Face
The face of winter
hangs rigid like death
pinching my ears
stabbing at my nose
Plumes of steam
from concrete slits
blur hunchback figures
shuffling through
the matte scenes
in ashen white
I’m looking for heat
stamping
flicking ash
on lunar prints
sealed in fortnight ice
waiting for steel facades
and great sheens of glass
to emanate your face
from rippling sepia shapes
poem and image © copyright David Francis Barker 2012
image digitally created
Terrorform
From the first day let us start to terraform Mars,
make oceans from melting ice caps
and rivers run red through the rusty soil.
Day two let’s release plankton into the sea,
let out vast shoals of fish to feed on them
and steely predators to feast on the fish.
Day three we’ll throw spores into the sparse air
and watch the forests grow, the trees
stretch high up the slopes of Olympus Mons.
Day four let’s release mammals, birds
and other fauna into the forests and fields,
to watch them gorge on the goodness
of the land, enjoy the clarity of the sky.
Then on day five we’ll take ourselves
to the former red planet, to become
the feared Martians we thought were there.
Day six let us wage glorious, total war
among ourselves, make the rivers run red
in the name of the god who named this place.
And day seven let us rest, exhausted by labour
and lust, to examine our new abomination
from the safety of space’s vacuum,
in orbit with Phobos and Deimos
without fear or dread of another first day.
poem and image © copyright df barker 2012
*poem first published in collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available at amazon.
**image created digitally.
Cameo
The morning is like copper,
a veiled threat in the sky.
We find ourselves among
patches of green poking through
a dusting of snow, scents of
woodsmoke hanging in the air.
I watch your smile break as
a blackbird alights on a bare branch,
a morsel of bread in his beak.
I shiver, adjust my coat
to find the ruff strangely
around my neck. You turn
round to see what troubles me,
your dark mantle twirling behind,
the lightness of your collar setting off
that burning gleam in your eyes,
windows on some other world.
We saunter through a sleeping garden,
hints of the dead season clinging
to brittle bushes like a bitter denial.
Standing in front of me, your soft
words are scarcely understood,
yet inwardly known. Your laugh
sends out clouds which resolve
to a gentle cough, gloved fingers
touching your chest. Without a word,
I usher you inside towards the fire
which greets us with soothing heat.
We shall warm our toes together
in its fading glow
poem and image © copyright David Francis Barker 2012
The image is from a watercolour, completed several years ago.
English Blue
Walk with me
into the grey breaking dawn
where that sticking ridge of blue –
an English blue
rolls on into soft distances
and strange dancing names
Stand with me
by those set whispering stones
in a steadfast line –
a sore English line
of rasping pipes and howling socks
mouthing our memory
like a warning to tomorrow
a land forlorn to all but itself
Then help me to bury him
not on some crying strand –
in firm English land
where hallows’ calls are grounded
our grief laid open
in the whitening bones of heroes
on this high scoured hill
*First published in ‘Poetry 24’ June 23 2011 and in the collection ‘Anonymous Lines’ available at amazon.co.uk
poem and image © copyright dfbarker 2012
This was initially inspired by the summer solstice at Stonehenge, the large gatherings there.
Then I thought of all the other generations, what they thought of the standing stones, what they meant to them.
This is also a tribute to pre-Norman England, its freedoms that were lost, so almost takes the form of an elegy to a fallen Old English hero.
Ciscography 