restless art

art which is restless

Come to the Couch (Beyond Big Book)

Beyond this I hear the cry of cows, the smell
the feel of their skin moulding my awkward repose.
Beyond this my cup is only ever half empty
in a world where size is no issue.
Beyond this line of poplar (or is it pine) lie my
yesterdays, those cold meaningless tomorrows.
Beyond this I’m just swallowed by the book
my brittle immortal wishes dashed
by the absence of my name
on the crisp yellowing leaves. And
beyond all this my sojourn on rock seven is
edged by a forgetting black, plucked gently
by wall to wall pain.

© copyright David Barker 2014

Great photography by Joel Robinson

About these ads

Ordinary Thinking

Poised, Dorje smiled at her:

“Try to think of today as
a beginning, full of possibility.

Each day springs
afresh, like you, from
the uncreated centre, your only

And your shoelace
is undone”

copyright David Barker 2014



I took the train to Brighton, a poem
in the making, my clickety-clack ride
without hope or expectation,
wearing the loose pink jumper you knitted me -
how could I know how fitting it was.
O embarrassment! you still tail me
like a shadow today.

Sheffield was pointless, wasn’t it? Not
steel at all, a degree for me in the grim
North as likely as a bad mood in Paris. So
there I was, pavilioned, special
only in my own mind, a body
of art I was sure they’d understand, the astro
chart in acrylic.
On plastic.

It bombed.

Thirty six years are nothing. I listen to disco,
rave at punk, blush so easily
I want to hide,
subsume my self in primeval guilt, much
less a human being, still
less the man you denied me being

© David Barker 2014


Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 1,870 other followers

%d bloggers like this: