Where have all the sad songs
gone? When I was young I sang
the saddest songs; there was
a depth, a yin as well as
yang, like the love
of a minor chord, or a melancholy
walk by the sea –
and it was all so much bigger
than me. Something
tells me that I can’t be
ageing well, not when
all the songs sound the same,
where the tide never rises again
© copyright Dave Barker 2012
October comes and suddenly
there’s too much change.
Enough already with trees going bare,
without having to alter clocks
to appease the North
which might not even care.
While some see beauty in decay,
all I find is a reckoning, revenge
in Hallowe’en’s red-eyed stare,
where we fare no better than pigs
fattened and slaughtered,
sentenced for nothing
by callous clowns in wigs.
So I will kick through the leaves,
as is the custom
in my search for a soul,
or a silver-lining in death,
wrapped up like a sausage
against the first icy blast
which blows away all joy
and steals the breath.
© copyright David F. Barker 2012
*First published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, Night Publishing, available at amazon.
Sometimes I hate you, I must
avert my eyes.
Other times I love you
and I’m crazy, I can’t leave you
alone.
Mostly though I’m indifferent,
you’re something there out
of my window on any
random day,
like the sparrows who chat huddled
side by side
on their privet hedge.
But whether you’re friend, enemy
or mere acquaintance, you are all
outsiders—
intruders in this precious
secret space
poem © copyright David F. Barker 2012
The window is
ajar,
just enough to
let in some air, to
tantalise the cat
hooked by
night’s soft invitation.
Something outside
is burning, hangs
in the yielding light, though
I’ve never
seen those crimson clouds
phase
to dusky pink
and then to grey.
It’s a flux which
eludes me
every time.
Magic, you might say,
like being in space,
and now
© copyright David F. Barker 2012
There is no love on those horizon lines,
nor in the sight of ships
tacking their finite courses to
oblivion, spilling me
outside.
So who is it waiting
in the rain, feels its spots
cool on their skin, can smell
its sweet aroma
off the hard hot road, stretching away
around the lonely coast?
poem and picture © copyright David F. Barker 2012
Ciscography 