Friday, May 5, 2017

fiber art




could I
too imagine the stars
as I rolled this
fiber form
in the palm
of my hand

more than just
black and white
felt
she imagined
but a small piece
of the night
sky

could she
too imagine
a piece of the universe
our own Earth

for us to hold
close
with both hands

to share
to shelter
to keep safe

Barry DeCarli
May 5, 2017
On South Street
©Barry DeCarli
Inspired by the creations of Yukako Sorai


Friday, February 17, 2017

ring less true



there's more to truth
than just right words,
and so much less
to lies.

yet, a lie
seems the stronger
of the two,

as truth so often dies.
when disbelief

can cloud the eyes,
there's little
we can do,
but hang on to some wispy hope

that the lie will ring less true.


Barry DeCarli
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli


 (...and, to keep speaking the truth, loud and clear)

Monday, September 26, 2016

afterwards




scientists say
matter
or energy
cannot be created or destroyed
only conserved

or changed

is there a physics
a chemistry of memory
a weight or worth
to some spiritual commodity
when remembered

but when it’s
when irretrievable
unknown
forgotten by all

is it nothing then
or matter stored for another time
is there more of it
after sharing
can it change in the telling
the turn of the tale

after words
does memory matter
waiting to be retrieved
there in the soil

beneath the stone and grass

Barry DeCarli
September 23, 2016
On Hammond Pond
©Barry DeCarli
 Free Photo from Pixabay







Friday, September 2, 2016

church





where is your church?
mine is a medieval hilltowns
of Pienza and Montepulciano
along the quiet dusky
cobbled paths on the limestone ridge
tasting its namesake wines

marveling
in amazement
looking up to the risky parapets
the muted bell towers at times
still heralding the misery
and the joy from here
to Montelcino

my church catches the sunset
and the shadows
through the stone gate
at Monteriggioni
and cools the Tuscan piazza
below the city walls

it is a museum
where paintings of Caravaggio and
Michelangelo hang frozen in Florentine time
forever at home with the Medicis
so near Savonarola’s bonfire of the arts
and then of his flesh

mine is where our souls meet
recognizing
understanding
and knowing
wherever
I can feel
 see or hear
true genius

or the unlikely reconciliation of adversaries

where  making one of opposites
light and dark
hate and love
death and life
brings tears to my eyes

Barry DeCarli
July 10, 2015 & September 2, 2016
On Hammond Pond
Draft #5
©Barry DeCarli


Friday, August 26, 2016

the same air




we must all feel
the tremors of bombs
exploding
tearing lives apart
still unlived

the man-made quaking
of earth
the smothering weight
of dust, stone
and history
not unlike the Richter-measured
magnitude of horror
unleashed
upon the sleeping
the dreaming
of another ancient town

we must all feel
the walls around us crumbling
the floors beneath us
the ceiling above crashing
the air pushed from our lungs
the unyielding bed of rock
blood and dust

no one clamors to claim
credit for this tectonic terror
whose scientific explanation
lessens no pain
for this Act of God
(as if there could be one)

we must all gasp for
one more breath
on this fault line of

war and nature

to breathe in
the same choking air
of Aleppo and Amatrice

Barry DeCarli
August 26, 2016
On Hammond Pond
©Barry DeCarli