Private Thoughts


Here is my book “Painting with Fingers” Free for everyone!  Please check it out!

 

 

painting-with-fingers

Advertisements

I’m the candle

and flame,

the sudden burst,

swaying,

side to side.
A carbon

mixing,

combining

 

who can tell 

what differences?

 

Where my code ends

and begins?

 

Where flicker

is night

 

night is calm

calm is light

bristle from walls

reflecting soul-

 

carbon,

air,

heat,

are one soul.

 

Dave

When the waves stop,

when the ripples cease their play,

undulation, undoing, unravel,

 

I reflect the simple

surface,

the untouched

crowd of atoms,

that mirror,

mirage of saneness,

 

One I pretend stays

with me, but won’t,

maybe a moment,

maybe a jape in time,

 

for now,

I’m waiting

for waves to stop.

 

24 Dec 08

Dave

After reading an article on good/bad poetry,  I have to admit a bit of confusion.   I’ve read some current poetry that was just plain vulgar but was treated as great and I’ve read some great poets that couldn’t get out of the starting gate.  So what is it that makes one verse a devine inspiration and the next one crap?  Is it like a painting?  The beauty of a poem is what it brings out in you?  The emotions, connections, memories, thoughts?  To me, that’s the connection.  Each of these poems on this blog are the result of an event, poem, thought or realization that occurred.  I’ve shared them with the hope that they will mean something to you as they do to me.   And the response is positive, 95% of the time.  Sure there are nickpickers – word over that word, or form, sure I make mistakes.  But in general, they are heart poems.  

So, my poetry is ideas, thoughts, and day’s events in verse.  Sometimes a painful place I’ve been.    Sometimes, they are typed quickly before the muse grows tired and leaves.  Sometimes they are started and finished later.   I’ve read that good poets write, let them set for months and come back to them.  Maybe that’s my problem – with a few exceptions, they hit this blog right after they leave my muse.

Elements of bad poetry?  Well according to Mike Chasar*, they are predictable rhymes, figures of speech, predictable tropes and sonnet form.   I’m guilty of some of them.  He’s suggestion of a writer’s toolbox – set forms to write in and formulas is foreign to me.  I write as I  write – form happens as the poem happens.  I don’t necessarily write to one form.  But Mike’s point was that deadline poetry (that poetry written against a deadline) requires a faster draw, an ability to pull together form, timing, content in mere hours.   I have to admit,  I’ve participated in challenges but I don’t always feel this produces the best poetry.

I’d be curious what you guys think of this idea.

 

Dave Barber

19 December 2008

* Mike Chasar wrote the article in “Poets and Writer’s” magazine, Nov/Dec 2008, page 39 “Writing good bad poetry”

Let it go,

Two AM,

Let it go,

house changing

light

darkness

view changes.

a daily “bring to me”

yes,

I remember.

 

But wait,

direction means

hardness

hardness

is wrong

we must not

be wrong.

so not growing

not hard

a soft

snowy

wet

soggy

frameless.

 

 

Dave Barber

18 Dec 08

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

There were days,

when wine was evening

we poured out in sleeping bags,

 

Sweet, long-

 

near the fire –

your eyes sparkling,

our hearts snapping like the flames!

 

We wrapped up

and made love into the night’s breath

God it was good,

all the parts,

the breath, the wine and your voice

calling me to bed,

 

when night was wine.

 

 

Dave Barber

13 Dec 08

Next Page »