galactic crosshairs
fire in a frigid hole
no sure repentance
©copyright dfbarker 2011
*first of a few of these, I may stray from the ‘accepted’.
Tag: poetry
Poem ‘At Cromer’
At Cromer
When I look down toward the beach,
the distant pier seems to stride
forward from the shining sea.
I like to look beyond,
to the bands of turquoise and blue,
an ocean painted in bold,
abandoned strokes.
Why are we drawn to the waves?
Those elemental rhythms,
sounds and colours
of a primary world,
where sparse pointillist spots
busy themselves on
yellow-ochre sands.
Some days the morning
unfolds through mists,
groynes spacing out
the distances along the strand,
until a final fade-out,
well before the sea
can meet the sky.
Overhead, pterodactyl shapes
patrol against fresh patches
of blue. As I approach,
the blurred semblances
of buildings appear, rectangles
feathered violet or grey,
as if stepping off the cliff.
© copyright df barker 2011, first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available for purchase here: http://liten.be//gHmf9
*Painting from an original, digitally enhanced.
Poem ‘Bistro (when in Paris)’
Bistro (when in Paris)
what a surprise
to see our bistro still here,
so missable tucked away
between jewellers
and quirky galleries
‘au clair de la lune’
is so laid back,
subdued
in gratifying veils of gitanes,
softened
by potent aromas of pastis,
sensual
like biting through rarest
tender veal
if I may ask right now
(gently plying you with Chablis),
if Montmartre were a woman
who could she be
if not you?
© copyright dfbarker 2011
*image is a digital creation.
**I am a vegetarian now, yet you never forget the taste of…
Poem ‘Still’
Still
We awake to whiteness,
standing still to take it in,
like nothing will ever move again.
A few footprints in the snow,
silent records of an earlier day.
You say this is how it should be,
our minds lost in books, our dreams,
stretching out in listless days
and long nights. I yawn down
the stairs to click on the kettle,
soothed before a misting window
by the straight-falling flakes.
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
First published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’ available at:
*If you are having a Christmas break, have a peaceful one
** Many thanks to all of those who have read or commented on this blog. I am very grateful.
Poem ‘Woman from the West’
Woman from the West
You’d awoken me with tea in the spare bed,
where my feet hung out the end.
At breakfast we heard about the pier,
smashed by the savage storm, the worst for years.
It was early December with heavy skies threatening,
so we wrapped up warm to take some air,
scarves blowing, my arm around your waist
feeling your locomotion, the buttock’s rise and fall
with that playful goose-step, your natural stride.
Through the lichgate, we passed graves old and
one very new. We stopped by wreaths, with thoughts
for a boy of no age. Found him in a ditch, you said,
in blasé exaggeration. No Christmas this year.
Not for them, but did it bother us?
Your life lay ahead, sampling life in London,
as lethal as the sea stallions pummelling that pier.
Now my eyes were open. That walk wasn’t playful
but callous, and the tea seemed like a gesture.
So when we left the wreaths, I felt changed.
Wreaths for that poor boy and for us.
Not for love.
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
* First published in 2011 in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’.
** The illustrations are from a 1990s drawing of a Lincolnshire Church, and a more recent painting of a couple on Cromer beach in North Norfolk, England. CLICK ON AN IMAGE TO SEE BIGGER SIZE!
Ciscography 