‘Avenging Wind’ a Poem

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The wind strikes once more,
he’s tossing washing lines
and turning trees,
threatens to strip the ripe colour
which makes the season tolerable.
I wonder what’s made him so fierce:
He’s giving me glimpses of winter,
the lockdowns imposed,
when stepping outside
becomes a crime, where
the only feature will be the trash
blown starkly down our street

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

*We may have to find new ways to entertain ourselves this winter.

Poem: ‘Handbags’

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She breezes in
as if no crisis were enveloping.

I’m asked to comment
on the bright red handbag,

glitzy, chic — expensive,
as it’s thrust in my face.

I look at her clothes,
the mask which cost more

than dinner for two.
And then the eyes. What do I see?

Nothing but sadness, emptiness
behind those roundels of blue.

So of course, the handbag is fine,
and that’s what I say, though

it’s far more than I would pay.
Gratified, she scoots off

without once asking how I am

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

*Fine accessories…

“Oscillation” Poem Published in Visual Verse. — Lucy’s Works (Reblog)

the oscillation from Apollo’s lips bury me, this womb of glass seas, relief—a meronym of death’s faces the last dream…

“Oscillation” Poem Published in Visual Verse. — Lucy’s Works

The value of poetry is underrated in most cultures…

Poem: ‘Enough’

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Our contact is painful, sporadic,
remote, your response is typical,
and so predictable.
How can such a high IQ
produce an attitude like this?
“Wash your hands,” you’re told.
You ask “how many times?”
Now your silence says it all.
I have always washed my hands,
common sense suggests
such practices are sound, though
now especially when it comes to
you.

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

‘Old’ — A Poem

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They think I’m losing my mind,
that my time to live is almost done.

They say I’ve had my day,
that I don’t deserve what I’ve spent

my whole life saving up for,
these few short years which fly by

at an ever increasing speed,
toward some stark oblivion,

a fate which awaits even those
who would question my worth

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

*Our elderly population should be valued, treasured, not criticised simply for existing. Every life is precious.

Poem: ‘Delivery’

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You see the old lady over there?
The one in the blue mask
heading for the church.
She delivered me, though
no, she’s got no idea who I am.
I see her quite often
alone having coffee,
a bagel and jam.
Many times
I’ve thought of saying hi,
but what do I say?
“You may not know me
but you brought me into this world.”
So I guess I’ll leave her again,
to struggle with handbag and stick
towards her cleansing nave,
while I wrestle with my faith

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

an ordinary world — jdubqca (Reblog)

tanks rolling through town escorting a larger entourage little legs running right along keeping up with the pace robotic machines with long legs & long arms marching & singing ‘one two three four who are we fighting for’ everything’s been canceled the parade is all there is children singing ‘one two three four’ lighting snakes […]

an ordinary world — jdubqca

a very skilled assassin — Daydreaming as a profession (Reblog)

The way she’d creep up on you and just appear from behind like some cat, you’d think she was some trained assassin or something I felt her punch my shoulder and then her other hand falling on my nape and squeezing “Hey, lucky boy. You should be so damn glad you ran into me.” In the fist that hit my shoulder she held a bunch of crumpled bills and brought them before my eyes “What’s that?” I said “Our tickets to the bar down the street. And you’ve the honor to accompany me there. Drinks are on me today. But you do owe me, don’t think otherwise, okay?” “Where’d you get that money?” I asked. “Why’s it so dirty?” “I stole ’em from Ol’ Horn Nose while he was taking a shit.” “What?” Ol’ Horn Nose was the homeless guy who roamed around the block, usually begging in front of the supermarkets and pharmacies She brought the fist to her nose and smelled the bills and then shrugged “You can’t be serious,” I said. Of course I didn’t believe her but just then the old man rounds the corner and spots us and points his crooked finger at us and screams Immediately two cops round the corner and approach us with big strides but by the time they get to us there’s only me The assassin girl was gone I haven’t seen her since but she does cross my mind every now and then Especially when I pay with cash at the bar

a very skilled assassin — Daydreaming as a profession

Poetry deserves to be more supported.

*** To view more details of our work, click here.

Typing Out Poetry — (Reblog)

I recently read a book called, The Poetry of Strangers, it spoke about the slower process of typing out a poem, key stroke by key stroke. You can check out the book here The Poetry of Strangers Then I was gifted three manual typewriters, that came from an old house, and the tiniest house I’ve […]

Typing Out Poetry —

Poem: Pivoting

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We ran and ran
laughing headlong into the wind
which swept along the shore,
our arms held out like useless wings,
cheeks flushing with life and youth.

When we stopped
we could see where we’d been,
catching our breath
as the waves washed over our feet.
You held me and squeezed, your eyes
the colour of oceans
cool amid those blushing cheeks.

If moments are captured
and etched upon memory,
this was one such point in time
pivoting on eternity

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

Poem: Stop Being So Nice

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Kindly disposed
I blunder into scams and swindles.
Look, I wouldn’t wish to demonise wolves
for merely following their instinct to survive;
and I shall be a sheep no more.
Let’s say it how it is and I will respond in kind,
without kind words and flattery.
Put simply, I asked you to do something,
so would you be so kind as to complete it?

Copyright Francis Barker 2020