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Kim M. Baker

When she isn’t teaching the abundant virtues of the comma, writing about big hair and Elvis, and doing the Cha Cha, Kim Baker works to end violence against women.  She performs in the annual Until the Violence Stops Festival Providence. 

Kim's poems have been published online and in print.  Her most recent reasons to cha cha cha include an honorable mention in the Poetry Society of New Hampshire National Poetry Contest, This I Believe essay broadcast on NPR of Rhode Island, and first play stage-reading at the Culture*Park Play Marathon in New Bedford MA.

Her first book of poetry, Under the Influence: Musings about Poems and Paintings, was published Spring 2013 by Finishing Line Press.

2014 Update: Wednesday evening, April 23, 2014, Kim will read at the Bryant University Poetry Month celebration being held Bello Hall from 6:00-7:00pm.  She will be joined by OPP Poets, David Dragone, Eileen McCluskey, Ira Schaeffer and Lauri Burke.  Come join us.

 (Photo by Seth Jacobson)

Kim's Origami micro-chapbooks and selected poems are below.

 Origami Micro-chapbook

Selected Poem(s)

Beachy Sea Scenes



{mooblock=Dream of a Red Boat on a Winter Day}

It rests its hull on sea grass ecru,
a cardinal listing in crisps of crimson
on a beachfront wearing icy blue.
Majestic in its leaning, but lonesome,
keeling starboard as it waits for spring
to raise it up on southwest, fulsome
breezes billowing sails that sing
a rainbow of fantastic travel
I dream this schooner once unraveled
the ancient legend of Saint Luke
that Satan tempted Jesus at Ravello
with breathtaking Mediterranean views.
Then, that enchanted rig embraced
an unassailable journey to these muted hues,
uplifting me from my winter place,
a cinnabar savior with a conveyance grace.
to worlds beyond this dismal sting.
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Choreography of a Courtship and Marriage


Cover art, 'Lights on the Water,'
a fabric art painting by Kerstin Zettmar www.zettmar.com

{mooblock=Love at First Sight}

Inspired by 'Lights on the Water,'
a fabric art painting by Kerstin Zettmar

The riverwalk is pixilated
with people in waterfire reverie.
Yet in that madcap jostling
along the path to the fireworks,
our eyes meet, for just a moment.
Then, whoosh! We are swept along
in the sway and crush, rushed
to opposites sides of the bridge.
All through the night,
I think I see you, there,
near the vendor with his lemony ice,
no, there with the blue cotton candy man,
wait! there in the mauve of love
splayed insane across the water like petals,
exploding in fireworks of “find him!”
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Fun with Words


{mooblock=Iamb No More}

It was love at first poem.

You batted your sonnets at me.
I flirted my internal rhyme.

We exchanged the syntax of our stories,
narrating them with
alliteration, onomatopoeia, and conceit.
It was clear you were well versed.
I idyllized you and
longed to be a couplet.

But then, you suggested a caesura,
blamed my assonance, my fib, my free verse,
sending me into eternal elegy.

I dragged my feet for lines,
consonanced, totally

I showered you with limericks, ballads, and
Then, heard through the grapevine
you’d taken the last Quatrain to Clarkesville.

What was a broken-hearted blank verse to do?

I haikued it out of town myself.
And while getting tankaed at the local pub,
I could hardly refrain myself
as I watched you trope over,
wrap your figure around me,
and apostrophe my hyperbole.

And, as we lay together in personified bliss,
I tried to imitate your accent
and stuck my foot into my mouth,

Kim M. Baker © 2009


If I Could Be Baptised Again



{mooblock=Opening Lines}

If I could be baptized again,
I would first be immersed in fiery verse,
in poetic language of rebirth,
then doused with the ineffable affection
of God and my parents dripping
affirmations of the glory of my
one uniquely extraordinary self.
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Origami Poetry Poetry


 {mooblock=The Art of Poetry}

I reach for the volume
thin as forgiveness,
sniff its cover,
grab at the stanzas,
lick the lean words.
I am hungry for comfort.

But there is no salve here
in simply reading.
I must run my fingers along
the white marble of verse,
study the music the molded lyre makes,
melt into the Italian swirl.

Then, when I can see the apple
Venus held or the battle plans of David
or the bodhi of Buddha,
I know I am ready.
I know I must take a cool block
of language
and mold it into the shape
of beauty and grace
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Peek-A-Boo Spring



{mooblock=Evening Prayer}

By the fire we sit,
two old church ladies,
quiet inside the sanctuary of home
worshipping next to the exhale
of genteel geraniums,
faces pressed delicately against the window
counting the days until spring.

With knowing nods, we lift up the flames
licking the sides of two logs
stacked like hands praying,
each of us secretly offering the sacrifice
of ash and tongue
for just one more glorious evening,
silent, by the fire.
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Prayer of the Bent Over Woman


{mooblock=Opening Lines}

Banish the bent-over spirits,
the raging regrets, acoustics mute
to all but me, voices like paranoia,
cluttering my brain,
bending my spine.
Kim M. Baker © 2009


Stone Love Poem Collection


{mooblock=Mother Nature}

A hawk stalks
a stonewall.
Dinner is stacked up
there. Chipmunks
and snakes.
A mouse plays
dead but is only
stoned between
a rock and a moss
place. This quarry
covers for its
guests facing
predators. Face it:
Nature is a
Kim M. Baker © 2009



Unsent Letter To God



I cannot love everyone.
I cannot let the tsunami of each grief
tidal my tenuous time
in what you call paradise.
Christ! There are rivers of blood.
Did you really mean
to create aneurysms and cancer
and the useless premise
that you don’t give me
more than I can handle?
Kim M. Baker © 2009



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