Monday, September 26, 2016


scientists say
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
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

Friday, September 2, 2016


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

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

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
and knowing
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
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
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

Sunday, August 14, 2016


parts of life
exist in the shadow
of truth
of openness
there in the fog of evening
a small secret lies
an undaring preclusion
concealed beneath the camouflage
of mist
the cloud of sorrow
the froth of promise

unrepeated stories
untold hopes and dreams
fleeing memory
lost in the reluctance
to ration more than a hint

parts of life dying off
each melancholic year
dreams unable to find a future
in the unspoken folly
and memories unable to lift themselves
out of the past

this untelling of past lives
suppresses the need to share
that lingers like sweat
cooling on the surface of silence

Barry DeCarli
August 11,12, & 14, 2016
On Hammond Pond
©Barry DeCarli

Sunday, July 10, 2016

no more prayers

I learned early

from my father

that alcohol makes a poor crutch

from the Catholic Church that

St Luke or any other saint

would not hold me up either

every day the world

teaches me that God does not exist

outside of another person’s imagination

or some religious doctrine

I’ve discerned as much from


old wives’ tales and waking dreams

as I have from attending mass

I’ve seen that looking for signs

I won’t recognize one

it’s better to learn from coincidence

than having faith

in some apparition

the ghost of someone else's belief

so where does that all leave me


when saying a prayer

can’t possibly relieve the pain I feel

for this society we live in

where our way of life

mocks us as a way of death

where more guns means less safety

more carnage

less courage

to do what needs to be done

when our tears will not wash away

the blood we shed in fear or anger

our prayers will not bring back the dead

where does that leave us all

Barry DeCarli

July 8, 2016

On Hammond Pond

©Barry DeCarli