“We are the sun,” you said,
that his light arose with us
playing on rainbows,
his myriad smiles the spangled waves.
In those days thoughts were endless,
vibrant pages which turned by themselves.
There were no limits to how far we’d run
or dream out onto the sea,
our hearts living free in a peerless sky.
But thoughts like books do have an end
and I have died a billion times,
holding on to every word you said,
like a child might ask a question
between the pages of his lives
poem and image © copyright Francis Barker 2012 & 2020
It was really happening here
back in the sixties,
before it all turned sour
and the seventies made cynics of us all.
Back then you couldn’t move;
gangs on scooters and motor bikes,
the Mods and the Rockers,
had set the scene before us.
Then Year One came along, or so we thought;
the Summer of Love opened our eyes,
blew our minds, until we realised
that we too had been wrong.
It’s kind of quiet now,
the sea has reclaimed the place for itself,
like it always will,
as we shuffle off one by one
to some other place
beyond that wide horizon
copyright Francis Barker 2020