com/news/how-i-became-a-best-selling-author-.html

12-10-11

Nonsense

2011-12-09T20:17:00.000-08:00

"You good lookin' thang,

don't you ever die!!!"

Another Thought Before Sleeping: Next Night

2011-12-08T07:47:00.000-08:00

from all that came before

I've felt your vision rise into my throat
and doused the flame of memory tenfold.

in forests brown and green I've fragranced rotting leaves
touched velvet moss and known creature-stirrings
that startle silence.

I've walked alone, I've walked with others,
but never have I stood beneath the shadow
of the tallest tree or softest fern

without songs of nature's movements
serenading me with canopy leaves
and solitude's whisper.

I've watched your vision
rise into my throat, rain-stung eyes
searching,

searching the forest
tenfold.

Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker

A Thought Before Sleeping

2011-12-07T08:49:00.000-08:00

no time for youth

it was time, I suppose, to shed endearments
and favored names,

the renderings of which are lost
to engagements of living;

it was time, but I can't remember why,
and doubtful you recall at all.

aging requires shedding not just childhood,
but child-nature, hence the berm ridges
in forehead texture.

those valleys represent growth, it's said,
presaging death,

a serious matter we must ordain, but
it is time, I suppose for growing serious and old,

while my child-nature searches its womb,
waiting to be born again before

that one, final engagement
in life.

Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker

Greek Drama, Modern Mythology

2011-12-05T08:07:00.000-08:00

Monoprint "3 Figures" by Ina Jean Garner, 1994

11 3/4" x 4", one of a series of four.

Collection of R. Baker

Brisēís and you

there was talk

of two and how

they met;

how between piercing

each other's eyes

they pilfered glances

at peripheral others.

how exciting and

perfectly adulterous

the notion that others

could command

attention.

but lust is how it begins:

fevered breathing

and sweat, well, sometimes.

but always with rhythm

of the notion that

future possibilities

lie just beyond the

mythical, battled

bed.

Magpie Tales 94: Lunchroom Marxism

2011-12-04T06:05:00.000-08:00

Lunch, George Tooker, 1964, Columbus Museum of Art

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

commodities

there are tightropes we

all walk, every soul

balancing identical needs -

a proletariat kind of

common bond.

Post Script: No, I'm not a Marxist. Neither, really, was he.

A New Junk Shop Quickie!

2011-12-03T19:43:00.000-08:00

On one of my other blogs: Junk Shop Quickies™

Back Yard, December 1, 2011

2011-12-01T12:17:00.000-08:00

When I sprinkled the seeds of wildflowers from a bag in spring, I expected flowers all summer. It took all summer and into fall for them to sprout and finally bloom. I'm pleased to enjoy this color in December! Such a green thumb I (don't) have!

Suicide Is (not) Painless.

2011-11-30T22:21:00.000-08:00

"The game of life is hard to play
I'm gonna lose it anyway
The losing card I'll someday lay
so this is all I have to say.
suicide is painless
It brings on many changes
and I can take or leave it if I please."

-Theme from M*A*S*H, lyrics by Mike Altman, 1970.

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Voice, mannerisms, face, speech peculiarities, personality traits perfected, at least to be a benchmark of recognition; to some simply as reference for association - to others, points of affection and love.

These cannot be restored on that one indeterminable choice. Those of us remaining restore the sounds or images in memory only, yet memory, sometimes of our final view of a face, too, becomes indeterminable: That one tragic choice becomes the bane of us all.

How can we not question what we second guess?

RB.

11-30-11

______________________________________________________________________________________________________________

We learned today that a co-worker, who had had numerous personal troubles, has taken his own life. It was a jarring revelation, but not totally unexpected. That we sensed the possibility of such a choice by him is most troubling. Among other personal problems he was facing, his employment with the company was terminated about two months ago.

I happened to be at work when it happened. He rode his bike to work each day, and that afternoon I stood near the window at the front of the store and watched him outside as he prepared to ride home on his bike. The expression on his face was one of absolute nothingness. I felt such sadness for him, especially knowing the other trials and tribulations he was facing in his personal life.

It fleetingly crossed my mind then that perhaps it was the last time I would see him alive. I wondered if I should maybe call him in a day or two and at least offer moral support.

I never did that.

That, too, troubles me.

Tonight, on the way home, I wanted to offer a prayer for him, but I didn't know how to do that. I can only pray that God will grant his spirit reprieve and healing in light of this terrible choice he felt he had to make. It's all I can think to say.

Suicide is not painless. It cannot be taken, or left, as the song suggests, as anyone pleases.

