
Night falls much later
The gloaming sighs, glass of wine;
swifts dart overhead
Copyright Francis 2022
Night falls much later
The gloaming sighs, glass of wine;
swifts dart overhead
Copyright Francis 2022
copyright Leofwine Tanner 2019
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
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