Best Barrow Poems
He never did see a face though only a board width away,
yet remembers feeling privileged, spending those last few moments
while trying so hard to find the softer soil to lessen the impact
upon the brass plated permanent encasement; in this final resting place.
beneath the old oak
neither sun nor moon perceived
a veil of shadow
He’s mindful of the susceptible sensation within when the last
shovelful that completely covered the coffin tenderly placed,
then the license to use the coarse fill of heavy clay and stoney soil.
to become apart
at one within holy ground
the grass grows each spring
A phenomenal pride when to barrow away the surplus soil,
leaving the mound trim and tidy, a monument for the deceased;
also a monument for him, his very first dig, all with his own hand.
a mark of respect
for three score years and nineteen
entity forgone.
© Harry J Horsman 2015
***Dedicated to a wise old man
I once knew***
-----" There is no such thing
as death..."
------ an old friend
'O desolate wasteland,
filled not with flowery rushes,
threshing green fields silted,
earthy and ether months;
there can be no solstice,
no progress ----
where the tides are naught
The barrows long for life,
the painter's easel and stroke;
yet not even rainbow shadow
could colors so evoke,
life into thy nostrils -----
English barrow grave;
the dead are not there.....
Saxon King no more.....
Though they are not gone,
for very long;
our hearts be all we have,
among memories,
tides, and song
So do they hearken
Dad had threatened for some time, to reclaim the land behind the shed,
where rubbish over many years, had stockpiled but now instead
of being easy to be shifted, blackberries, docks and thistles grow,
entwining history of ours… and you know we didn’t know.
Mum cracked the whip one Sunday, handing out the different tools
for us to shovel, fork, pick and slash; of course she made the rules.
We weren’t to stop until the rubbish, had been cleared and left to show
a barren space to be landscaped… and you know we didn’t know.
Johnny parked the truck close to where we’d easily load the tray.
First we had to slash blackberries, to open up a pathway.
Old fencing wire and bent droppers, we pulled and tugged. The work was slow.
Plus bits of motors, old oil filters… and still we didn’t know.
The ‘Old Man’ knocked a stump out I can’t remember being a tree,
it disintegrated into pieces; white ant workings I could see.
Plastic pots and old fuel drums, onto the tray we heave and throw.
Just on half the plots been cleaned up now… and still we didn’t know.
A concrete trough and a mattress spring, mesh from an old birdcage.
A kitchen sink broken in two and a pushbike at some stage.
Sardine tins, a barrow bowl, and a seized up mower that won’t mow,
now there’s just one corner left to clean… and still we didn’t know.
A stack of roofing iron near the fence; the last that had to go.
One by one we dragged the rusting sheets… and still we didn’t know.
Dad picked up the final sheet, and then he quickly threw it down again.
His face was white and ‘cripes’ he shook… we ‘bloody-well’ knew then.
It came and passed, and not a word was spoken
as trills sang sweet from the tongue of the sparrow.
Indifference now, our love was but a token,
my heart’s pierced through with Cupid’s broken arrow.
With morning break I felt the deepest sorrow
and setting sun heard silence, yet unbroken,
then tolling bells left no time more to borrow.
It came and passed, and not a word was spoken.
The cool breeze blew, no cloud in azure heaven,
no voice raised loud atop the rolling barrow,
like yeastless bread our words could never leaven,
as trills sang sweet from the tongue of the sparrow.
So deep our passion grew in early sun rise,
till lost in evening sleep and never woken.
Like snowflakes that melt upon our hands are lies,
indifference now, our love was but a token.
Forever has now come with painful remorse
With night our light is dim, and vision narrow,
as in the dark we fumble to change our course,
my heart’s pierced through with Cupid’s broken arrow.
Long each minute passed in sorrowed memory,
no tears to shed for moments lost forever.
Flamed to ash in naught but burnt black cindery
as, like the day, we’re but a lost endeavor,
…it came and passed.
10/27/2017
(WITH APOLOGIES TO SHAKESPEARE)
Oh farting is such a sweet sorrow
“I’m sorry but that’s not my barrow!”
My seatmate’s nose in the air,
I act dumb and even glare~
but just then I give another blow.
-Penned due to my irrepressible urge to respond to Jan and BL's posts-
KIM PATRICE NUNEZ
07 March 2015
to my cyber love
whom i may never see
who's words are my comfort
who loves me with keys
you who writes to my soul
apart of my life i give control
between us we share
a box with words
that instantly care's
and feelings preserve
we try to give
some sorts of gifts
but unlike other lovers
we cannot kiss
but give what i can
to you this day
to make you feel special
in my special sort of way
have you ever seen lovers
look up in the night time sky
and one pick out a star
and say that's yours and mine
of all the stars in heaven
i've chosen the best one
the star i chose for you
is the star we call the sun
of all the stars in heaven
none compare to it's light
it's beauty and majesty
to everyones delight
it warms and makes you happy
and even makes you grow
to say the least a lot of other things
that you may not even know
it will always be there
tomarrow and tomarrow
just a simple gift
need never have to barrow
so when morning comes
and you see the dawns first light
think of it as me
sneaking in to your life
(This is dedicated to the one I love.)