Getting Skunk-Ready For Winter

2011-11-29T07:11:00.000-08:00

deténte

had there

been reasons

to look through

night windows,

back yard

lit judiciously, I

would have

anticipated the

polecat edging

the grass into

darkened, shaded

recesses of

midnight.

what strikes fear

brought a smile

to my cornered

mouth; a sense

of contentment

that I

and fear

can live in

unusually

normal

harmony.

Painting by Melissa Barton

(Image of original painting has been digitally altered)

Magpie Tales 93: Occupy Perspective

2011-11-27T20:00:00.000-08:00

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

Occupy Ruby Slippers:

There's No Place Like Home

Maybe now I can get some peace and quiet.

Cops finally ran those assholes outta my home.

Idiots had no dignity, pissin and crappin all over,

smellin up the neighborhood and I couldn't get no

fuckin sleep. Don't know and frankly don't give

a shit what their bitchin was all about. I just want

some goddamn respect. And quiet. Jesus freakin

Christ, at least the rich bastards they're pissed at

will toss me a buck or two once in a while, but

these little shits - nooo - they just sat on my sofa

for weeks and fingered those blackberry

somethingorothers and wouldn't leave me the hell alone.

Mad cause they gotta pay for school or some such

crap. Yep, everybody's got somethin to bitch about.

Some assholes have an axe to grind and some have

their crosses to bear. I just wanna have a drink and

lay down for a while. Finally. Shit, finally I can

stretch out on the sofa and have some peace and

quiet.

©Dumitru Burlacu, Child of the streets, Bucharest, Romania, 2003

© Barry Lewis/In Pictures/Corbis

To Occupiers Of Wall Street: Black Friday, Poetic Justice?

2011-11-24T16:38:00.000-08:00

Poetic Justice?

Occupy Wall Street, How Do You

Like Your 99%er's Now?

Some of you have read my previous rants about Black Friday. And to any of you readers who may actually participate in this travesty of consumer greed and selfishness, shame again on you!

After Thanksgiving lunch today, the sun was out and the weather quite nice. While on a short errand to pick up dessert for work tomorrow, I passed a nearby shopping center. Sure enough, there were a number of the recently designated 99%er's lined up, waiting for the stores to open at midnight. This was at 2:45 in the afternoon, mind you.

These folks had tents set up, a pick-up truck with a generator with heavy duty extension cords that powered industrial heaters aimed at the tents and others in the line. This must mean that these mindless s**theads had been there at least since Wednesday night after the store closed.

It occurred to me that these people were Occupiers of a different sort. They must represent that mythical 99% of the population that has been oppressed, according to the OWS crowd, by these evil, bloodsucking corporations. Yet, there they are, sleeping in tents, cold and inconvenienced BY CHOICE, in front of one of Wall Street's darlings, waiting to trample each other for Samsung flatscreen TV's, Dyson Animal vacuum cleaners, Kodak cameras, and Sony DVD's.

The stores that these Black Friday insainiacs are occupying- Walmart, Target, Kohls, Macy's, and Sears, just to name a few, collectively employ some 2.86 million 99%er's. And I didn't even bother to research the number of employees on the payrolls of the companies that manufacture all the gidgets, gadgets, and iWads that these idiots are waiting to snag.

Point is, there are corrupt corporations, to be sure, but the livelihoods of all of us who are gainfully employed depend on corporations. While I heatedly disagree with the concept of Black Friday, it is a free country. Of sorts. But these ragtag hippymuffin wannabe's who are creating numerous stinks (literally) in parks that are privately owned, or tax payer funded need to put up or shut up. State your case cogently and pointedly. Then clean up your messes, go home, take a shower, and get jobs to pay off your damned student loans, or upgrade to a faster smartphone ( made by these scum-sucking companies you're protesting) that will keep you all connected for your next gathering.

Better still, just go away. The tax paying 99% (I would love to know how that number was calculated) are tired of paying for your slovenly camping trips that really only inconvenience everyone, and NOT BY CHOICE.

When I become king, Thanksgiving will be a four day holiday. No stores. No idiotic shopping. No trampling people to death for stuff. No door busters. No madness. Just a time for, well, Thanks Giving.

For that, I would be thankful.

Rick Baker

November 24, 2011

Rochester, NY

Suggested previous essays on Black Friday:

http://bakerstake.blogspot.com/2008/11/black-friday-blood-red.html

http://bakerstake.blogspot.com/2009/11/single-file-please-or-you-will-be-shot.html

Magpie Tales 92: The Match

2011-11-20T07:22:00.000-08:00

on the mat

there's
a flipside
perspective to
how hands
caress the mind,

how fingers
control the
other:

we are but
fetal brevity
as lover
and
loved.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

West Texas In Music And Photography

2011-11-17T14:47:00.000-08:00

This was sent to me by a high school friend in Houston. Turn up the sound and enjoy this work of music and nature photography!

