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Marg   Not a Day of Silence Not a day of silence But a day of reverberating shouts Delivering that devil within Expelling that venomous air Exposing that poisonous containment Allowing the empowered self To override the inner silenced soul. Liberation, a thing of joy, Rides the released expulsions Far away from the now loudly Pulsating soul that God created. m.b. 5-2-87     Paul W. Baker 9.16.51 -1.30.86 My Son Away with a look beyond with a vision unseen with a thought unspoken. Now he lies on the brink of another world Yet he still lives in this physical body in this spiritual soul. 1.20.86 My Paul, My Son Your book of life on earth has closed. No more to add on the physical side. The body given on a loan reclaimed: A new beginning of life with God Book pages now filled with your new life Which will not be seen or read by me Until my body given on a loan God also claims. 7:56 p.m. 1.30.86 Transference Thought I had it under control Calm, cool but rushed; I dressed donning earrings, Quickly leaving the house. Taken with the moment, With your transference, My mind dwelt on The meaning of this day. Later, returning home, Calm, cool and unrushed I undressed removing, To my delight, unmatched earrings. No one had mentioned those to me When I did closely walk With Lorna or talk with others. Were you tickled with this incongruity? Were you laughing afterwards with me? The Names Project, displayed in the Phoenix Civic Plaza, April 17, 1988 A quilt honoring Paul when The Names Project was displayed in Washington, D.C.

Aspen Trail Aspen Trail Pine needles twitch; Some snap aside. Others slide suddenly, Taking the foot Along for the ride. Irregular rocks jut out; Some dot the trail. Others loom suddenly, Stopping the foot Aimed for the descent. One foot is heavier, Hikers decide, At end of day As another misses the mark Stubbing the toe. Cars sighted on nearby road Bring joy to weary bodies and feet; Bring sadness to lightened spirits and hearts: A memory now this hike, this day. An awesome litter of nature, Fallen pine needles, limbs, trunks, Dead trunks scampered over and under By live hikers, These not yet fallen Who must also one day be An awesome litter of nature. m.a.b. 1983

Indian Chief

pencil drawing