repair

 

we could balance

our mistakes

told and untold

her bad, my bad

 

without knowing each other’s

imperfection

hoping that weight would

not tip the scale

 

foundation cracks repointed

primed and repainted

a temporary fiction

hoping not to see

what we knew

would always be there 

Barry DeCarli

May 29 & December 7, 2012

©2012 Barry DeCarli

 

Barry DeCarli: the masters

Barry DeCarli: the masters:  how they stumbled   upon their insight   conjured the words to  contrive a common language   what amazing things   they imagined, creat...

fragile

fragile seems

such a fragile word

like life

like earth

like love 

handle with care

be careful

don’t bend

or crush 

fragile seems

such a fragile word

like tears

like friend

like touch 

handle with care

don’t drop

don’t kick

use no hooks 

fragile seems

such a fragile word

too delicate

a warning

to matter too much 

Barry DeCarli

© 2012 Barry DeCarli

election 2012

 

across the chasm of belief

and disbelief

through that fabricated mist 

against the red face of anger

beneath the blue flame of hope

and the reluctant reach of change 

the soul of a nation has spoken 

Barry DeCarli

November 7, 2012

© 2012 Barry DeCarli

family

 

what of that uncle

he only thought about

visiting but never did

always remembering the smooth

rides in his Cadillac that

were so different than the bumping

jostling adventures

riding in his father’s Ford

and his uncle’s bellowing, baritone

provocations at Christmas

there was no arguing

only resignation in response

but he sure could fix TVs 

what can he fix with these

mismatched words

square pegs in round holes

no Phillips screwdriver to drive home

an apology, an explanation

no child’s toy, no Chocobaby here

to ignite laughter

to extinguish disappointment

on both sides 

he imagines his mother’s disappointment

a grandmother’s dismay

at this estrangement, this separation

but who can say

who can talk a way out of this

adult, or child grown into an adult 

who, if anyone

can be big enough to fashion

the escape from this trap of pride

this mess of misunderstanding

which generation will blink

ending this distant stand-off

who will flinch, hold hubris at bay

and reach out

or who will just walk away

never looking back

ignoring regret, love 

uncle or niece 

Barry DeCarli

February 10, 2012

Copyright 2012 Barry DeCarli

 

funeral

first feeling the heat of emotion
tears flowing
being held back
a choked-up gratitude
a misplaced relief
that the dirge
the solemn music is not for you

shaking sweaty hands
kissing blurry-eyed faces
rouged cheeks grazing
stale perfume stealing breath

touching but distantly
waiting for the open air
the cumulus shadows
the shafts of god light
through the pines
a last prayer in the cemetery
then a chance to have a drink
loosen a tie, wipe off smeared make-up
proffer a smile

dare to laugh…

Barry DeCarli
August 13, 2010
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

right to farm 

the rooster crows unpredictably

morning and afternoon

sunrise to sunset

sometimes after 

farm equipment for planting

for harvesting forms two rust-pocked rows

of red, green and white

lettered Farmall, John Deere, Massey-Ferguson

even one grey Ford

faded, quiet and waiting 

the herd of Holsteins

loaded last week in rattling metal trailers

for a panicked ride to some industrial dairy

the driver unacquainted with the work

of Temple Grandin

there is no market for the rooster

or his incessant hollering

but still no time to sleep

for this 4^th generation farmer

finally idle in the hours before dawn

turning over fields in his mind

imagining the end of

that  mocking wake-up call

as the ax slams down 

with the finality of the auctioneer’s gavel 

Barry DeCarli

September 4, 2010 & July 1, 2012

©2012 Barry DeCarli

listen 

a quiet one

remembers speaking

remembers not being heard

words dismissed

ignored by pre-emption

a louder voice

something more interesting

by plain rudeness

even the whisper was lost

in resistance to repeat

what was unheard 

now

when his voice dares

the scarcity of his words

attracts an audience 

the hushed silence

is theirs 

Barry DeCarli

June 12, 2012

©2012 Barry DeCarli

memory

it might have been disappointment that

gave flight

to that lava hot burner

across that cold  kitchen 

or anger 

but it was my mother

who stood her ground

by the stove

handle in hand

as the nearly molten discus crash landed

short of its mark

at my father’s unsure feet 

its circle brand smoking itself

into worn linoleum

acrid uncertainty

hanging in the air 

a half century later

though the house may be cinders

caved into its foundation

the taste of burnt linseed oil

smoldering cork

and an uncertain future 

still remain 

Barry DeCarli

May 31, 2012

©2012 Barry DeCarli

taps echoing

(for my uncles, Albert & George Atkins on Memorial Day

Veterans of WWII)