Wyman Meinzer's West Texas from Wyman Meinzer on Vimeo.

Magpie Tales 91: Table For One

2011-11-13T06:25:00.000-08:00

Photo provided by Tess Kincaid

waitress

she stood at your

table for one,

waiting for the music

to begin, waiting

for you to take

her hand, waiting

'til the guests had gone

and orchestra

silent:

it was closing time

and there were

no tables left

upon which to

stack the

chairs.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker

Note: This painting that Tess provided this week also reminded me of a song titled "Closing Time." Now this title has been used for songs by Semisonic, Matchbox20, Tom Waits, and as a song performed by Leonard Cohen. But my favorite is by Lyle Lovett, featured as the last song on his "Live In Texas" album. I'm not posting the video here, but just the YouTube link if anyone cares to venture a listen...
http://youtu.be/o80pVLDDJh4

Rain Dance

2011-11-11T20:44:00.000-08:00

rain dance

bird becomes

tree

becomes

wood

for kindling

we dance for

rain

and fly in

fear

to dampen the

fires

of need with

prayer.

It was a piece of wood I found along a dirt road in the once beautiful, but now deadly dry hills of Central Texas last month. To me it looked like a bird. Birds, I'm told, are quite scarce in that part of the country these days, due to drought and dwindling food sources. So I picked it up and saved it. I held it up with one hand to the dusk sky as if to make it fly, and took pictures with the other hand. There's really nothing else one can do...

Photo taken by R. Baker at Lake Buchanan, Texas, October 2011.

On The Scene

2011-11-10T20:18:00.000-08:00

poseur

always
that shadow side
of my being
watches behind
without eyes,
a graysoul memory
of sullen-heart
evenings.

perfunctory smiles
above a beet-purple
soul garnish my
eyes like weapons
of a hunter's quill. I pose

that male-model pose,
both sides of my
questioning demeanor
answered in palettes
of muted
color.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Painting by Ina Jean Garner, 1970's. Acrylic on canvas, 24 X 36. From the collection of Sharon Jean Garner, Houston, Texas.

And Outside The Window...

2011-11-07T18:39:00.000-08:00

Deep into Autumn, I sat this night in my office at home, and in the light outside the window movement and color caught my eye. Leaves have gathered and danced their last across nature, grass has captured the white stories of frozen dew, and the rose bushes have shed leaves, with thorns naked and unyielding.

But there it was. There it is. A rose. Defiance and beauty to capture life, and my eye. One last rose pushing on and telling one last tale of birth amongst the dying, and the legacy of simply being.

legacy

it bore frost in early morning

gathered what little sunlight

diminished days gave for free

and even in a night of November

red life burns and fragrance

twinkles in the eye of this beholder;

the rose, the rose

wanting its season

unfolding to defy the turnings of

hours, weeks, and expectations;

the rose in a night of November

carries on with living alone in

darkness and pleased to

be so.

Photo taken at home by R. Baker, November 7, 2011.

Random Thought

2011-11-06T19:39:00.000-08:00

"A backward glance

is all it takes to realize

regret is a reflection of

inherent defect."

- R. Baker

Journeys

2011-11-05T22:02:00.000-07:00

canyon wide

those days were sheltered by
dreams and pregnant with
potential. we shed tears for
the past, for the fears of our
being; we sealed our common
bond to the hurt of longing.

but those fears, pangs of
suspense and insecurities
ruled the moment, and future.
there were pasts that needed to
be purged, but how, within the
absolute quantification of being?

how do we reveal what need not
be known except by only one?
beyond probings - the unrevealing of
knowledge - probings again, and
imagined pasts that did not, and
do not exist, enough was
enough.

there are voices choking to shout
across the canyon of what was
foretold, but depth is deep,
width is wide. echos, loud and
shrill are exhausted, and the path
begs for sleep.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker

From Then To Now, Young To Old, Lovers Of Seasons

2011-11-04T07:32:00.000-07:00

lovers of seasons

supple flesh and

weathered skin

meld May to

December, and

who can fathom

validity of their

seasons? sleeping

giants of

prophecy arose

for the taking

but lust is a

ransom paid for

silence. indulge,

humor, and

grant me my

folly, for soon

these words

will be your

own: take

my hand,

steady me

before the sun

while still I see

my shadow.

