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!






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In love’s night,

the moon is full,

your breasts – ripe fruit to pick!

your softness, ready to taste


tasting passion,

a sweet sweet wine,

every drop is mine,

every drop won’t be wasted!



4 Jan 09

Your scribbled notes

illegible numbers.


My notes,

penned in cursive

cursive love,

on glass.



retained in place


Scattered around



they spell marriage



On the last day,

sun heat, spring fragrance

will hit our faces,

I’m  safe in my studio


and absently,

you’re watching

police shows,

a settlement of 30 years



Friends will phone

and you’re talk of gold,

I’ll dispense life 

in small doses

since I’ve had mine

since I’ve used mine.


Thank  you for the reddish autumn

those blackbirds perching

and singing,

voices as they were,

my daughter bewildered by them

(at her age not now)

Now she has her own.


Last night

a coyote

left prints in tranquil curves,

looked for a moment,

went his way.




a nightfall fierce winds beset us

rivers rose across states

bridges collaspe

people fall beneath mainstreet

washed away.


Snow obscures detail 

to defeafness,

men debate jobs,

and victory in votes

means little.


food in their hands

would be change

warmth not weapons

would be change,

A Seine free,

a rio released,

million pregnant women

left to birth.


that would be change.


20 Dec 08



In my doom year,
the day of numbers,
my soul was splintered
and I wondered
what part would go first?

That part without knots
that vacated portion
rotted and without mercy
no, that goes last
if at all.


These are the versions,
one is the cancer’s end gate
where it swings open
squeaks and closes solid.
(Yes closure is solid.)

Then, there’s sympathy-
(to a point)
and the long descent
a bittercoldness,
counting breaths

This widow has stayed
strange hours
hovering at the side
staring out the window
at red mountains.

Curse this!
I’m ready to slip
between the spots of time
that segment of minus 43 secondth
(Yes I count them)
and disappear
into quietude.

Dave Barber
18 December 2008
Natural Laws

I’ve seen them.

Introduce silver into twisted parts

ribbons and bows

into love-

there’s little philosophy to this act.

Just a bit of beauty over the moon.

A partial shady spot.


I’ve watched them

fashion neurotic symbalance

to style.

Somehow the hours are easy

silence and closure.


It hasn’t been my turn,

to flutter around

fix my look, curl, fashion, fix

into some happy moment-

as if joy was a ring to put on,

a clod of dirt to turn over

and plant under –

Yes, water, sow, and dream of fields

– horse and rider alike!


If it was more complicated,

wouldn’t we have figured it out?

not a heart’s eye problem,

or soul survey,

but a flesh that lifts itself

into a place above.


Dave Barber

15 December 2008

Okinawa fall


Grasses are brown

along the shimmering ocean line,

under the feet of the night.


dreams are fresh,

spread out on the warm covers,

I’m missing you takes all shades.


Summer 1992

Okinawa Japan

Dave Barber

On your birthday,

a night at your favorite table

steak and wine,


naked on the bed,

with desire sheets laid out!


You asked my wishes

sorry I was candid!


9 Dec 08