unceremoniously
your photos stand
against the debris of suburban life
garaged with tools
and transportation
wheels and windows
boxes and broken glass

stored here
your photos stand
for the memory of war
the honor of service
the love of country

accidentally remembered
an afterthought of lawn mowing
trimming and hedging
chain sawing
hammering, nailing
do-it-yourself mentality
for fixing up

but not for war

graphic images
of two uncles who went to war
then came home to live

the American Dream

now
both are gone with
no ceremony
no phone call
no visit
no possibility

this poem is hardly enough

Barry DeCarli
Ferrisburgh, VT
Copyright 2009 Barry DeCarli
Revised 05/29/11
Reposted 05/24/12

moving

and winter, on its cold way

doesn’t know things have changed

only people are rearranged

and quietly lost in the play 

blanketed with fallen snow

the landscape really doesn’t know

that its friends have packed and gone

the final caress, gentle footsteps at dawn 

and peeking through the frigid early sky

not the smallest inkling disturbs the sun

for it neither cares or wonders why

we throw it a tearful kiss and run

neither can we know what to perceive

as we sadden at the life we leave 

Barry DeCarli

From Of Sun and Rain

Copyright 1972 Barry DeCarli

cutting the cord

a film may show the cord
being cut
and some suggest the ineptness
of the doctor making an innie or an outie
as if at that point
the belly button matters

the violence of birth
might be
traumatic
preparation for

separation
approaching nearly two decades
in the future

leaving a first home
escaping the full protection of a thin layer of skin
the warmth, the liquid breath
the sanctuary

years later
a June ceremony
setting the stage
for a September departure
a bloodless umbilical severing

an unsure backward glance
a hastening step

away 

Barry DeCarli
March 26, 2010
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

a better truth

feelings
may speak when silence is
the better truth

but what sacrifice is too great
on the altar of tact
there is no apology for beauty

forgiveness may unburden
but the truth remains
unchanged
can a truth be reconciled by contrition
how long can whitewash cover a scar

apology
forgiveness
silence

which is the truer reckoning

Barry DeCarli
November 22, 2006
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

the price of memories

what outside influence

intrudes upon us surreptitiously

stealthily

stealing our breath like carbon monoxide

letting us do something we don’t want to

explain 

as the soaring price of

precious metals seeps into our consciousness

heirlooms have found their way

reversing the gold rush

to pawn shops

coin dealers

hotel lobbies

instead of into jewelry boxes

dresser drawers of nieces

or nephews 

no dust or danger

no pack horse or partner

searching for Sutter’s Mill

just a paved strip mall parking lot

and a sandwich bag of rings, lockets, chains

the remains, the props of the past

the stuff of personal history 

more than gold traded but

the memories weigh easy

on the digital scale

the tipping point, the balance

some logic that someone else

would just stake their claim 

after we’re gone 

Barry DeCarli

April 12, 2012

Copyright 2012 Barry DeCarli

like father, like son

wanting to pour poetry
from a bottle
of Pinot Grigio
to uncork the perfect pairing
of words and emotion
in an untitled document
trying to escape the collision
of headache and hope with
the right metaphor
stoking my muse there in the wine
my poem scrapes against the easiness
of inkjet black on white

he stood unsteadily
the car was his vehicle
driven with a practiced recklessness
he sought to slake a more primal thirst
I never understood
as the bourbon burned his throat
then softly drenched
his drought of dreams
for a while he found forgiveness
fulfillment there in the bottle

his Oldsmobile keyed with barbed wire
while taking out the farmer’s fence

there was nothing easy about his poetry
of rubber and speed
steel and noise

Barry DeCarli
April 15, 2010 (6)
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

like a ghost

like an invisible cloud
I sneak across your life
like a ghost
with no place to haunt
I watch and remember
secret handshakes
and passwords
I gaze through your days
and nights
unseen
I linger just near enough
to dream again
then
like a whisper of wind
I say goodbye unheard
unseen
like a ghost
I'm gone