Photo taken by R. Baker, Lake Buchanan, Texas

"Sunshine, Lollipops, And Rainbows, Everything....."

2011-11-01T13:44:00.000-07:00

The Lollipop Photo, 1961

Photo by Ina Jean Stovall Garner, 1961

“I got the picture I wanted, but the public wasn’t ready for it.”

My aunt, Jean Garner, was and still is, a woman who marched to her own band, and thought beyond society’s proscribed social mores.

Imagine, if you will, this lollipop photo being published in 1961’s United States, never mind being in the public realm of the South, in Amarillo, Texas.

“Anyway,” Jean continued, “ you know I was a member of the Amarillo Photo Society for many years and we met every two weeks. We had to take pictures in the two weeks, develop the film, and make two 8 x 10 or two 11x 14 prints to show at each meeting. This was in the form of a contest which each member voted on and received points according to how many members voted on their print. at the end of each year we would have a party and the member with the most points...would win a small trophy or certificate. Oh what fun!”

During one of the two week periods the assignment for the photo club members was to photograph people of different ethnic races doing something together. My uncle, S.O. Garner, owned a contracting and construction company in Amarillo. His lead foreman was an African-American man that we only knew as “Heavy.” I remember Heavy as a large, gregarious man, and he was highly regarded by my aunt and uncle. In talking with my aunt this week she revealed that Heavy would often be invited to eat dinner with the family. That, in itself, a black man eating dinner at a white family’s home in the early 1960’s South, was stepping out of society’s idea of “normal” social interactions.

But the assignment was clear. My aunt and uncle often went to Heavy’s house and since he had several children, Jeanie had the perfect platform for the Photo Society’s assignment. My cousin, Sharon, was to be one of the subjects of Jean’s assignment.

“ I thought if I bought some kind of candy and took it over to Heavy’s house, maybe I could get some kind of a picture that I might like, “ Jean told me. “ I thought the kids might do something that would make a good picture."

"Sure enough, they all wanted to lick on the same big lollypop. The kids were pushing each other around and the lollypop fell on the floor and broke into about 10 pieces. They grabbed the pieces and started eating them.”

My aunt had another lollypop, and while the kids were having fun with the broken candy pieces, she had Sharon and Heavy’s oldest son to go into another room. Jean took several shots and was happy with the pictures she had taken.

She enlarged the picture to a 16X20 in her home darkroom and submitted the to the camera club. She didn’t win any awards for the photo. In fact, they were very reluctant to exhibit the picture.

She also submitted the lollipop photo the the Amarillo Globe News and was told that they could not print it for fear of creating an uproar of disapproval.

The Amarillo Globe News also ran regular snapshot contests throughout the year, as did many other newspapers around the country. Jeanie had won numerous awards for her photos from the Globe. National Geographic and Kodak were sponsors of some of these contests and in 1963 Jean was one of nine grand prize winners of the 24th Annual Newspaper National Snapshot Awards (NOT for the lollipop photo: Another story, perhaps?) She and the other eight winners were awarded $1000 and sent to Washington DC .

The original 16 x 20 print hung in Jean's house in Amarillo for a number of years, and is now displayed in Sharon's dental office in Houston, Texas.

And here's a funny sidebar: One day in Amarillo, a family in-law and her friend came to Jean's house. Upon seeing the lollipop photo on the wall, this woman remarked, "Oh that's a cute little boy…that's Ricky licking that sucker with Sharon!" My aunt was speechless.

I have to wonder if that woman's comment was uttered in shock, or disbelief, or from a perspective of absolute denial of what she was viewing? Or did she think that there were just lots of shadows on my face and it was a bad photo? We'll never know.

But I do know it's a daring photo. Yes, my Aunt Jean got the photo she wanted.

Jean said to me, "As far as I am concerned the picture is a success. It’s prejudiced people who don’t want to see it in print. I thought the subject and photo was a good idea, since it showed what the assignment asked for, which was to show different races interacting together. However, it seems that two kinds of different races, licking the same lollipop was just too much for the newspaper, the photo society, or the public in general. I never received any certificate of trophy for that picture from the photo society or the newspaper contest. I guess I was thinking before my time. I didn’t realize the backlash that the photo would produce in society."

And I wonder what reaction it would produce today. How far have we come as a society?

That question may never be answered.

Rick Baker

Lake Buchanan, Texas

October, 2011

Me and my Aunt Jeanie, October 2011

2011-10-31T21:05:00.000-07:00

dry wine

oh how I did
taste that supple flesh
of you and you did
hold my breast
against
yourself

and now
I seethe and
relish the quivered
instant when
every part of
nature's nerve
stings my very being
with sweat and
polish,

lying
breathing
wet with thirst
and parched
at once,

never never
to be quenched.

Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo© 2011 R. Burnett Baker

Commercial Break.

2011-10-31T17:48:00.000-07:00

"...After these words from our
sponsor..."

Ok. I'm not much of a wine drinker, but I've found a really nice one. It's not expensive. I know nothing about "oaky, smokey, bouquet, bloaky..." You know, all that wino talk. What rubbish. Anyway, this wine is just guud. No aftertaste. Nice buzz. No headache. (Well, at least if you don't drink a gallon of it.) It's a slightly dry wine, but try it out!

Rick

Magpie Tales 89: Say It, Write It.

2011-10-30T15:20:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

speak to me

a splash of ink,

a quill to

the heart,

words always

at our fingertips

even when voices

can't be

heard.

Back From Texas

2011-10-29T15:47:00.000-07:00

Always good to visit family! This trip I had the special treat to meet and have lunch with one of our favorite bloggers Cheryl Cato (Lizzy Frizzfrock) and her husband Gerald. My mother and I had arranged to meet Cheryl and Gerald in Bastrop, Texas. After lunch we drove to their house and saw the devastation from the fires that recently destroyed some 1500 homes and thousands of acres of pine forest. It was truly a humbling scene, and one that gives pause for thanksgiving.

Many of us bloggers had followed the updates that Cheryl posted during those days, and I'm thankful for them that they are able to still have their beautiful home and help rebuild their community. As some of you remember, their house was one of three that survived on their street. I'm including here a link for donations to Bastrop fire relief agencies if anyone is so inclined.

Cheryl and me

My mother Betty and me

It was wonderful to meet you and Gerald, Cheryl, and hopefully we can meet again in the future!

We tossed around the idea of getting some of the bloggers together in the future for a "blogger's convention" at some central location. I know that Cheryl has mentioned this on her blog this week, and I think it would be a fun way to put, as I said to her on FB, voices, faces, and reality to the words and pictures we see of each other each week.

If anyone else would be interested, let's explore the possibilities of arranging such a "meet and greet", as Cheryl put it, and see what transpires! I'm open to any suggestions, and would welcome emails about such an event for next year.

Best to everyone!

Rick
October 29, 2011

Lips. Lips To Find You

2011-10-18T20:03:00.000-07:00

Photo from Google Images

cusp

behind the backdrop of now

I'll bend and blend into the

ethereal wisp of lips pressed

and pulsed for one revealing

moment of

breath

against

breath.

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 87: Universal Language

2011-10-16T07:13:00.000-07:00

tangents

love prepared
a feast in

tangy tangents
of our fervor

in nearness
of even the
smallest view
of want

beyond our
needs.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

Autumn Gatherings: A Story

2011-10-15T06:28:00.000-07:00

multitudes of forever

they gathered at the portal.

they had no choice. to find

shelter was a prayer they had

been taught from birth.

despite all the wind, rain, and

burning sun that their glorious

family tree had nurtured and

endured, there had been no

rehearsal for the great falling;

and the falling itself was sudden

and by design.

now at the door to the family tree,

through darkness they gathered

their crumbling vessels of life

and poured out their sorrows

as ransom for shelter.

but wind has its own agenda.

it carries with it the dreams of

every living and dying creature

in its stream, and its agenda is to

keep moving in every direction;

to suffer the fears and dreams

of every life

and

passing season.

Photo taken by R. Baker at Powder Mill Park, Rochester, NY October 2011.

Incarnations

2011-10-13T19:18:00.000-07:00

transient

it's this
time

of every
dying
drama for

leaf
or twig,

we liberate,

at last,

this breath,

this death,

this splendid

fading

prelude.

Photo taken by R. Baker at Powder Mills Park,

Rochester, NY October 13, 2011.

Weekend Road Trip: October In Western New York

2011-10-13T05:10:00.000-07:00

The Wheels: Um, nope.

The bike's lookin' good...

Ah! That's better!

A roadside bottle stump. (A "bottle stump?")

Bambi's older sister.

Harvest.

Small...

Medium...

Large...

Morbidly obese.

Gentle countryside.

Roadside barn.

Home on the hill...

Protest? Be Happy That We Can

2011-10-11T08:16:00.000-07:00

As we hear and read about the "Occupy" this, that or the other place or city in the United States, it is, perhaps, timely to think briefly about another milestone in world history.

Yesterday, October 10th, marked the centennial anniversary of the Xinhai Revolution ( or Hsinhai 辛亥革命) in China.

