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!
How far could we have pushed it? How far did we
dare? The cold didn’t
hit us so much then and our bones weren’t
the barometers they are now – not
so plainly breaking
down. And time, he was our slow
playground friend casting his long spell,
fooling us to think that
what we had was real.
But a new chord
could send our minds off in tangents to those
places of colour, much better imagined
than experienced. Two guitars, two
minds playing like John
and Paul, though minus their gifts, their
backgrounds; all still ideas
in the ether surrounding, mingling even with
Alexander’s breath, the vapours of many
great men – and
where are they? Great only
in books, and how much
lesser are we?
© poem and image copyright Dave Barker 2012
You cut the harmonium strings
and I’ll tie them up each time,
pedals getting higher and higher
till almost vertical, unplayable.
And for what?
Does it spoil your peace?
Do my attempts at sounds,
at music, offend you so?
This family doesn’t do talent, I know.
There is only work.
But you needn’t have worried:
When I came down today
there was this space, gaping,
and through the kitchen window
I saw the fire in the yard,
the contented man, smoking
© copyright df barker 2012