They were bank robbers and their names were Bonnie and Clyde.
They robbed banks in six states until 1934 when they both died.
In addition to robbing banks, they also robbed stores and service stations.
They killed thirteen people, they were dangerous and caused devastation.
In 1933 the dangerous duo teamed up with Clyde's Sister-In-Law and her husband, Buck.
Clyde's brother was killed four months later and Bonnie and Clyde soon ran out of luck.
The next year they were driving on a road in Louisiana and they didn't know they were in danger.
They were ambushed and killed by a posse that was lead by a Texas Ranger.
The posse fired one hundred and sixty-seven rounds and Bonnie and Clyde were hit fifty times.
They were deadly murderers and thieves but they ended up paying for their dastardly crimes.
(This is a true story about Clyde Barrow and Bonnie Parker who were killed on May 23, 1934.)
God, are you sending Earth an electron avalanche?
Was supplying sun’s particles part of Creation’s goal?
Is insulation why we have such a cold snowy North Pole?
Is there a light cycle, scientists’ least explored branch?
The suns’ fiery color spectrum hosts continuous acclaim!
Unlike man-made radiances: mercury or sodium vapor lights,
A flame, an incandescent bulb or florescent light,
Where man watches; bands of color specific molecules frame.
Flammable gases; the environment soon reclaims.
Whether man-made in the sand or built upon the snow,
It is intriguing to watch a burning fire’s warming glow.
Red, green, and blue colors embellish the flames.
Oh, glow of solar particles sixty miles plus above the earth.
Decorate the sky with bright, multi-colored patterns.
Energize and rejuvenate Mother Earth as our world turns.
Feed us, oh Aurora; give Earth’s light cycle rebirth.
See it in Barrow, Alaska, Tromsø, Norway and Tiksi, Russia.
Men watch the wonders of God as heaven’s light churns.
Brilliant yellow-green hues have blue and purple patterns.
Earth’s life giving sun displays his continuous spectra.
The steep cascade of particles, like an avalanche of snow,
Tumbling with gravity, the snowy white is pealed.
Like solar particles blown into the earth’s magnetic field.
Fall into the earth; taken for granted our faces aglow.
Copyright March 5, 2014
Written for Poetry Soup Member Contest: Aurora And Avalanche –
Sponsor Anthony Slausen
References:
1. http://www.gi.alaska.edu/AuroraForecast
2. http://www.alyeskaresort.com/resort/facts-northern-lights.aspx
3. Electron avalanche - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
4. https://www.uwgb.edu/dutchs/AstronNotes/Blue%20and%20Green%20Flames.html
5. https://www.uwgb.edu/dutchs/AstronNotes/Blue%20and%20Green%20Flames.html
6. http://www.redbubble.com/people/daneann/writing/3355478-genesis-decoded
Thank you for this contest…I enjoyed learning!
Carve not a tower enclosing your heart
Allow our breaths to play, let warmth prevail
Sabers fling across moors searching the grail;
While armor of conquest tears us apart.
Unload all hardened marble in a barrow
How far one’s dauntlessness, how near one’s pride
A hallway of song waits as laughter abides
When ripened moment calls for love to glow.
In silken cape, you enchant the regal court
Yet lonely the man commanding alone;
Instead, let us scurry where moonlight roams
With dewdrops on our lips as we cavort.
Harken, weigh not the power you behold
A jester amuses only for a while;
But splendor of oneness lasts to beguile
Come, nurture our castle before life folds.
For Shadow Hamilton's 10th Contest Castle
by nette onclaud....2/1/2014
Recourse
The old man bends his
knees-
to the graveyard of
speech.
His barren stretched arms
raise up.
Orates the last
of his unpronounced
plea,
for a piece of sky,
for a grip of dust.
Unresolved.
Like that of a master
and his beast
unwilling
to pull the bondage
of labour and grin.
The latter's breath
of unspelled words
reveals a stealth
of cracked soil,
a labyrinth of deep
and shallow wounds-
of the earth. Touch-
me-not grows
and blooms and suckles
from these breasts of hardened
inaudible numbness.
The quiet morning dew,
splinters over the barrow
a thousand bits, a handful of stain.
Gone is the deafening
first flight
of light, salvages, salvages-
a gentle sigh, the slightest
of touch,
from an old and cunning
man, to the silhoutte of
scorched earth; an impasse
between the obvious
and the pale.