The what revolution, you ask, and why? This revolution was the cornerstone of the overthrow of the last imperial dynasty in China, the Qing (1644-1912) Dynasty, and the establishment of a brief republican era. Dr. Sun Yat-sen was and still is considered to be the father of modern China. Actually, I would argue that he is more respected in Taiwan ( Republic of China) than in the People's Republic of China. I'll not delve into the long historical details of all that, but simply encourage anyone who is interested to research and read about it.

Suffice it to say that despite the rhetoric one might hear coming from Communist China, republicanism is not the norm on the Mainland regardless of the rights that country's constitution purports to give its citizens.

Only in Taiwan have we actually seen the development, after many long decades, of republicanism and/or democracy.

Which brings us to this not so small point: We are granted the freedoms and the LUXURY in this country to be able to protest whatever we feel passionate about. For the most part, we can do so without serious repression by the government, pepper spray incidents notwithstanding.

So no matter your stand on these "occupy" protests, never loose the perspective of how we are fortunate to be able to exercise a high degree of free expression in this country against evil corporations, banks, and government hacks.

Oh yes, and against political parties.

Here I'm reposting a poem I wrote some time ago. It was a response to another form of free expression I found in a local coffee shop: Bathroom wall graffiti!

There is a quaint coffee shop here in Rochester, NY where I enjoy people watching, talking with friends, and appreciating the sometimes bad art hanging on the walls. You know the type of place: Trendy and bohemian. As if those two concepts aren't mutually exclusive.

Occasionally, someone leaves some kind of "art" on the men's room wall. Nothing vulgar, mind you, but usually small and somewhat odd. Once there was a black marker drawing of a crow on a tree branch. The management simply touched up the paint and the crow had flown.

Last week, a new piece of men's room art appeared. Also in black marker on the deep red wall was the outline of a face with the word "happy" stylized beside it. I couldn't resist taking a photo with my cell phone.

I was struck by the expression of the face next to that word. Who was the artist? What was his intent? His background? So many questions we can ask after a trip to the men's room!

But the image stayed with me and I couldn't help but write about it. With recent stories about a particular internet provider confronting issues of censorship on the other side of the world, I couldn't help but read more into the image than probably exists. I doubt that graffiti drawing will be there when I next visit, but the image remains on my cell phone.

And in my imagination.

Rick Baker

March 31, 2010

Rochester, NY

little red book

on doors of toilets

and alley walls they've

graffitied your profile

in black and named you

"yellow peril" and "red".

through chapters of history

your colors coursed as

blood through fields.

dragooned, you bowed

to masters near and far

and now your masters near

declare you leader and

decider of your collective

fate;

proclaim you happy

behind walls built

to protect you

from your

freedom.

Photo of graffiti drawing taken March 2010 by R. Baker in Java's coffee shop, Gibbs Street, Rochester, NY

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 86: Reading Eulogies

2011-10-10T06:49:00.000-07:00

Michael Sowa, from The Little King

Shared by Tess Kincaid

resurrection

as a man's home

is his castle

the naked light

of his life

is cloaked beneath

his robe

blinding all as he

stands upon the

obituary of his

bitter black

chicory life.

City Scenes VII: Addition And Subtraction

2011-10-07T16:48:00.000-07:00

equations

beauty to
the seventh

minus keys
to life divided
by starbursts
and rams'
heads

equals
knowledge of
sunrise art:

a dawning
in our
lives.

Poem © 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo© 2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo taken by R. Baker on Richmond Street, Rochester, NY.

Reflection

2011-10-06T07:58:00.000-07:00

tomorrow

there will
come a time
to feel a wind
brush my face

neither cold
nor warm
only movement

and I'll wonder
if it's living
or if I am

and relish
its touch.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker

Sad Day

2011-10-05T21:01:00.000-07:00

I just arrived home from work.

I turned on my iMac, and this

was the screen that came up.

I hadn't heard about his passing

until tonight, and I'm saddened.

Janine Young of Santa Monica, California sat

outside the Apple Store today and summed up

what many people must think about Mr. Jobs:

"This was our 21st century Edison," she said. "This was our postmodern king of industry. He did change the world, and there are babies now who can swipe a screen because they've seen it done on an ipad. Whatever future we're going into, he designed it. He brought the artists and the inventors together."

(REUTERS/Lucy Nicholson)

An amazing man...An amazing legacy he leaves us.

Morning Damp

2011-10-05T08:25:00.000-07:00

vision

what morning fog
left behind:

crystal clarity
ready to evaporate
before life
knows it's
gone.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo ©ecstaticist

Well Shut The Front Door!

