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!
I stood alone
with you,
like it was the end of our world, an
eerie glowing sky reflecting my heart, with
the solstice on its way. You
turned to look at me, that smile
I knew so well, your gracious nod
I’d never seen in real life. My hand
went through you – you were not
there anymore, just an echo like the
sonorous bells over pantiles, made
uniform by the morning rime. You said
I looked ‘frit!’ in the dialect
brought across to your city,
the voice of your
distinction. ‘Your life is not
your own,’ you said, ‘even the sun
never stands still, only seems to.’
So you told me not to worry, not
even care, to let it all go
now, that it’s better to die trying
than do nothing,
a short life
with meaning and all its
tortuous crosses borne, can become
a pilot light of inspiration. You
walked towards the sea, smiling
once more and unafraid, before vanishing
out of time into the
low glinting sun, a promise
of far off warmth
and the revelation to come
image and poem © copyright Dave Barker 2012
At what point do you realise you’re
not alive? I’ve watched
pedestrian slow to
moribund, the colour
drain away like a leaching wound. Life
without verve is no life at all
and my verve shot away years ago. He left
on this tangental course, a maverick
fired like some devil who may care. Oh,
he’s fine by the way and living it up
in a lush valley somewhere, high
on peyote and painting the tall
arid peaks where
the air is clear and the milky way
whispers sweet nothings
in his ear, the shining girl who
once curved my night sky
poem © copyright Dave Barker 2012
The sun only slowly burns off the morning fog;
a mind is clearing.
I’ve been cursing the cold and remind
myself of the time of year.
‘Literacy has stalled’. The radio spits out
this throw-away phrase.
It gets stuck in my craw, as if
this country hadn’t already been thrown
to the dogs, its mangled corpse
not tossed around for years, plaything
of the Whitehall hounds
and their circling vultures, both
rather good at feigning that they care.
‘Literacy has stalled’. As if it ever really
got going, it’s been a hidden truth
for decades; those miraculous exam
successes where league table is king. Never
common sense, not discipline and
certainly never values. And here’s
carte blanche to dress it all up; new curriculums
and shining academies: Zero times zero
equals zero.
Literacy has stalled: so tell me something
new! Nearly everything learned I’ve taught
myself, it’s a case of needing to but
I’ve yet to train my eye to spot who’s
behind the tail that wags the
elephant in the room
poem © copyright Dave Barker 2012
Ciscography 