Haiku: Forgetting

woman wearing brown shirt inside room
Photo by Felipe Cespedes on Pexels.com

I wish we could talk
Forgetting is not easy
Time does not erase

Copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Escape

alarm alarm clock analog analogue
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

How did you do it?
Playing by the given rules
Beat at their own game

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Team Timelines

backlit dawn foggy friendship
Photo by Helena Lopes on Pexels.com

Converging timelines
No room for maneuvering
Choose which team you’re in

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Ghost of Time

art fingers foggy hand
Photo by Pedro Figueras on Pexels.com

Did I choose this time?
The zeitgeist is haunting me
A subtle rebirth

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Time Lines

white and black moon with black skies and body of water photography during night time
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS on Pexels.com

Landmark century
Revelation as your script
Sure of the timeline?

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Perception

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Wait and time goes slow
Be busy and sense it fly
It doesn’t watch you

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Drops

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Drops of life and time
Hanging precariously
It is beautiful

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: A Friend In Time

accuracy afternoon alarm clock analogue
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Who knows what time is
A cold distant relative
who's left you behind

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Haiku: Our Place In Time

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The astrological clock in Prague

Is this our account?
Our apportioned span on earth
stored eternally

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Saturday Poem: Bygones

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So now, after all this time
we decide to speak,
when all that water under the bridge
has long turned stagnant and is festering,
fit only for frogs
and other unsuspected creatures:
such are the demons of my mind

copyright Francis Barker 2020

Poem: Yarborough Road

road closed signage
Photo by Pedro Sandrini on Pexels.com

I remember years as dark as this,
in rooms overlooking that old racecourse,
a world in slow decay
like mental states and empty plates,
days with nothing to do but sit and stare
or walk the drab streets
like a plodding hobo in search of a meal.
More than forty years fly by
but how little has changed.
The same weary mind
perceives this empty life,
these unknown vistas
funnelled into one cul de sac

copyright Francis Barker 2019