2011-10-04T17:28:00.000-07:00

Epiphany

(Of Sorts)

Some of you have read a couple of my rants on Baker'sTake to know how I usually feel about celebrities and so-called entertainers. Well, Lady Gaga has been someone I have just loved to can't stand. I mean all the costumes and controversy and such is irritating to me. You know, Elton was doing all that costume stuff 40 years ago. So I've been quick to shout "copycat" about Lady Gaga.

Well, thanks to one of our fellow bloggers and outstanding poet/writer Arian Tejano, I've had an epiphany of sorts: On his FB page he posted a clip of Lady Gaga and Tony Bennett in a duet singing "The Lady Is A Tramp." I hope he will excuse me for posting this here ( Am I a copycat??), but this performance is outstanding and uplifting. I was blown away. Yep, I was shouting "Well shut the front door!!"

If Lady Gaga would do a show like this instead of those, well, "songs" she has been doing I'd actually pay to see her. Time and again! I just love this clip, and hope you will too. (Just pardon the advertising at the beginning of the clip.) And Thanks, Arian!

Rick

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 85: Vote. But Wear A Gas Mask

2011-10-02T18:59:00.000-07:00

Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

the party politic

they were tired:

promises.

pontifications.

rhetoric for mass appeal.

pandering for

emotive glee.

every year,

every two,

and then the

ones on the four

had become a circus

without three rings...

had no

trained animals.

no flying trapeze.

no dashing men

on horseback, or

women in the

nets;

it had all become

nothing more than

clouded horizons

no one could see

even from upper floors

with glass skin:

wrinkled skin and wings

of cigar smoke-stained

dreams that no one

cared to

remember.

City Scenes VI: Snapshots Past & Present

2011-09-30T06:46:00.000-07:00

Click to enlarge

utopia

there was innovation, dreams of greatness

holding promise for shining lives and

utopian cities.

we worked, lived, feasted, and drank in every

snapshot of imagination

only to be left standing outside

windows of wood,

streets of dampened memory,

and walls of plastered

brick.

I suppose there was a time, in the heyday of Kodak in Rochester, NY, when many Kodak employees thought they were living in a sort of utopia. At one time, Kodak was the largest employer in the area with over 50,000 workers. Today the company is a mere shadow of that glory, having been too quick to diversify its business interests, and too slow to jump on the digital roller coaster. In 2010 the company was taken off of the S&P 500 Index.

I recall a front page story in the Rochester Democrat and Chronicle a few years ago that described the struggles Kodak was having with one of the last products that was "made" in America: The throw-a-way camera. One the front page was a color photo of the Kodak camera, and the Fuji camera. Lines and arrows pointed to various components of each, and told where each part was made. For the Kodak camera: Mexico, China, Mexico, China, China, Mexico. For the Fuji: South Carolina, USA.

The story told of the difficulties Kodak was having with globalization and such. But the upshot for me was this: Buy American. Buy Fuji.

Utopia is a dream. Not even a vision, really.

Reality is in the streets.

R. Baker

Photo of the Kodak World Headquarters, Rochester, NY taken by R. Baker.

Redux

2011-09-29T18:48:00.000-07:00

terrible

what terrible retribution

we lay upon ourselves

for the unhappiness we allow

to define our lives.

Wishing Rain For Fellow Texans

2011-09-27T14:15:00.000-07:00

reclaimed

prodding embered ground

prolongs raging and

sparks scatter,

every utterance of pain

its own salve and

ultimate cure.

green unfoldings

emerge from blackened

earth, and we,

we are

powerless.

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 84: Laugher In The Rain

2011-09-25T16:53:00.000-07:00

Nevermore

the raven
knows.

ravens always
know

when to
roost at
dusk;

why they
fly at
dawn;

how to
cast a rictus
mocking face
in the
storm.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo from Google Images shared by Tess Kincaid

Facebook, Cookbook, Bookbook: Screwit Book

2011-09-22T21:51:00.000-07:00

In The Beginning I Was...

Yes, I was doing it wrong. I resisted Facebook for a long time. About four years ago a friend got me on it and my "account", or whatever they're called, just sat there with nothing on it. Of course, most people might argue that now that I'm actually posting there's STILL nothing on it. Got it?

Despite my underlying thoughts that FB is inherently evil, and an ultimate tool for totalitarianism, (Review Orwell's "1984") I've been posting my blog entries on my FB for anyone bored enough to check them out. Truth is, I don't really do anything so interesting as to warrant the need to post my every move. I mean, really who cares? And why?

