Ok, so it’s been over two years. Life is so mysterious. It swallows time whole with great gulps and never looks around. And thus my life has been. At 52, I’m wondering about 62. Anyone else at this point? I’m watching others and wonder how they’ll be at my age. Others are probably wondering the same thing about me no doubt.

I’ve said before I’m a twenty year old caught in a 52 year old body. That hasn’t changed. I still enjoy being a kid. Playing tennis with my daughter is fun. I’m not too bd for an old guy. But life is grand and fun.

I need to become motivated. My muse has sat dormant for so long. Any suggestions on getting it started would be so appreciated. I’ve love to hear from you!



Yes,  I’m approaching 50 and the math overwhelms me.  Half-century sounds old – maybe by it’s nature, maybe by words.  We associate century with old things.   We speak of antigues in this manner. It’s a half-century old brings oohs and ahhs from a crowd.  But not from people.  A half-century person is just an old guy. Where’s the value in that piece of information?  Just like the mist ghosting around the river, it’s here and gone and who cares?  We might acknowledge it briefly, even walk its trails in wonder but then it passes.  Ho-hum, it’s gone. 

But as my birthday approaches (at approximately 8:48am my mother reminds me.)  I think about the last century.  The minutes clicking away and moments disappearing one thought comes to mind.  It’s the same thought I onced asked my boss.  I asked the so-what question.  What impact have I made?  Did you receive your money’s worth?   At work, it’s easy to answer (Or easier) because I can point to various documents, detachments, assessments, etc, that I’ve been privy to.  Never mind the scores of mindless minutes I’ve attended.  But here, here at the end of 50 years, what really do I have?   My daughter is grown. I’ve tried to impart the best to her.  What have I taught her?  Is she ready to be an adult?  Maybe a bigger question (Or better)  could I had really changed her.  She will have to discover her own path as I did.  I must make that way clear for her – some how.   Yes,  I have the same wish – that I had this wisdom at twenty. But what would be twenty without the will, the ability to make those mistakes.   That is what the age is all about- the exploring is what life is about – (I’m convincing myself at this point, aren’t I?)     So, there is one question left, right?

What does the next twenty or thirty years bring?  If I have that long.  There are no guarantees.  I could barely finish this missive and pass on.  Will I do better or will I continue waste time and act like an errant school boy on dirty dog summer days?   I still feel like that boy.  I really do.

Here is a free Chapbook!

24 hours Chapbook

24 hours Chapbook





Putting away ornaments,

my heart sinks finding

broken ancient pieces.



So many days,

Counting each one tires me,

going through tens,


but still remembering each louting moment-

each afternoon wasted.


And if I forgot,

then hades makes a visit

till I recall her heat.


At 4000,

friends joked about receding sands

and waves that never crash again,



how about never even wet the beach,

Damn, how about never show themselves

it’s the same ocean.



with Daughter opening her door,

starting her life,

what advice would I have?


Don’t forget the ocean.



25 December 2008


Tell the doctor all about the wounds,

friend one, cancer

friend two heart,

and the list goes on.

I don’t mend well,

and I’m waking, thinking about them.


One mentor suddenly looks ancient

and it hurts,

it hurts to see him

gray hair, slow moving.


I thought I knew the sound of old

but now I know for certain,

it’s Hades hating and leaning out,

it’s curtains blowing in the windy air.


I could pay him

for his trip,

before the Libitinarii appear.


Dave Barber

20 Dec 08

Did you see that face,  She asked

pointing back with her thumb.  it was

cold and forced as the tide, reluctant

to kiss the beach.


Maybe because she’s tired

or this job isn’t fun

maybe it’s pain


running down her face and

stopping at her mouth,

breathing out in twisted turns.


at the bottom of the sea

the light doesn’t reach

and the tide doesn’t see


to refresh and bring life

again, against the strange

weather at the surface.


20 Nov 05

From “Where the Fence Line Runs”

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