Brief
Of the class of ’77
to my mind you were the best
Diamond moments
in empty halls,
instruments lying at your mercy,
each note, every chord
an affable smile
pavilioned in memory
How could you
be so brief,
this grief be so long?
image and poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
Think of me
please pay your respects
to the dust trodden into carpets,
ingrained in chairs
and in curtains,
all along these tired window ledges
Then will you write my name
on the dusty shelves
where my books used to lie?
For in truth
they were more surely me
image and poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
Abstract
Duty is an abstraction
reality something else
It requires open eyes
a vision without frontiers
a heart of kindness, acceptance
of nature’s prevalence
not some token paradise
where we are an aberration
*
20,000 cormorants are too many
‘they’re eating all the fish’
Seven billion humans
are sustainable, though
not everyone has enough food
poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
***image © copyright Neil Smith
The first warm wind of spring
whispered threats in his ear.
Not even blossom bedecking
knolls of the smoking temple
embraced by those steepening hills
could turn the colour of his mind.
“I can’t feel a part of this,” he said.
He watched her take a piece of bread
and a cloud passed before her eyes.
Neither his touch or choicest word
would have any effect
and no amount of wisdom exuding
from centuries of contemplation
could prevent him feeling alone.
Their minds would never mingle
like fresh sandalwood in mountain air.
All he saw was a set of blue irises,
statements of beauty
and perhaps an intent
poem © copyright df barker 2012
Underground
By night the town paints clandestine shapes,
broach spires pierce a black arras
and decorated naves of Barnack rag
drape like sepia backcloths for ghosts
and revellers who may pass unaware
on equal terms, merely inches
yet centuries above charcoal rivers
channelled underground,
flushing silently till the night
draws out heat
and chatter of day
Streets swarm with strangers now,
unspeaking shadows in recesses
cupping whispers of gamy tongues,
smoking pipes like brittle bones
with fresh memories of tides
and the deep keeled boats
dragged up onto gravel headlands
by gangs of gruff rovers
and rippling Thracian soldiers
from legions awake to chance,
their unwrested sin
poem and image © copyright dfbarker 2012
Ciscography 