Hope arrives at January’s
close, whether in presages
of spring or several feet of
snow. Right now with snowdrops
peeping, the increasing length
of day, it’s all palpable
at last. Then you call me your
rock – I’m very far from being that,
a mere
step, a name on some
useless bifurcation. Outside
it is twelve degrees; bring on
the west wind and
hope of spring
© copyright David F. Barker 2013
Somebody stopped me
in the Canterbury street, like a hand
on my arm which took me
by surprise. Two dark eyes full of
verve, like air fanning fire, arresting
me with their stare,
a challenge written with an effulgent
quill; in my mind I saw it tripping
over pages with invention
in sweet candlelight.
So many years before, a Kentish king
knelt before the altar in solemn
genuflection, and now
you, your head brimming with catechism
and heady charm, speaking out like
Machiavelli, Paul becoming
Saul to declare another truth
in your eyes, in mottos and tatty trinkets
of shop windows, which only repeat
your daring pose in ignorance
poem © copyright David F. Barker 2013
There is no crisis
that’s never been made, no war
we’ve ever had to join. Why
don’t you stop! – look
at what you’re doing? Don’t
accept it,
turn off the TV and ignore
the paper headlines stacked
in front of you, they lead you into their
traps,
their pigeon-holes.
What are you? Can a jackass
stare back from the mirror? Even
gods call you sheep, creatures who
need to be brought in – whoever said
this
should be so? The more I say no, each
time you refuse to
toe the line, so much sooner
you and I become us
and then we
© copyright David F. Barker 2013
I am not a pacifist, but most conflict is avoidable.
Soon after he arrived I gave him
some food. Half way through
his ham and eggs he raised a fork,
pointing it at me as if he had
a thought:
“The universe is where you are, not
somewhere else. Belief is the key,
not truth. Truth is relative,
subjective,
so don’t look for it.
Believe
in what’s important
to you
and go all out. Then keep it
to yourself.”
© copyright David F. Barker
In a diamond city night we’re
taxied through floodlit streets
angled snow alabasters old facades
medieval histories beyond all guessing
Flanders is frozen outside this misted glass
the two of us sitting nose to nose
our tongues loosening aperitif smiles
white burgundy cutting through brie
making heads light and cheeks flush
and toe touch toe
Our eyes meet when bare soul strokes calf
kissing slim fingers one by one
plied each day to taut cello strings
sneak previews to plots and suites of night
image and poem © copyright David F. Barker
* sorry, but this is an oldie!
Ciscography 