Links To My Print Books On Amazon.Co.UK – Prices in £, $, €

My Print Books On Amazon.Co.UK

Prices in £  – The Lost Canadian, Vol.1   £9.21  – The Lost Canadian, Vol.2   £9.21 And Paroles   £8.44  – Celestial Migrations In The Empire   £8.44  – All These Being Hinterlands –   £8.44  – The Lost Neighbourhood –   £8.44  – Measuring Gravity By Grace –   £8.44  – Our Geographies –   £8.44  – The Transits Of Revelation –   £9.21  – Baker’s Bad Boys –   £6.91  – Tormenting The Monkey –   £8.44 & How It Gets That Way –   £6.91  – Fat Albert’s Outpatient Folk Clinic –   £8.44 Harold’s Adventures In The Real World –   £6.91  – The Mythologies Of Love –   £8.44  – Dark Earth –   £8.44  – The Eschatological Dog –   £8.44  – The Moon Worn Tides –   £8.44  – Soliloquies Of The Horizon –   £8.44 Riparian Fields –   £8.44  – Silence Louder Than A Train –   £8.44 Gods Of Apparent Decline –   £9.21

For all those who have expressed interest in buying my books: lower prices.

Books Priced in Canadian $ – Links

The US site for Amazon

For books on the Italian Amazon site:

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For books on the German Amazon site:

For the books on the Spanish site

(c)Dean J. Baker

me having a talk with those who don’t buy my books

#BOOKS #POETRY #ADVICE me having a talk with those who don’t buy my books —>

The Stupid

The Stupid are easily provoked into self-righteousness. It’s better than bells on cows or sheep.
They lemming walk through reaction on every stage in which they speak, forgetting to read or think.

Experts everywhere in everything, they delight Islamicists, The Russia, their fellow bullies all asleep. They become what they hate: feminists will replace the patriarchy in their adolescent glories, their whips velvet striped.

Critics, purveyors of what resembles literature, cultural dictators bleeding for a heel to kiss: oh please, accept these deranged philosophies as our bliss. We is individuals, you see.
Yas, we be inagaddadaviduals.

Abandoned by the absence of intellectuals, the learned stooges’ committee guaranteeing poo-etry as the real thing when it’s merely verbal graffiti resulting in declines of awareness, discipline, and cognizance as a resentful rebellion against the maroons in suits all anal-bound and Stalinesque. Silly kids, such Piggies all island bought.

We be not Elizabethan, dey says, denying Shakespeare. We be The New Grammarians, never so ironic as to believe if only the past is seen, the present obscene, then we makes new worlds. Oh Vladimir & Josef, dis is the jerkers’ paradise where everything is eliminated in an excremental void.

If you don’t believe, we kill you proudly. Look what you made us do.

The new chain gang, the sweet fizz of righteous lumbering towards Bethlehem: the sweet beast of mass-turbapurgatory fascism awakes.

Won’t you join our circle game: snake in the ass end of these reindeer games, satisfaction in these black holes of falling through into nothingmess.
Patient wheel-chaired in the hallway of the recuperation facility of history barely mouthing through drool and deranged simplicities, ‘Won’t somebody he’p me pleasssssssse, thrrrrrrrp.’

©Dean J. Baker Gods Of Apparent Decline  121 pages – <- not you by any means so do not buy, freeload these poems cause you knows too much

Turd Burglars

a rupi for your non-thoughts

If poetry, art and perspective,
was meant
was meant to be
sort, stunted, stutterings
to be taken
metawhorically by minds
unconcerned, dismissive of

what craft can bring
expressive of a mental decline
displaying high signs
pretentious to higher worth
of learning, fine tuning ability
of sight and sound
thus understanding

no difference would be
between the quibblers of
misdirection in language
literary traffic police
causing clash and crash
for cash

than those excremental
artistes scribbling visions
on shithouse walls
while believing those who read
those words of wit
rolled into little balls, resigned
should eat those little balls of shit

now designed

©Dean J. Baker

Past Boundaries

In the photograph several aunts, uncle,
fathers, mothers, children stand alive
where another world survives outside
the lines of old school lives, jobs and defiant
strife contained in concrete times, as if

Existence, a whippoorwill’s breath after
song, gone from accident, disease
and age, no homes left nor acquaintances
to bring together what’s unsaid in all
the silences where past the photograph

The music sings of an unknown chorus, and
foreign background minus noises amid
the swirl and fog of objects tossed throughout
inert gases and emptiness which abound
until we come to this and everything changes

©Dean J. Baker

feel free to share the link, and enjoy purchasing one of my books

pictured above: The Moon Worn Tides, Vol.1, The Prose Poems, , 120 pages, $13.99, ebook $7.99


Everyone wishes you would confess
to the crimes they know you’re guilty of
what they have said and done
when they believe no one was looking in

The torturers the tormentors keep wheels
in motion as their hope for discovery
for the potential good and evil to be
discovered somewhere else finally

Some place other than their neighborhood
some place different than what they call good
in some infinity where they make claims
only those resembling themselves once understood

Like in the long ago days when blood was
the currency of kings and slaves
when nothing was known but acknowledged
alone as you stood before the executioner’s blade

©Dean J. Baker

feel free to share the link, and enjoy purchasing one of my books

pictured above: All These Being Hinterlands, 84 pages, $11.99, ebook $5.99

Cut & Slice

Comfortless against the glare of day
besieged by twilight’s landscape, a
history of the black nights invisibility
no transparency remains unbroken on
which I am cut and sliced, minus love

Or flesh on which I dine absent appetite
amid signs of emptiness echoing

as if music was not made of such silences

©Dean J. Baker

feel free to share the link, and enjoy purchasing one of my books

pictured above: The Lost Neighborhood, 80 pages  “Required reading for anyone wanting to learn about wit, wordplay, and good, gritty writing in general. Dean Baker knows how to turn a phrase upside down and kick it full strength out the door. Five stars, and here’s to many more…”