Betsy Ross

I never intended to be a rebel
at the time, I was more of a lover
though I suppose that eloping with John Ross
and marrying him in Hugg’s Tavern might
have been construed as rebellious
having then been “read out” by the Quakers
disowned by the Griscoms at twenty-one
hardened me to perils I would face
our surreptitious boat ride across the Delaware
was my first act of protest
the war against the British killed John and husband number two
suffering Tory soldiers in my home
I sewed buttons for George W.
and between upholstery jobs
made a few puffy shirts for him, too
he asked if I could sew a flag for our new country
I answered with my five-pointed star
then I whip stitched myself into history
today, you say someone might burn the Stars & Stripes
to protest our own government’s trespasses
somewhat unpatriotic, indeed
I would have burned that “Don’t Tread On Me” flag
protesting just its ugliness
you know, elections do not swiftly satisfy unrest
sometimes a nation will not extract itself from war
a little flame and smoke
might jar it from complacency
as the star spangled kindling of revolt bursts in the air
this symbolic speech might be quicker, more stirring

here, let me light the match

Barry DeCarli
©2010 Barry DeCarli

Libya/Japan

who can put it back
together again
Spring into Winter
not the other way around
still the snow covers some ground
islands of white in the gathering green
but some things happen
too late to matter too much
can history hurry
can it change the way we look back
when the wave came and swept us away
after we stepped into what we thought
would be the future
there were ideas louder than our whispered demands, our cries
starlight speeding to you across a universe

but no one who knew was there to see it arrive

Barry DeCarli
March 18, 2011
Vermont

enough time

lightheaded
approaching the night leaded
weighted with vague fear
unabated anxiety mixing
hope without piety nixing
no dream, no seer knows
no dope other than
pinot noir
lowering the bar
to dance under
a hundred places still
to see, to wonder
don’t know if I will
whether the rainbow
or the star
will cover the sky
or if some other pressure
will cloud the eye
too low or too high
still praying to fly

Barry DeCarli
March 11, 2011
Copyright 2011 Barry DeCarli

snow and sand

can winter
influence the way we see history
will we remember the way we left
the wipers pointing up
away from the frozen glass
can a snowbrush gently remove the depths
of temporary white obstruction
without disturbing what can be seen

how unlike archeology is this
digging to free the custom wheels from ice and snow
using an old coal shovel, a kitchen broom
to escape to gain the freedom of the road
with a polymer finish that polyethylene would scratch
gentleness would seem anathema to the task at hand
and yet if the digging could yield antiquity
archeological or paleontological
would we use a toothbrush, a Purdy paint brush
a mason’s pointed trowel gently to gain history

what is covered, obscured is somehow familiar
like shadows and echoes
urge us on to clear away the dust of years
of weather, of history
to find our own way, to discover what has been discovered
not snow, not sand, but tyranny has compromised our willingness
to take a breath, to hope for more
no wipers have been encrusted to the windshield
we have no tires buried in these sands of time
our vision of the path ahead is clear
no hieroglyphics written on a placard here

still we have brushed away the weight of suffocation
the burden of poverty, the detour of the path of least resistance
we have scratched the surface of this day
to reveal, not the chains and history of antiquity
but the dormant, subconscious dream of civilization
the unlikely discovery of treasure more brilliant than Tutankhamen
cleared from the debris, the impossibility, the sacrifice of Tahrir Square

the uncertain, but hopeful promise of freedom


Barry DeCarli
February 11, 2011
©2011 Barry DeCarli

words

did you shop for groceries yesterday
such a simple task
hopeful for the bounty of a new day
still able to hold someone you love close
walking the safe way from your car to the store
unworried, unburdened, unafraid
what words will come now
pushing themselves up
from fathoms of sorrow
to conjure a resurgence of fear
as the faces and minutes of hope are lost
to the clocks of history once again

Dealey Plaza
Ambassador Hotel
Lorraine Motel
Dakota
Murrah Federal Building
World Trade Center

as prayer and disbelief surface the flood of tears
can civility emerge from a head wound
will we listen now to the slurred words
to fix the aberration of the 2nd Amendment
especially as vitriol inflames stunted minds
they load their Glocks to fulfill their own prophecy
to sight innocence in the cross hairs
as these massacres become more commonplace
can some collective epiphany engage us all
how long can we hold our breath
while holding back our tears
how long will we carry these images
just stopping to buy milk and bread
then rushing home to pull down our shades and lock our locks

Barry DeCarli
January 09, 2011
©2011 Barry DeCarli

bowling with Petraglia

he always wanted
to be a good poet
whose poems people would read
books they would buy
maybe go on Oprah
get a break

he thought it would be
like being a good bowler or golfer
without much practice
a natural at some things

after a while

a lifetime

he knew that he wouldn’t play professional golf
or bowl against the likes of Johnny Petraglia
at an age where his drives were shorter
strikes and spares
fewer, his poems seemed better
less personal, more provocative
darkly funny
still, he knew
he would be no Billy Collins

by then, even Oprah was going off the air

Barry DeCarli
©2010 Barry DeCarli

Winter day in Vermont