Window on The West

fenlandsunset

From here I’ve seen

thousands of suns,

the days end with copper glints 

through languorous trees. Summer’s 

apogee is seed of summer’s end, sure 

as swifts scream out the balm of night.

 

A fast-forward pipistrelle delays 

the drawing curtains, ever 

thankful for the light.

On the windowsill the sphinxing cat 

sleeps, pointing 

the way to live

Poem and picture ©copyright rp 2016

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Poem: ‘August in Yesteryear’

English: Summer field in Belgium (Hamois). The...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Summer was once ices poles and living
on bikes; we were free like swifts
screaming circles in the air. Greens
were for football and teams twenty a side,
roads for playing cricket, where cars
were stalling aberrations. We lay
on lawns watching clouds, minds unfettered
in those zenith blues; guilt
and care belonged to
some other world and school
might well have been
beyond the moon.

Only later came guitars with boys’ awakenings;
serenading neighbours
sunbathing in the yard, or the shock
of full moons rising late in the day. We really
thought we had credence, like southern
Skynyrd boys, singing in that
sultry heat with school coming at us
like banks of cloud, the football season
begun and cricket nearing its end,
watching shadows gathering
where the sun once shone

poem © copyright David F. Barker 2012

Poem ‘Days in Magic May’

Days in Magic May

And I opened the eyes
you’ve been opening ever since;

from the sweet wafts of mayflower,
whose banks of pure white

herald the long summer days,
to the sudden sight

of all manner of flies,
all busy living their fast fuse lives.

You’d point to the swifts swooping close,
yet so completely removed:

how could we comprehend
a life spent solely in the sky?

But you spoke to me in magic—
the old names for flowers and trees

sitting soft in lush landscapes,
either lost or quite alien now

poem and image © copyright df barker 2012