So anyway, today my FB page is all different. I read the news story about the changes. I watched the video of Mark "Supperbird" giving a presentation about the upcoming live timeline or some such nonsense. (This guy REALLY comes across as a social misfit dork) You know, he was up on a stage with a power point thingy going on, and he probably imagined himself as a techie guru on the same level as Steve Jobs. Well, he showed us how we will now be posting our life histories on our page. LIFE HISTORIES.

Well, hell: We all have lots of time for that, now don't we.

Gawd the world is just filled with stupidity. And meaningless crap. And more meaningless crap to take up the time we don't already have to do other things that we could do if we weren't too busy trying to keep up with technology designed to keep us in our meaningless mindsets.

Did any of that make sense? I didn't think so, but that's the point. My most recent FB post:

Rick Baker
Ok. So FB is changing this or that or something. I'm not too intelligent about these things, and have resisted FB for the most part. But a "timeline" to tell the entirety of my life? Puleeze. This just proves that we ARE a neurotic society. Totally. Ok...the whole world's neurotic if we need this much pointless info about each other. Get a life? Nope. There aren't any left!!

Hey, I Like that. Comment.

Anyway, I hardly know what to do with the "old" FB page. And frankly, I don't have freakin' time to learn all this other nonsense. And that's what it is: Nonsense. This all reminds me of a saying by Ashleigh Brilliant: "I could do great things if I weren't so busy doing little things."

And so it is with FB, I'm afraid. Trivial nonsense to keep the citizenry occupied while the big business honchos and politicians think up more trivial nonsense to keep us enslaved by the very toys and "social media" that we think makes us so free.

I don't want to learn more technical apps. I don't need to have my life story set up as a profile page on some Big Brother website. I like to keep up with the times, but come on, people. Get real. Get serious.

Get a life!!

Oh. Wait. We can't get lives. There aren't any left to get. They're being retweeted, refaced, and replaced with the latest shiny toy invented by some dumblucky college geek who now has more money than he knows what do with. He may be smart, but he isn't very perceptive. He may have created just what the Orwellian masters' wannabe's are licking their chops over: A gadget that looks like a toy, but is a potential tool for total governmental control.

Ah, Freedom. Ain't it grand?

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 83: Snake Charmer That I Am

2011-09-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

seduction's forest

to my lips
come flute-bait
primal tones,

fern to
fauna to
serpent;

nature's morass,
natural and -un

plays a riversong
pliant to my
fingertips and
waspish
lure.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo: The Snake Charmer, Henri Rousseau, 1907
Weekly Magpie Prompt courtesy of Tess Kincaid

Silly Sunday

2011-09-18T07:26:00.000-07:00

Ok. Lighten up before reading the newest posts on my other two blogs. If you're the sensitive type, don't read Baker'Take today. Just watch a rerun of The Sound Of Music or something. My perverse sense of humor doesn't sit well with some. Oh well: I've gone this long letting my mouth overload my ass, so to speak. But other than that, have a good rest of the weekend!

Junk Shop Quickies

Baker'sTake

Cheers,

Rick

Magpie Tales Photo Prompt 82: Glory Days

2011-09-12T06:49:00.000-07:00

adored

there were
tropic days
in jungle white
I'd fashion
myself to
prospects du jour,

and adored
I'd walk
the walks
of what
set cupidity
ablaze:

these ashen
stains on
collars and
sleeves -

tattered shades
in love-making
rooms -

unveiled now
but for the
canvas smudge
of blanched
memory.

Poem ©2011 R. Burnett Baker
Photo: The Revenant, 1949, Andrew Wyeth
Photo courtesy of Tess Kincaid

9/11 Memorial Flag

2011-09-11T05:55:00.000-07:00

Photo from Google Images

9/11 Memorial Flag

The flag in the photo above is the ONLY flag we need

to remember and memorialize the 9/11 attack on our country.

There is a "new" 9/11 flag that will be unfurled, and two days

ago a local area woman was pictured on the front page of the

Rochester Democrat & Chronicle with the flag that she had

designed to represent 9/11. Her design wasn't chosen and she

was upset about it.

Poppycock to all of this nonsense.

We have a flag. It was attacked on September 11, 2001.

In the days following this act of war, millions upon millions

of Americans displayed this flag in their windows, on their cars

and just about anywhere else it was deemed appropriate.

It is the flag of the United States. It was the flag for that

horrible event then, and it still is now.

Let's stop trying to dilute what happened, who did it, and

who they did it to.

The Stars and Stripes IS the flag of the United States, and

it IS the only flag we should fly to remember 9/11.

More required reading: Baker'sTake.

Rick Baker

Rochester, NY