The echoes in cartoons,
The sermons in static,
How every chorus begs us
To wake, or vanish.
Maybe God is a director.
I don’t know.
But the script is too perfect,
And the extras too hollow,
Like the background forgot
How to breathe on its own.
There goes the Baker.
Popping pills in his blue buggy
with one red ball and another blue dangling from the rear view.
When Holmes ejaculated,
'It doesn't take a brilliant detective
to identify many of the people
on this planet are damaged or defective,'
Dr. Watson was heard to observe,
'Never a truer word spoken.
Most we meet, at 221B Baker street,
are utterly, if not completely, broken.
Psychologists reason, 'Conditioning's the cause
for them to follow such absurd routines,'
but it's my considered and confirmed belief,
insanity really and truly runs in the genes.'
'pon reflection, in the blink of an eye,
quoth Sherlock in reply,
'All the King's horses and all the King's men,
couldn't put Humpty together again,
and the same goes for those we know.
But if I'm wrong on that, I'll eat your bowler hat,
or my deerstalker chapeau.'
I baked a whole tray—
not for me.
I’ve never liked brownies,
too sweet on tongue,
too soft for teeth…
But you once said
you'd like to try mine.
They cracked as they left the oven.
I bit, too soon—
blistered my tongue
on sugar too young to settle.
If only you were here to taste it…
you’d know what I meant.
They’re best straight from the pan—
burning, messy,
sweet enough to sting.
But the moment passed,
and now they’ve gone rigid—
I sit with the tray
untouched but for one corner.
My eyes drift out to the setting sun—
The warmth dies...
The surface hardens...
for the baked and the baker.
He was born in Groesbeck, Texas and his name was Joe Don Baker.
Sadly, after living for nearly nine decades, he needed an undertaker.
He attended North Texas State College on a sports scholarship.
He starred in "The Living Daylights", "Cape Fear" and "Joysticks".
When I say that he was a very talented man, it's not a joke.
He died of lung cancer which proves that people shouldn't smoke.
After living for eighty-nine years, he perished and it's a shame.
Joe Don Baker was a skilled actor who was destined for fame.
[Dedicated to Joe Don Baker (1936-2025) who died on May 7, 2025]
The pi that’s of math has its day,
But that of the baker, no way.
Though both are quite round,
Less merit is found,
In pies that in stomachs do lay.
Where are the Bakers of Poetry Soup?
I miss their energy and the queen’s haikus
I hope all is well let me visit their page
For no response from soup mail I made
Bill and Sara are you ok?
My dear Souper Sara Etgen-Baker
tastes bittersweet moments.
Sweet, because she's riding
on a beautiful horse
to be a number one.
Bitter, because she doesn't
have the same time
to spend in the PoetrySoup
with her brothers and sisters.
We've already missed you
my Texan friend,
you must know.
Let me give you my advice
my dear friend:
Ride well on this race
that life offers you,
don't miss what you always can have.
Be brave, because your horse
is the best.
You can only expect
to reach the goal of your dreams,
the summit of that high mountain
you've been trying
to climb so hard for years.
I just want to wish you
the best of luck
to achieve what you deserve.
in my observance,
big Sara Etgen-Baker
nice keen poetess
The Bakers Boys had a bakery for as long as I knew.
We would get fudge, cookies, cakes, and pies from them too.
My grandma bought sourdough and rye.
My mom would buy cookies from no other guy.
Why do you call them boys? I asked my mother.
She had no answer, but I heard snickering from my brother.
You forget she is old too, said my sister, better watch yourself.
Every kind of dessert was laid up on this bakery shelf.
The Baker Boys were in their nineties now.
They added flavored milk which they made from a cow.
Why do they call them boys? Asked my tiny granddaughter.
Not sure I replied. But their bread is fresh if not hotter.
“Happy Birthday to Bill Baker for February the 10th”
A poet friend held in such high esteem
A man of wisdom and positivity
Who shines as brightly as a beacons beam
A kind, respectful man
A poet extraordinaire
Abundant with understanding and compassion
His good humour he is now beginning to share
So, to you my Texan buddy
I wish you a wonderful day
Enjoy, relax and put your feet up
While we all at P.S sing Hip Hip Hooray!!
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY MY LOVELY FRIEND”!!
she is
an ever-glowing
pink rose
in winter
with
sun-kissed
petals
her diamond
quill flickers
gold across
the cosmic
canvas
of soupers
Santa Baker was the best chef in the house.
We like his remnants the best said his mouse.
Mrs. Claus did not mind, she did not like to bake.
Santa’s specialty was a Chocolate mint Christmas cake.
Major League Baseball Manager, Dusty Baker.
He's a great character and a playmaker.
In San Francisco, a World Series loser.
In Houston, a World Series Winner.
Valentine opened her bakery doors at four.
Two regulars came in for coffee, no more.
What Valentine Magic to you have in store?
I am baking pink and red cakes to take next door.
A sailor arrived at five, carrying an oak oar.
I just left my sweetie by the southern shore.
Do you have any cupcakes? I will buy four.
Valentine had a better idea in store.
Take her a full sized cake with a chocolate core.
I can write on top of it “Be mine forevermore.”
Sailor passed two men coming from St. Van Moore.
Valentine gave them a smile, for they were not poor.
They bought out most of her goods, that day in the store.
Even the ingredients of flour, sugar, salt, butter and more.
Their plan worked, and they took her to St Van Moore
Where their brother waited for Valentine, whom he did adore.
The Chocolate Baker is a lady of stature so grand,
She bakes the best cookies and cakes over the lands.
Other bakers dishes are tasteless and utterly bland,
Sensationally goodness are the works from her hands.
Miraculous wonders from her oven every day appear,
Close to my palate her talents have become very dear.
Cakes, brownies, fudge, puddings and chocolate pies,
Scrumptious delectable aromas bring tears to my eyes.
As Chocolate is a part of my menu almost every day,
Living near the bakery would be a wise choice I’d say.
So a house I found with a little effort and a bit of labor,
Now the Chocolate Baker, a grand lady is my neighbor.
Author Eileen Clark
Related Poems