Barry DeCarli
From Of Sun And Rain
Copyright 1972 Barry DeCarli

close encounters

I saw no planes today

expecting Air Force One

such an empty blue sky welcome

to the Green Mountain state 

a good run again in winter gear

but I felt sure

I was missing something

maybe a chance

to glimpse history 

in November ’63 I escaped seeing  JFK

from the too crowded room in a New York hotel

as the elevator pinged “up”

I peered back one last time 

in ’81 as the Secret Service looked on

I shook George Herbert Walker’s hand

in the Holy City of Charleston

in ’95 I bypassed security unknowingly

walking through a Burlington bank lobby

was searched, questioned and

delayed just long enough to miss Clinton 

today the best I could have done

would have been  to stand on the curb

in proximity to history

waving at big black cars with flags on their fenders

hoping for a glimpse of Obama 

instead

I ran my regular four miles

on a brisk clear morning

ate a bowl of cereal

and typed these words

as history passed by without me 

Barry DeCarli

March 30, 2012

Copyright 1012 Barry DeCarli

funeral

first feeling the heat of emotion
tears flowing
being held back
a choked-up gratitude
a misplaced relief
that the dirge
the solemn music is not for you

shaking sweaty hands
kissing blurry-eyed faces
rouged cheeks grazing
stale perfume stealing breath

touching but distantly
waiting for the open air
the cumulus shadows
the shafts of god light
through the pines
a last prayer in the cemetery
then a chance to have a drink
loosen a tie, wipe off smeared make-up
proffer a smile

dare to laugh…

Barry DeCarli
August 13, 2010
Copyright 2010 Barry DeCarli

untitled

her pillow

still warm
was so empty
I could trace her
footsteps
to
the
door
as she
tiptoed

goodbye

Barry DeCarli
From Of Sun And Rain
Copyright 1972 Barry DeCarli

under tents

under tents, mud huts

beneath skyscrapers

in parks, in dreams

sometimes with just the wind to warn them

or a shadow against a wall

or a whisper

amidst the tumultuous thunder of war

those intent on peace 

will not hide forever

Barry DeCarli

March 21, 2012

Copyright 2012 Barry DeCarli

ending

tears
shattering a stone face
carving canyons of crying
to the sea
savage scars
streaking the reflections of night

suspended in the black

like silver gods casting curses
tears like screaming witches
slaying the stars

one
by
one

Barry DeCarli
From Almost
Copyright 1979 Barry DeCarli
(revised March 16, 2012)

Barry DeCarli: the masters

Barry DeCarli: the masters:  how they stumbled   upon their insight   conjured the words to  contrive a common language   what amazing things   they imagined, creat...

the masters

 how they stumbled

 upon their insight

 conjured the words to

 contrive a common language

 what amazing things

 they imagined, created

 invented as they

 paired the pigments

 mined the marble 

 how did they uncover

 the riches with so little

 to find, so little behind them

 the benefit of so few volumes

 no Internet

 to leave us with Dante's Inferno

 Michelangelo's Pieta, Von Gogh's Starry Night

 what idea compelled them to sacrifice

 their lives to create a masterpiece

 what desire pushed them forward

 in poverty, in desperation

 to leave us with the priceless treasure

 of their blood, their sweat

 the lasting vision of their dreams 

 with all our burgeoning access to information

 our gluttony for natural resources

 our unbridled enthusiasm for change

 for wealth, for comfort 

 what will we leave 

 Barry DeCarli

 February 5, 2012

 Copyright 2012 Barry DeCarli

 Draft #4

mourning

maybe when someone dies

a new black hole opens

somewhere

in the universe

a place where the soul

can find respite in its great journey forward

beyond our understanding

out of sight of our grief

leaving behind the sounds of our sorrow

but what of our private tears

the sorrow we do not share

at an evening vigil

or at a grave site

as we mourn strangers

as those we knew

what of the sobs no one hears

who can fathom their meaning

does a black hole open

to accept those too 

Barry DeCarli

January 27, 2012

Copyright 2012 Barry DeCarli