SLOW MOVEMENT
Move out from tall trees - to wider scene now
Tympanic rhythm - andante theme
As footsteps beat on - path of the Ash beam
In diverse prospect - wet levels gleam
Look to the surface - life is reflected
Now mirrors brightening - skies cerulean
See over there the - new view surveyed now
Past tawny grasses - strewn by wind laid
Birch saplings dapple - hazel and apple
Amber the dry fern - dashed now with jade
Where silver stems - surround sun-bright vale there
Small stream descends in - glistening cascade
Over above In - slow closing distance
Land rises to - overlook languid fen
Our destination - draws our steps on to
Reach barrow slopes - fields of wider ken
So measured pace continues ‘til then
While spirit moves to hilltop ascend
Echoes
Every morning a man is seen to climb upon a hill
His mission there to bare witness
To the suns flooding as she rises
Her painted fires airbrushed dawning through the skies
He stands alone upon the grassy barrow
Gathering every thought and fibre
Every nuance of the unknown marrow
His bodies longings for his lover
The colours of the sunrise splash his passion
Peaches suffuse azure washing blues
When the dawning orb breaks its tethered anchor
In her flaming pinks and fiery hues
Lifting his spirit from the ground
All his soul he has encompassed
To an echoes welling plume of sound
From his throat and from his heart felt
And from a smile bathed in saddened tears
It issues from his lips all his happiness and his pain
He stands alone upon the hilltop
Brought there by the echoes
Which always sound the same
With one lasting supplicant breath
And calls out to forever
Echoes every syllable of
Her name
Shouted out for a life he once new
Called to a life he never lived
Turned this echo to a sorrow
By a curious cuckoos tourniquet of fate
He turns to watch his shadow
And carry on his day
Descends again to the waiting meadow
But in the niche of every hour
And in the edge of all his smiles
Lays a sadness to vague to remember
Dormant in the corners of his eyes
Yes the day is filled with loving
In the patience of his hands
And his heart is given over
For living while he can
But in the shadows of the evening
The dusky moon upon the rise
A distant voice is calling
Sees the reflection of her eyes
When his heart is turned to ponder a quietly burning flame
Hearing how the echoes upon their returning
Are whispering
His name
While the forgetful night is passing
In reincarnates senses dreaming
His breathing then beseeches
The pillow of his prayers
And as the day comes on a dusting
Airbrushed dawn of coloured peaches
Washes the flaming azure of her eyes
All those words return upon their longing
Baring witness to the dawning skies
Brought there by the echoes
Which always sound the same
And written in his calling to the new sunrise
Echoes there forever
Every syllable of
Her name
Bats on the Barrow
When gravel grows quiet on the tow path
the light intrudes on the town
Horse Chestnut's grow so dark
as the old stone bridges great span
Crows hold conference in tall trees
children abandon town parks
Then swallows take one last look
before the bats appear in the dark
Swooping monkeys on string
roller coasters suspended in air
little teeth with leather like wings
you'll definitely see one down there
And under the echoing span
moths like fools joyfully spin
Yet they are only killing time
Their game over before it begins
When hurt descends from the tree of life and
The stepladder breaks straight onto your pain
A trampoline turned jo-jo strangles creeping ivy
Entangles in trapezes and dreams of surrender
Pick me up where I have buried my wounded soul
Uncover my darkness and cradle my weeping heart
Mind gaps’s emotions and feelings of rational thought
Transcend into vibrating light of balance and harmony
At the bottom of searching for circles’ impermanence
Rests a rusty wheel barrow that nestles a garden of love
Sheds a load from my shoulders and unburdens torment
Fallow fields harbour seeds of regrowth and compassion
15th January 2020
Under dark protection of the night the gruesome two-some take to flight,
To exhume the grave of the recent buried, in a wheel barrow the bodies ferried,
Body snatchers creep at night, the open coffin brings delight,
Strip bare the corpse of wealth adorned, delivering the body before the dawn,
One with a shovel the other an axe, with powerful blows the coffin cracks,
The lid split open the crypt undone, access gained to the disrespectful ones,
Cold as ice the body lay, undisturbed until this day,
Burke reached in to rob the dead, as Hare watched on, his greed be fed,
"Help me Hare this one is stuck", his feet were sinking in the muck,
But Hare looked on his face turned grey, as Burke was being pulled away,
The ground beneath began to crumble, as Burke and Hare began to stumble,
The grip of fear had them tightly bound, as the corpse took hold of both their Hands,
Burke screamed "For God's sake help this is no joke", and that was when the Spirit spoke,
"Burke and Hare your fate is sealed, by the hand of death from which you steal,
Tonight The body snatchers me, as I ferry your souls on deaths black sea,
I take your life's to pay your debt,
Too long you taunt and tease the dead",
The ground opened up and fire shot through, the screams of torment echoed Through,
As Burke and Hare could not break free, from the depths of hell they could not flee,
Falling deeper underground, their bodies never to be found,
Yet listen close by graves at night,and you will hear their screams of fright,
A warning as they burn in hell, never desecrate a corpses shell.