What Goes Around
At last I can leave
the window ajar
to sense those languid
sounds of the street
like life itself returning
from some distant place
a world woken up
by a warm gentle kiss
Promise too in the bee’s
tender tap on my window
busy on beatnik rounds –
I am wishing him luck
on a maverick wind
in the cool melodious rain
poem and image © copyright David Francis Barker 2011
*First published in Shot Glass Journal in 2011
Safe Distance
Another old soldier who never speaks.
Sitting stiffly in braces and polished leather,
his medals left in bric-a-brac drawers
with sovereigns and half crowns,
concealing the nugget –
the tale worth telling from this safe distance.
A story of a corporal who carried
a limp subaltern from no man’s land
to safety through a Belgian quagmire.
Lieutenant Turnbull was a right bastard,
but no point in resentment or fear
when a bullet could tear through your head
at any time. Simply had to do it and get on.
His blank eyes, though still blue,
cannot disguise the bare brown soul,
like the pounded landscape, the kit bag
he carries around everywhere.
Until the lights go out.
© copyright df barker 2012
First published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available at amazon.com
The Poppy Murders
They have gone,
all the poppies. Gone.
Please, don’t look at me like that,
it was none of my doing and
besides, there’s too many seeds.
You would have to sift the soil
to find them all, believe me,
and you know I’m not that patient.
It’s not that I hate them, who would?
So delicate and bright,
like bloodied tissue, though
they did rather crowd the lavender
last year you must admit,
sort of snuffed it out if I recall.
In the end, with a heavy heart
I had to dig it out, remember?
So, yes, maybe I did strip them back,
(just a touch, with a scythe),
merely to protect, you understand,
that last remaining lavender bush.
And after all, we should be satisfied
that the poppy grows wild
almost anywhere. Except here.
Not anymore.
image and poem © copyright dfbarker 2012
**poem first published in poetry collection ‘Anonymous Lines’, available at amazon.com
* image is sketch in oil
*it’s so cold here I needed something to remind me of heat!
Crabbing
You’d think the crabs would learn,
like the canny herring gull does,
buzzing anyone suspected
of bearing food
Generations have stood, sat,
squatted on this spot
overlooking the wide harbour,
an untamed marsh,
engaged by the melding
of land, sea and air,
dangling bait tied to sodden strings.
It’s easy meat for crab and kid alike,
a great treat to see
their briny sojourns in buckets,
arrayed like lines of medals on concrete.
Soon we’ll let them go,
watch each one plop into the murk.
We’ll be back to coax another day,
warmed by the thought of them
in cold dark depths,
waiting for next time
© copyright dfbarker 2012
Ciscography 