I believe you were calling me,
that young boy lying on his parents’ bed,
dreaming on clouds and patches of sky,
reading parables while others were out riding,
fishing or up to some other mischief.
I was alone, a misfit, a seeming solitaire
who was later gifted a wife and a son,
my greatest treasures. I hope that they,
through my eccentric faith
which has wandered far, will be
blessed too on that awesome day when
different clouds will descend from heaven’s blue.
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
Sitting on our hands
Waiting for the clouds to clear
How long must we wait?
copyright Francis Barker 2019
The window is
just enough to
let in some air, to
tantalise the cat
night’s soft invitation.
is burning, hangs
in the yielding light, though
seen those crimson clouds
to dusky pink
and then to grey.
It’s a flux which
Magic, you might say,
like being in space,
© copyright David F. Barker 2012