Math is mean

I like leaves

stirring yard colors

I leap into.


Dave Barber

31 Oct 08

A sudden noise:

wind through the gravestones 

rustling faded plastic roses again.


Dave Barber

5 December 2008

Autumn has arrived at last,
The peaches falling
LIke drops of rain,
Bruising on the rocks below,

It’s time to go below
To bid the trees sleep,
In the slumber of the night
Inside the sleeping earth.

Already our bodies fall
Already dark the ocean’s end
Already washing the heavy wounds
Already waves kiss the sands.

21 July 04

Dave Barber

On the day she died,

I helped Dad dress himself

in his favorite gray tie –

(everything is gray)


his trembling hands like

the stirred gulf waters

and gulls that won’t settle.


I breathed the salty air

down the street, the one

with lining cottonwoods,

toward the tiny empty room,

where she’s dressed in 

her best, old music streaming

through the crackly speakers.


I know that tune playing

I tell dad,

he nodds and winks,

she loved it, she loved it.


At the Service,

It’s a steep road

greeting no visitors

watching the deadlocked moon

smiling at the gulf

but I didn’t dare look

at the reflection.


Dave Barber

Natural Laws

21 Nov 08

I wake to black

and one sound

my heart,

neither falling or 


but wondering

as if halls were rivers-

the color of stone,

and I could find

refresing waters there.


Dave Barber

21 Nov 08

Natural Laws

in cold air,

leaves scatter on the driveway

winter’s voice calls.


Dave Barber

Natural Laws

21 Nov 08

On this hazy, mountain morning,  I long for your comfort, the softness of your breasts.   No bed is soft save you, no place is home, save you.  As we undress,  I watch each covering fall like the leaves outside signalling rest.   The quiver of your lips when we make love,  the touch of your hands, finding the landscape of love, across your mountains and valleys.   Each of them sweet honey.   Your music love voice is a dream to my heart as it slumbers but awakens suddenly!



Love Stories, Love Notes

When you see through the lies

they fed as a child

like a sheet hung to dry,

golden sun shining through.


And you can remember you’re mother

how that was an end to itself

a buried place, where old dead bones.






What a strange mix,

to be all.


There’s a strange coolness to November

settles in the low places

where the ground went to sleep early,

My world isn’t safe yet.


Tonight you ask about Thanksgiving.

and no one knows momentary trips

as if hanging in the air cleanes all.


Here’s the sound of the trash drug

from the street to the rocks,

no one can sleep from this sound,

when it’s time to draw them all out.


Dave Barber


One evening as the sun was spreading it’s skirt on the horizon, my daughter called me outside.  She saw how the sky’s ragged edges had soaked up the remaining light and glowed n shades of crimson to lavender.   We stood out there silently for a long time, watching the sight of light playing on the clouds, dancing in vibrations and saw what she saw, felt what she felt.   The pale blue had almost completely faded when the deeper colors emerged starting the show all over again.   We felt a sharing that goes beyond any deep words I could have used to describe the event, or how the event penetrated our lives.  Now, every day, my daughter calls this the ‘magic time.’  She’ll say “Dad!  it’s almost magic time.”

   This is the main lesson of my writing to share that magic time with you.  I can’t always describe the feeling, but I can share with caused it and believe you will have similar feelings too.     You can share this sense of community of love I feel.   Thanks for reading!!!!


Dave Barber

So, the hours spring

and I’m waiting for the call

breaking the morning.


Dave Barber

18 Nov 08


Natural laws

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