muse


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!

Dave

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

Home for Christmas,

My childhood room changed

into a sewing place.

 

Dave Barber

5 December 2008

 

Family Things

When the candle was lit

I settled into a dream

that the flame kissed me

brushed my face

with it’s soft wax,

leaving it’s lipstick

it flickered across me

in a rhythm

making love 

with

my

heart.

 

When we finished,

I was out of breath.

 

 

Dave Barber

Silly thoughts

5 Nov 08

My safe writing space. What a great question. Temporal, geographical, emotional.

Temporal: Late at night when the house is quiet is a wonderful time to write. Somehow the muse comes out in full and the words began to flow in great waves. I love this time.

Geographical: Walking along the river, I’m safe to write and think. The breeze is cool, the trees colorful and the river calling to me. I can stay at the red waters and write volumes listening to the click of the aspen leaves keeping time.

Emotional: (This is a tougher one) When I’m at peace and rested, the muse is out. It’s safe to write. But also when I’m alone and in a strange place, the muse is alive to write. Both places are safe.

 

Dave Barber

 

Where is your safe writing space?