Poem ‘Ways Out’

Ways Out

During those darker days
while Dad dug the earth,
I would stand with him
and dream of the sky,
that it might send an angel
in a shining silver disk
to whisk me away
to some fantastic world,
as far away as possible
from that featureless place

Once my dreams were done
each mournful Sunday night,
that was when I’d watch him
sitting hunched before
his old bespoke radios,
yellow fingers twisting knobs
while turning his ear
to strange sideband sounds,
smirking to Southern drawl charm
engaging cool Transvaal

I knew it was his way out,
released and briefly lost
among the wild waves,
bringing some colour to his world
before I’d hear the clock wind up,
the curtains being drawn

poem and image Β© copyright df barker 2012

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57 thoughts on “Poem ‘Ways Out’

  1. Hi David, this must be your best one so far, it is stunning, the nostalgia and sadness. I love the painting, the figure seems lifted from the background.

    Your father’s escape, you describe so well.
    Those wireless sounds, I remember them and the spooky voices, we got Russian, you could hear Transvaal… wow πŸ™‚

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  2. beautiful art that magickally seeps your thoughts into words
    this ….it is wonderful Dave!
    Take Care
    maryrose

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  3. very cool…could almost see him, sitting in front of that radio, turning knobs, lost in the wild waves…each of us needs a way out of daily routine..sometimes those escapes are far too short though..

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  4. Well, David, I tried to click like more than once and it unliked it (always wanted to try, though). I don’t know which I love most–the painting or the poem. Wish I had time to pull out my paints. Thanks for this one.

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  5. very cool….i had similar dreams of other worlds….your dad at the radio gave me two thoughts…one was listening to star wars on the radio as a kid because that fuelded those dreams…and my uncle having a ham radio that was most fascinating as well to hear him talk to others around the world…

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  6. Such desolation in our lives brings desire fir transcendence. I too understand the desire to be whisked away by flying saucers tomunseen places and other worlds. Your father’s radio listening on shortwave(?) is familiar, as well, that strange fascination with distant voices that Paranormal investigators say might even carry the voices of ghosts! Your piem is excellent in how it draws this picture of estrangment, despair, and desire for transcendence. The ending is somewhat sinister, evoking avsense of secrets untold.

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  7. What a mood you’ve set with this poem, David! And you’ve set it up masterfully with these first two lines:

    During those darker days
    while Dad dug the earth,

    which for me set the tone for the piece and the alliteration here also, with all of the ‘d’ sounds adds to that feeling of darkness. I do love when you pair your poems with your painting also, it adds another dimension to the work…this one is fantastic.

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  8. Ah yes, I’ve seen radios like these as a child at a friends house. We always hoped some outerspaceman would come on and talk to us. Sometimes another voice with another langauge would come on and we would get wide-eyed and hide. I luved your poem. You have great skill. A true poet.

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  9. Very nice. Such a great way to describe those special getaways one can seem to find, they are like different worlds. Thanks

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  10. I really enjoyed this (especially 1st stanza) and the radio connection to aliens…

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  11. Hey, I just wanted to Thank You for Following “The Dark Globe”… It’s June Follower Appreciation Month over there, you should Check it out

    DarkJade-

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  12. Emma, once again, thank you so much! I am getting a little behind in looking at other blogs at the moment but will try to catch up soon.

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  13. I am reminded of my great-grandfather who spent much of his youth and adult years in the coal mines of southern Indiana.He did develop and succumbed to Black Lung .The work was fraught with danger and total disregard for safety was the motto of the company.

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  14. Love this painting…the colors…the texture…the contrasts of the dark figure. And the poem seamlessly takes us from fantasy to reality…in its remembering. A beautiful post in all ways!

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