Friend
you’re not restless
like me
my day must be filled
the thirst of my mind
quenched
set free
and you are the space
between
the silent moments
a day dream
my closet friend
always there
never seen
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
Friend
you’re not restless
like me
my day must be filled
the thirst of my mind
quenched
set free
and you are the space
between
the silent moments
a day dream
my closet friend
always there
never seen
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
Yggdrasil
When I see the ash I always pause
to admire its strong, primitive grace,
its carboniferous-like leaves,
those impressions I might find
in a piece of coal.
And when I stand underneath,
placing my palm on the grooved bark,
I think of Woden
who hung himself here in a tempest,
like a questioning proto-Christ,
intent on finding answers. The runes.
I rest my spine against the bole,
asking the energy to flow through
as I gaze up into the blue,
dappled through countless greens.
But I find no runes strewn hereabouts,
no answers at all,
merely a branch snapped off in a storm.
I will take it home to carve and to care,
before setting out once more
to taste this electric air.
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
Long Train
I’m going to catch that train,
so I can watch panoramas roll by,
their gently unfolding stories,
and pinch myself into believing
I’m seeing the Canadian Shield.
I’ll drink endless cups of coffee
while chatting with fellow travellers.
Perhaps make a friend or two,
and we’ll exchange stories about homelands
and climate change and places never seen,
maybe raise a glass of schnapps or single malt
to toast Ontario, just to ease it all along.
We’ll swap addresses and emails;
I’ll start a blog on my laptop
where I’ll write some pithy lines
with quotes from my friends,
to capture the spirit of Saskatchewan
and Alberta, while the people back home
simply won’t believe my progress.
I’ll produce a battered guitar
from my back pack and we’ll
write songs together about places we see
and sing familiar tunes like Yellow Submarine
to help pass the darker hours.
And when I finally see the Vancouver skyline,
I’ll look forward to the Pacific,
my first sight of the sea.
Or maybe I’ll just sit here in the warm,
and stir more sugar into my tea.
© copyright David Francis Barker 2011
Scorpio
Sex and death, death and sex:
is this all there is?
Is everything else in between
mere lies and nonsense
like a mountain of trash
to fill our emptiness
and to ease the unbearable agony
of being alone?
We are sickened by the truth
of our parents copulating,
the thought of their bodies, lifeless,
unable to help us anymore.
Either one is unpalatable, extreme,
staring at us twenty four seven
with laser beam eyes in the dark
waiting for psycho-babble to fade
and our heart to wail at the sight
of the scorpion’s tail
copyright David Barker 2009