Wandering deserts
No one misses mesa stumps
Truth like lightening bolts
Copyright Francis 2022
Haiku: Stumps
Tag: mesa
Poetry: ‘King Hobo’
Narcissus can’t hold a candle
to me,
at once both King of Colorado —
entitled hobo of Nowhere.
Look there! That’s my face in the sky,
cacti and mesas my sole friends,
watching while I sift through the shards
of cultures few suspect.
Though none believe me now, riches
and the future are mine;
these silent silver craft
haunting me,
they’ll be all around you soon —
I am digging their past.
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
Me? In A Red Corvette?
Our loft, apart from being a mess, can sometimes turn out to be a proverbial treasure trove. Well, not exactly!
We all love to look and dream about red sports cars, especially an iconic red Corvette, naturally, don’t we?
I look at this red Corvette most days, pick it up and look at the lines, imagining I’m somewhere in the Mid West cruising along Route 66, or some long open highway with only mesas, inselbergs and the odd raptor for company, the shapes of distant mountains blue in the background.
One day our dreams may become come to fruition.
Copyright Francis Barker 2020
Poem: Red Dress (Distant Thunder)
Got me in a fix again, I see
a white rider in the sky.
Mesa mountain and inselberg draw me
where no avatar can lie.
I got a seat on a wagon train for free,
hazel eyes stare back in fright.
Overhead the milky way guides me,
sacred spirit of the night.
By the dirt house, all in patient pose;
a prairie wind blows her dress.
Devil sun and skull of buffalo,
red is grey where none confess.
Harvest in, piece of grass in my lips,
shadow birds cross amber sky.
She’s here – drops the dress to her hips –
the nest of red where we’ll lie
copyright Francis Barker 2019
Poem ‘A Time of Dreams’
A Time of Dreams
I found myself in a country
of huge living skies,
speaking your dreams
of earth, the great teacher.
I was standing by a mesa,
felt its warmth against my skin,
fingers spanning epochs
flattened into inches,
whispering mantras
and prayers in your name,
not in memory
but for your continuing
presence of love.
I spoke to you,
my spine square to red earth;
you were there in each rock,
the cactus, every molecule of air,
in the eagle’s eye lasering my soul.
When finally I awoke
it was another age, as if seconds
had stretched into centuries.
But you were there
and took my hand.
It was the most natural thing
poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
The Elloe Recorder 