soft indignation
flat third of a minor chord
world’s light in a cell
© copyright dfbarker 2012
*image based on a watercolour original, part of a reconstruction of a Benedictine Priory. This image is not necessarily to hint at the meaning of the haiku, although it could be one interpretation.
Date
One day there you were,
a diamond in my mind’s eye;
the little lady with strong dark eyes,
such verve, obligatory husky voice.
I’d rehearsed all my moves – you know,
the walk, the talk,
washed my hair especially,
three year old conditioner and all.
I knew I had to be special,
for you,
to be that all-singing male mix
of strength, humour and vulnerability
(frankly, nigh on impossible
unless your name is Depp).
Little wonder then I’d always disappoint,
fall flat, look a fool,
but tonight I didn’t –
because you didn’t turn up! –
unless you were that sexy bass player,
the little lady winking at me
with those dark gleaming eyes?
© copyright dfbarker 2012
*This is almost totally a product of the imagination!
Any events which might have inspired this occurred many years ago.
**The image is a digital creation
Anonymous Lines
Downstairs any morning;
sunlight and smoke
in slow swirling clouds.
The cat wanders in,
cries and wanders out,
flopping down the step
toward shrill sparrow sounds.
An open passage door
through which I follow
into a past, or no time at all.
Gooseberries hairy in the mouth,
that sour shock at the crunch.
Raspberries sweet on the tongue;
peas plucked from the pod,
sitting between rows of green.
His shadow blots out the sun,
a tall silhouette, cap pushed back
as a match is struck.
I follow to runner beans
and strawberry rows,
where the cat rolls over and over.
He is distant now, never hurried,
where it all opens up,
when I cling to his leg
looking down on the dyke
where the moorhen struts.
Out onto prairie fields,
anonymous lines of roads
and pylons. A relentless horizon.
© copyright dfbarker 2012
*first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available for purchase at: http://liten.be//gHmf9
In this poem, I was trying to convey some of my childhood impressions of summer, my father, and his little piece of land in which he grew all our vegetables. The painting is a slightly digitally enhanced version of an original, showing a typical (although romanticised) summer scene in my neck of the woods – although there are very few woods!
Crabbing
You’d think the crabs would learn,
like the canny herring gull does,
buzzing anyone suspected
of bearing food
Generations have stood, sat,
squatted on this spot
overlooking the wide harbour,
an untamed marsh,
engaged by the melding
of land, sea and air,
dangling bait tied to sodden strings.
It’s easy meat for crab and kid alike,
a great treat to see
their briny sojourns in buckets,
arrayed like lines of medals on concrete.
Soon we’ll let them go,
watch each one plop into the murk.
We’ll be back to coax another day,
warmed by the thought of them
in cold dark depths,
waiting for next time
© copyright dfbarker 2012
At Cromer
When I look down toward the beach,
the distant pier seems to stride
forward from the shining sea.
I like to look beyond,
to the bands of turquoise and blue,
an ocean painted in bold,
abandoned strokes.
Why are we drawn to the waves?
Those elemental rhythms,
sounds and colours
of a primary world,
where sparse pointillist spots
busy themselves on
yellow-ochre sands.
Some days the morning
unfolds through mists,
groynes spacing out
the distances along the strand,
until a final fade-out,
well before the sea
can meet the sky.
Overhead, pterodactyl shapes
patrol against fresh patches
of blue. As I approach,
the blurred semblances
of buildings appear, rectangles
feathered violet or grey,
as if stepping off the cliff.
© copyright df barker 2011, first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available for purchase here: http://liten.be//gHmf9
*Painting from an original, digitally enhanced.
Ciscography 