Best Baptiste Poems
Six forty eight,
sitting in a cab at Madison and LaSalle.
Present in hand, Spongebob encased.
A look at the schedule just to confirm
the train leaves at seven PM.
There’s shade in this canyon
but its still hot as hell.
Smog laden air buzzes over the street.
A man from IT or Accounts Receivable
walks with purpose holding his suit jacket.
The jacket screams that this man cares no more.
We roll along then come to a stop.
Gridlock.
Wide traffic cop
shakes her head and talks to a friend.
I let out a heavy sigh.
The yellow eyes of my driver
flash back at me in the rearview mirror.
His eyes stand out against his blue-black skin
and chiseled cheek bones.
A siren whines, drawing near.
The Doppler effect
smashes the sound waves pitching higher
against the rear windows of the sitting cars.
Jean Baptiste, as the license says,
looks around and now
lets out his own audible sigh.
A droplet of sweat rolls down his temple.
Airhorns blow again and again.
Our cab nudges forward
pinning the heat of the engine
against the exhaust exiting
the Crown Vic sitting in front.
A bike messenger weaves on through.
The ambulance grunts pesteringly.
A piece of crap Dodge starts to steam.
The meter silently ka’chings.
A yard of space enters Jean’s view.
Its now seven ‘O’ two.
Jean Baptiste Greuze truth to tell
his art stories are still known well
The French revolution was his downfall
dying in poverty his final call
For being incorrect and insane,
Your ideas are shared commonly.
Perhaps you should have stuck with
Invertebrates and botany…
Despite common belief, you argued
That life was not fixed,
And that through observation of generations
They could see this.
Darwin had a great basis,
Thanks to you:
When an environment changes,
Organisms change, too.
But thoughts and theories once held true
Are often proven incorrect.
A giraffe cannot make its offspring taller
Just by straining its neck.
Something that once was widely liked
Is now seen as insanity.
Perhaps the search for definitive answers
Is really only vanity?
(none fiction)
My name is Nagella Jean-Baptiste
I am from the Caribbean far away
Oh yes! of course I am legal resident in America.
I did not come in the USA illegally.
My childhood was not perfect, but it was fun and funny as can be.
I am close to a midget for I am 4 Feet.
My dad gave me my birth name.So yes it is precious to me.
My mother is there but harderly,people say I look like her, I believe them for l met her.
My older sister, well! she's just being a sister what can I say.
Am I married? No.for I never had my first communion.
But when or if I decide to get married. I know the person I am meant to be with I will do it just for him. Marriage will be well.when I turn 70.
Right now all this don't matter. For what's more important is my son I love so dearly. Bless it be.
Baptiste is not coming back
He is gone for good
ICE was always on his track
He did all he could
Baptiste mother cries, he's gone
They took him from the early dawn
His gone for good
He did all he could
He worked, he made no troible, went
To church and both tithe and rent
Baptiste is not coming back
Easy to find because he was black
Bought that house in a white place
O Baptiste was an honor to his race.
Woke up (September 6th, 2020)...
Got outta bed boot
did not drag comb against head
of beetle browed foo fighter,
he did not arise
bright eyed (by George), nor bushy tailed
to bucket flush toilet.
After attending her asinine
morning toiletries, the missus
lovingly nudged me awake
quickly urging me to betake
sleepyhead husband pronto to bathroom,
(no matter I got bowled over from behind plus
additionally getting flush while hurriedly
caught up with current movement),
nevertheless despite being anointed
de facto proxy plumber,
crowned emergency attendant
incorporating obligatory undertones
yours truly summoned
one man bucket brigade
to block and tackle
messy task at hand,
cuz jack (ass) of all trades
and master of none
immediately got jibberjobber
self into action.
Accessible bathtub and shower linkedin
as washing facilities,
hence after pouring voluminous hot water
into maw majesty,
viz Ms porcelain goddess,
she gurgled and gushed with delight,
thus avoiding the need
to call maintenance man,
whose availability of sundays
(September 6th, 2020
no exception to rule)
more difficult than
finding needle in haystack.
Once morning dirty deed
done dirt cheap duty completely done,
cuz sudden necessity to evacuate arose,
strong bodily need,
to excrete I could not ignore, but only heed
lest aging garden variety
long haired pencil neck geek,
would figuratively experience
a posteriori his bottom dropping out
subsequently with dog speed
donned in Scottish tartan
and Harris tweed
pink frilly ("I hate boys")
nonetheless monogrammed underwear
adorned with precious venerable bead
hmm... methinks hyperbole
token heterosexual doth exceed.
Ass side resorting to poetic dramatization, eh
generic guy relishes word play touché
so please pardon me this literary antic okay
a non believer regarding conformity
also atheist, which confession he will pray
fly high wherein realm harboring soul of
Antoine Marie Jean-Baptiste Roger,
comte de Saint-Exupéry.
~~~T H E I N T R E P I D P E G A S U S~~~
Star angels, dance within the quartered, light,
Of lunars rise, the age of Virgos' flight,
Sense its need for virtuous surrender,
And abandon Dragon's breathing thunder,
Phasing anew splits the night horizon,
For the course exposed to half, has brightened,
Some dynamic tempo, magically,
Whereto, the expanse defies gravity,
Ventures beyond dusk and stretches for dawn,
Greets the vested midst the foes, thereupon,
Enters Pegasus who stomps and stresses,
North Star alights as hooved clouds releases,
Whilst spread wings flick and cast flight, Pegasus,
Then heralds the advent of Genesis.
Date: 08/30/2019
howmanysyllables
14 x a perfect 10
***The entitled suggested background music to read to...
I bathed, one day, in the Dead Sea,
My belly floated like a piece of wood
The water was so salty, it stung the skin
It was necessary to go out and take a good shower,
I have not known Jesus, me, nor Jean Baptiste,
I have not known Simon, nor the small fishermen,
I have not been a saint, nor seen silver nets,
I have let the sun do its work of sun,
I bathed, one day, on the Dead Sea,
Between Syria and Palestine, looking at Israel pure,
My belly floated like a piece of wood
The fame of the place, has enlightened my soul.
Je me suis baigné, un jour, dans la Mer Morte,
Mon ventre flottait comme un bout de bois,
L’eau était si salée, qu’elle piquait la peau
Il fallut en sortant prendre une bonne douche,
Je n’ai pas Connu Jésus, moi, ni Jean Baptiste,
Je n’ai pas connu Simon, ni les petits pêcheurs,
Je n’ai pas vu de saint, ni de filets d’argent,
J’ai laissé le soleil faire son œuvre de soleil,
Je me suis baigné, un jour, sur la Mer Morte,
Entre Syrie et Palestine, regardant Israël la pure,
Mon ventre flottait comme un bout de bois,
La renommée de l’endroit, a éclairé mon âme.