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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
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not in the cathedral's vaulted hush
where incense coils like pious thought,
nor in the scripted words that crush
the small wild hope the heart has brought.
grace lives where broken things begin
to mend the world from deep within.
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
TEARS
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like the morning mist
they vanish, leaving behind
a sense of peace born
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
THE FLOWERS WILL GROW AGAIN
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quietly the daffodils wait,
a hushed congregation,
their voices silent beneath the earth.
I stand on the frozen ground, shimmering,
my breath caught in the throat of winter,
watching the skeletal trees claw at a gray sky.
I walk through the barren garden,
winter’s grey skies weeping a soft lament,
and wonder, “Does spring remember us?”
from my frost-covered window I wait,
my heart softening with hope
as the sun slowly, steadily returns.
then, I hear a slight tremor,
see a green spear piercing the earth's crust~
a defiant flag in the face of winter’s retreat.
I step outside, kneeling in the damp earth,
ears to the ground, listening intensely,
hoping I’ll hear them.
then, the trumpets silently call,
a sound unheard by most,
resonates in my winter-weary soul.
overnight the daffodils emerge,
spring’s sunlight and hope,
captured in fragile yellow cups.
they herald a simple yet profound truth,
one I almost forgot,
“the flowers, like hope, will grow again.”
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
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Maple leaves descend—
Which path? asks the squirrel, tail
twitching like compass
needles. Beneath damp oak roots:
a thousand acorns plotting
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
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More than a poet recording words,
not just rhymes on a page,
nor another verse in the wall of poetry.
We are the demolition crew,
swinging wrecking balls at the mundane,
the expected, the politely applauded.
We are the seekers of nirvana,
not in lotus poses and silent chants,
but in the scream of a dying star,
the whisper of wind through shattered glass.
Decay?
We embrace it.
The rot is fertilizer,
the rust, a pigment for our palette.
Society's leftovers,
the discarded dreams, the broken promises,
these are our archaeological digs.
We are miners sifting through the dust,
separating the divine's sparkle
from the fool's gold of false idols.
The pabulum fed to weary hearts?
We spit it out.
We are alchemists of absence,
builders of cathedrals from ash,
architects of soaring meditations,
born from the embers of what was.
We are more than penmen and penwomen.
we are purveyors of truth.
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
moon sips from the lake
trees trade shadows with the stars
something wakes below
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2026
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
Gus the parrot blasted into the treetops
like a feathered firecracker
with zero impulse control,
one eyebrow-feather lifted
with a you-have-got-to-be-kidding attitude.
He clicked his beak in judgment,
ruffled plumage with a flair,
then leaned in like a critic
who’s unimpressed with the air.
A twig snapped.
“!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
A cloud moved.
“!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
His eyes bulged, his crest shot up,
his whole body vibrating
like a tiny, outraged disco ball.
No one knew what he was reacting to.
Possibly nothing.
Possibly everything.
But there he was~
a neon blur of disbelief
shouting “!Dios mio… SAY WHAT?!”
at the entire universe.
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2026
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
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Would like to come face to face with Gordon Ramsey.
Being on his reality cooking show quite suits my fancy.
Would like to create poetry soup worthy of his exaltation,
One that would make my soup a meaningful sensation.
What ingredients do I use,
Ones that would favor my persnickety muse?
The answer is simple you’ll quickly see.
Follow my advice, and the ‘bees knees’ you’re sure to be.
Start with a base of words so sweet,
Carefully chosen to make your poem complete.
Stir in a medley of metaphors,
While snacking on some petit fours.
Add a dash of delightful imagery
As you drink some wine from the local distillery.
Throw in a pinch of personification.
Stir and simmer and wait for aromatic conflation.
Spoon in syntactic seasoning for extra zing.
Remember to double check your apron string.
Toss in just the right amount of thyme.
Mince up some cadence and rhyme.
Throw in just a smidgen of wit.
Too much can be a distraction, I must admit.
Slowly sauté a couple of similes.
Doing so creates entrancing epiphanies.
‘Tis easy cooking up poetry—it’s like flicking your wrist.
Let the ingredients simmer while waiting to submit.
When it's time to serve,
Pour out your poetry soup with verve.
A steaming bowl, a feast for the mind.
You’ll nourish souls, one poem at a time.
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2026
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
STRANGERS IN THE NIGHT
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two strangers in the night met
no names were exchanged
no histories were unveiled,
only shared glances
wind sighed through gaunt tree branches
in each other’s eyes
a shared moment, communion
of sacred journeys
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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Sara Etgen-Baker Poem
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cold silver disc
above stripped maple limbs—
night’s sharp exhale.
foxes trace frost
through brittle husks of corn.
field mice freeze.
your light bleaches
every hollow, spills
across stone.
no warmth left here,
just the owl’s call
and wind’s teeth.
harvest done.
earth sleeps hard
beneath you.
Copyright © sara Etgen-Baker | Year Posted 2025
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