The other day I had cause
to open your wardrobe and shoes
fell out like maggots
from a corpse.
A pair for every day of the year
Try as I might
I couldn’t get them all back, for
I don’t have your gift
for packing or hoarding. So I
put some in my wardrobe
because I don’t buy any shoes.
poem and image ©copyright rp 2016
Summer doesn’t officially begin until June 1, or June 21 with the Summer Solstice, according to some.
But a few warm days in early May lulls you into that typical false sense of security, leaves you thinking summer may have come early.
Then, of course, the heavens opened and May returned to its usual, not entirely unexpected mixed bag of meteorological mayhem.
And that’s just it, the downpour reminded me of many previous Mays, and by all accounts the temperatures will be almost back down to single figures by the weekend. This is a normal May.
That’s why I said ‘Au Revoir’ at the start. So, like the French might optimistically put it, until we meet again, dear summer…
© copyright words and images rp
English crime fiction author, Milly Reynolds celebrates England’s national day, which, rather conveniently also happens to be Shakespeare’s birthday.
Milly’s books simply could not be more English!
So, to anyone who thinks about England, has English roots, or who would like to recognise the positive side of this small country, which has contributed so much to the world – have a great day!
© copyright David F. Barker 2013
(Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Don’t hold out a torch
for me, I am not free of blame. This
is the dance of life where all are
culpable, soon to be drowned in
washes, the mangling gears
of pain. But who knows, these maelstroms
might be wormholes, revealing other
worlds and tableaux of night; dressings
of props across cold stone walls, taken
and rebuilt from dishevelled remains.
And where bards once played on stages,
hidden behind arras stitchings
and nom de plumes, we are all still
mere punters in pits macabre, holding
torches for celebrity – look at them, drunk,
high up with their gods of gold
© poem copyright David F. Barker 2013
N60-90, E120-150 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
Strange to say, but as the snow
falls your nosebleed is like
a punctuation, something else
we can remark upon, something
other than this relentless cold,
our sparse Siberian spring. Harsh
economics brings with it
other extremes; people
who must choose between
eating or heating well into
April’s empty promises.
Some of them I know,
not the tragic ones who stare
at me from television screens,
directors tugging the stretched
strings of my heart. No – these
are stalwarts and forgotten
heroes, men and women
who have given their lives
once and don’t complain while
they slowly freeze or starve
in little houses, not so far
from me. Now they give up
on living so cold hearts
can balance their books.
But we fixed your nose, it was
easy in the end, though who
fixes this town and this world, is
© copyright David F. Barker 2013
She still puts on lipstick the same way,
calls it ‘lippy’ like it was a toy
One time she was his Venus
emerging fresh onto the shore of him
Now it’s Saturn who looks back
from the mirror
croaking lame words of age
poem © copyright David F. Barker 2013
English: Map of World Literacy by UNHD (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
The sun only slowly burns off the morning fog;
a mind is clearing.
I’ve been cursing the cold and remind
myself of the time of year.
‘Literacy has stalled’. The radio spits out
this throw-away phrase.
It gets stuck in my craw, as if
this country hadn’t already been thrown
to the dogs, its mangled corpse
not tossed around for years, plaything
of the Whitehall hounds
and their circling vultures, both
rather good at feigning that they care.
‘Literacy has stalled’. As if it ever really
got going, it’s been a hidden truth
for decades; those miraculous exam
successes where league table is king. Never
common sense, not discipline and
certainly never values. And here’s
carte blanche to dress it all up; new curriculums
and shining academies: Zero times zero
Literacy has stalled: so tell me something
new! Nearly everything learned I’ve taught
myself, it’s a case of needing to but
I’ve yet to train my eye to spot who’s
behind the tail that wags the
elephant in the room
poem © copyright Dave Barker 2012