It’s like 80 on the free-way,
watching the life blur
agglomoration of houses,
havens and yards,

Somewhere,
marriages split,
water runs
gardens wilt
and slow drip
of gas
tastes water

Somewhere,
teens taste
love’s first bite
behind
the broken tractor.

Smallness
only appears
small
at this speed.

15 July 09

It’s a strange start,
a sleeping person
turned ill

then the transformation.
My name to Doctor
my time gone,
my house a ward.

I’m wanted with water,
soup,
paper,

and it goes on.
Chores still needed,
life goes on,

and the hospital
repeats.

I don’t understand it.
Those tolerant aren’t
Continuing to attack
continuing hate
they blame others for.

Strange.

And those wishing life?
Wish it for every thing
except newborns
(They don’t count)

What phase is this?
Will I awake on the
non-digital side?
See the slowing clock
light slowly turning red,
and wonder why
the edge of the universe
is so close
all along.

Maybe I’ll see it,
maybe that non-digital
is filtered different
and life really counts-
all life.

20 June 09

In the morning,
her voice is different
a mix of raging winds
and simple rain-
rain wetting
but not nourishing.

So, seeds don’t grow
plenty of weeds –
noxious and dangerous
yes, they grow in volumes.

In the evening,
the voice is changed.
Now weakness, sorrow, regret
filtering every rain and idea
till it fills all the voids-
we go to bed with it.

Dave

Cycles
by Dave Barber

I let it go.
Waves throw it back,
White bodies and twisting vines
Wrapping on hollow trunks
and slopes
Black ocean foaming at the mouth
Can’t wait to return.

A Flower blooms,
fades, dies
And the seed wanders
through The shade to sun,
stones covering one by one
until it can’t grow –
The heart of what they covered,

Ants dissemble a moth
A morsel at a time
Carry it by me,
I’m weary of seeing them.

You break, rise up and crack
Glance away
and then return
Forgetting to call
Only I don’t
It’s back again.

Work Pieces
by Dave Barber

Work, love, memories
sunrise sunset start
over.
sleep exhaustion
sunrise, sunset, restlessness.

Delay is not denial
it is the sweeping
realization that tomorrow
spreads it beauty
evenly over my spirit,

God, I pray to feel it.

Dave